Revenge of the Black Virgin (11 page)

This time she managed to enjoy the ride for a
little longer—maybe a few minutes—before she came crashing with a
series of deep, sucking contractions that threatened to stop her
heart.

Danny wasn’t far behind, and he came into her
with an animal cry that pleased her in its strangeness.

He rolled off her and they lay side-by-side
in the overheated little room, trying to catch their breath, calm
their pulse.

Jo spoke first. “That was pretty amazing,
Danny. But I’d better go. Brenda will be wondering…”

“Yes, but be warned that I’m already thinking
about Round Two,” he said with a cocky grin, patting her ass as she
rolled off the bed.

Chapter Ten

Brenda said she’d been inside hard at work
all day. She looked tired, Jo thought. The magazine had been doing
well, circulation and advertisements steadily growing. But theirs
was a fickle business, and Jo knew that her friend worried
incessantly about the future.

Jo also knew that the expression on her face
told Brenda that her little plan regarding Danny had been
successful.

“Well look who’s got bed head!”

Jo grinned, raising a hand to touch her
hair.

“So tell me. Was it great?”

“Do you really want to know?” Jo smirked.

“I do. But I also want to know if you guys
actually managed to take any pictures today. Or did I just pay
several hundred Euros to make sure my best friend got laid?”

“Both, Bren.” Still smiling she picked up her
robe and headed to the bathroom for a shower. “And although we
didn’t find any black virgins, I promise you we
both
got
your money’s worth.”

Because she was planning to do some serious
dancing later that night, Jo chose a skirt with a fluttery flounced
hem and matched it to a low-cut sleeveless top. Her outfit would
suit the tango, and whatever else she and Danny could manage to get
up to after that.

She carefully applied a thick line of dark
kohl around her eyes, then painted her eyelids with an iridescent
deep green shadow. Lots of mascara and her paisley shawl finished
the look.

When she was done she watched Brenda, dressed
in a white shirt and matching pants, run her fingers through her
hair. It was as close as she ever got to styling.

“Uh, Bren? Why don’t you let me do up your
face tonight?”

“What?”

“You know—paint your face. I don’t think I’ve
ever seen you with makeup. Or jewelry. Here, what about these?” Jo
lulled a pair of over-sized silver hoops out of her jewelry case.
“Try these on.”

“You want to tart me up?” Brenda asked with a
shrug. “Okay. Just don’t do overboard.”

“Good. Sit over here and let me get my
crayons,” Jo said, pulling a chair near a window to catch the
light.

Jo made Brenda’s eyes look much like her own,
then applied a blusher to her cheeks and a pale lipstick. With the
earrings, Brenda’s looks were softened. Pretty, even.

“If only I could get you into a dress, you’d
be a knock-out,” Jo said.

Brenda looked into the mirror. “Wow! Look at
me! Maybe I’ll get hit on tonight.”

For their last dinner in Ronda, Brenda chose
a small, intimate restaurant recommended by the concierge at their
hotel. The three of them sat in a secluded corner of the rustic
room next to a floor-to-ceiling window that looked down across the
magnificent gorge to the farmland below.

Danny seemed predictably impressed with
Brenda’s physical transformation. He made a show of taking each
woman’s hand in his and gallantly kissing the back of it as he
complimented them both on their beauty.

As before, he helped with the food and wine
menu, suggesting a white wine made from the
Verdejo
grape to
begin the evening, pairing it with a plate of cold shrimp tapas. He
looked so handsome, Jo thought, in his dark shirt and pants.
Freshly shaved, he smelled of some manly soap or something. The
waitress came by to uncork the wine and light the candles, and
Danny’s eyes alternately reflected candlelight and the glow of the
sunset as he looked from Jo to Brenda, and back again.

“A toast,” he said, raising his glass. “To
Brenda, for giving us this wonderful day.”

The two women dutifully raised their glasses
and drank, smiling at his earnest good manners.

“Yes. To Brenda, who had to stay behind to
work, poor baby,” said Jo.

“So, what did you two get up to today?”
Brenda asked, painted face all innocence as she took another drink
and looked with darkened eyes at one, then the other, of her
companions.

Jo grinned as Danny, not faltering for a
second, began to list the chronology of their journey. Then he
rattled off the subjects of most of the photos he’d shot. Jo was
surprised he could remember them all.

Brenda, too, broke into a wide smile at his
professionalism. Whatever he and Jo had been up to, a gentleman
would never tell.

After the white wine and the shrimp were
gone, Danny ordered a
Tempranillo
called
Tinto Fino
to enjoy with their first course. He’d wanted to try the house
specialty—stuffed artichokes. Jo’s mouth began to water the moment
they were placed in front of her. They smelled of spiced meat and
herbs, and they tasted like no artichokes she’d even eaten before.
The smooth wine was a perfect pairing.

As she ate, she felt Danny’s leg, under the
tablecloth, rubbing against hers. She rubbed back, surreptitiously,
relaxed and happy.

A second bottle of
Tinto Fino
accompanied their third course. Danny grew bolder, beginning to
stroke Jo’s thigh. Soon he flipped up the hem of her skirt and
reached higher. She squirmed in her seat as her pulse began to
race. But she kept her legs firmly closed. After all, there was a
time and a place for everything. And that time was later, the place
somewhere else.

This time they ate roasted lamb. Tiny little
legs of baby lamb, no bigger than turkey legs, roasted in a
wood-fired oven. The meat was sweet and tender and juicy, and Jo
felt faintly guilty for indulging in such carnivorous pleasure but
she just couldn’t help herself from exclaiming over it.

“This has got to be the best flesh I’ve ever
tasted,” she said as she pulled Danny’s hard hand from between her
legs.

Brenda had to see what was going on, Jo
thought, but her friend was pretending oblivion.

When Danny excused himself for a few moments,
Brenda leaned close to Jo and asked, slurring a little, “He’s so
pretty, and he’s obviously got the hots for you, but is he any good
in the sack?”

Jo, all inhibitions tamped down, grinned and
said in an earnest voice, “We didn’t have a lot of time—but I can
tell you,” and here she lowered her voice to a whisper, “he’s got a
most talented tongue.”

Brenda raised her eyebrows. “I could get into
that.”

“And you should. When’s the last time you got
a little? He likes you, Bren. Go for it.”

Jo was too relaxed to feel her usual
discomfort around speaking to Brenda about sex. She knew her friend
“didn’t like cock.” But Danny was not threatening in the least, and
as beautiful as a girl. Jo thought Brenda might enjoy Danny making
love to her. As long as he kept his cock out of sight.

“I might just do that,” Brenda whispered as
Danny took his seat.

Then they ordered a creamy flan for dessert.
By now Jo was too full and too heady with wine and happiness to
protest when Brenda ordered after-dinner liqueurs and Danny’s
persistent fingers found their way to her wet thong.

Bad, bad girl.

She laughed at herself. At how much fun she
was having. Then she opened her legs a little wider.

By now it was quite dark, both outside and in
their little corner of the restaurant. Jo didn’t care if Brenda, or
anyone else, could see what Danny was doing with his hand. She was
on fire. If it hadn’t been for the tango she’d promised herself,
she would have steered Danny right back to his room ASAP.

But I’m drunk. I can’t dance. I don’t think I
can even walk.

Brenda paid the bill while Jo stumbled to her
feet, and, with a little help from her friends managed to get
herself outside and into the cool night of the lamp-lit street. She
took some deep breaths to clear her head.

There. That’s better. Fresh air. Movement.
Sure, I can still dance. Maybe.

Held up on each side, Jo was steered in the
general direction of the music she could hear growing louder with
each step. It felt good to be held onto like this. Danny was strong
and protective, but so was Brenda. Jo felt tears in her eyes as she
thought of how much her friend must care for her.

Maybe Bren loves me more than anyone. I’m
sorry I can’t love her back like she wants me to.

Once they got to the busy venue, Danny parked
his two charges at a table and went off to talk to someone he
seemed to know. The musicians appeared to be taking a break. Jo
looked at her friend, tears still brimming in her eyes, and said,
“Thank you, Bren. Thank you.” She reached over and grasped Brenda’s
hand.

“You’re welcome. Of course,” Brenda said,
more slowly than she usually spoke. “But what exactly are you
thanking me for?”

“Just for being you, I guess.” Jo gave a
lopsided shrug. “And for looking after me,” she added, wiping at
her eyes with the hem of her shawl.

“Of course I’m looking after you, baby. Don’t
cry about it. It’s what I do. You and your fucking
men
,” she
added in a not-so-subtle whisper.

“I know. I know. My fucking
men.
It’s
what
I
do.” She tipped sideways into Brenda and hugged her,
hard. “Thank you for caring so much.”

Danny suddenly reappeared and the musicians
started up again. He sat down and looked at Jo carefully, as if
judging whether or not she was sound. She met his gaze squarely and
smiled.

“Have you told her?” he asked Jo gently.

“I have not.” Jo smiled at him sweetly.

“Told me what?” Brenda demanded with mock
sternness.

“I think Jo has a surprise for you.”

“What kind of surprise?”

“You’ll see,” Jo answered, staring at Danny’s
dark eyes. “You’ll tell me when it’s a go?”

“I will. Now what do you ladies want to
drink?”

Half a glass of
Rioja
later and when
the music was right. Danny stood up, offered Jo his hand, and led
her onto the dance floor.

“Just relax,” he whispered into her ear. “And
follow
me, this time.”

She stifled a giggle, took a deep breath and
did what she was told.

One, two. One, two
.
Oh yes—it’s so
much easier with music.

Back and forth, twirl. Back and forth, twirl.
Dip and up.

I’m doing it! I’m dancing the tango. In
Spain. With a Spaniard.

The music lifted her heart and her feet
followed. All was well and good in Jo’s little world once
again.

She couldn’t read Brenda’s face as she danced
past, but when the music ended and Danny took her back to the table
her friend was applauding wildly. Brenda jumped up and embraced
first Danny, then Jo, exclaiming at how beautifully they moved
together.

“You told me the tango was the only dance you
couldn’t learn,” she said to Jo, who was flushed and breathing
heavily from her exertion.

“That’s because I hadn’t found the right
teacher,” Jo said, embracing Danny and planting a big kiss on his
mouth. “On top of everything else you’ve done for me, Bren—you’ve
given me tango lessons!”

She laughed, holding onto Danny’s hard
arm.

“You did a good job, Danny. Our girl looks
smashing out there with you.”

“She was a troublesome student, at first. But
eventually we got her straightened out,” he said, hugging Jo
closely. “Once she focused, she was a natural.”

“I think this calls for some of the fizzy
stuff,” Brenda said, motioning to the waiter. She ordered a bottle
of their best sparkling wine.

Danny and Jo danced for most of the next set,
but Danny was polite enough to insist that Brenda be twirled around
on the dance floor too. She wasn’t much of a dancer, Brenda
insisted, but by now they were all high enough not to care about
anything but having fun.

After the bottle was drained they ordered
another, and by the last tune—which they all danced together—Jo
could hardly tell which foot was her right and which was her left.
And it didn’t matter a bit.

The three of them laughed so hard they had to
hold each other up to keep from collapsing in a heap on the middle
of the crowded dance floor.

And then they stumbled home locked together
in a tight embrace, Jo almost smothered between the two people who
would have her.

Jo didn’t remember staggering through the
dimly lit side streets of Ronda’s old town. She didn’t remember
going up to the suite, and she had no idea at all how she came to
be making love to Danny, on her own bed, with Brenda sitting close
by in an arm chair, watching.

Her mind was almost numb, heavy and stalled
like a truck bogged down in mud, unable to move forward or
backward. All she knew was that Danny’s kisses were hot and sweet,
and her skin tingled where his hands caressed it. He was removing
her blouse, kissing her shoulders and neck. His lips warmed her
skin and she shivered with pleasure. She felt loose and wanton.

By closing her eyes she could forget about
Brenda, sitting quietly not five feet away.

She felt her Spaniard lower his head to kiss
her belly, cup her breasts, rub them until her nipples grew hard
inside their lacy cups. Then she felt him slide his hands under the
flounces of her skirt, and run them over her thighs, front and
back. Then up the inside, all the time crooning Spanish words that
only fired her imagination.

Her thong was wet. She could feel it sticking
to her as his hands undid the zip on her skirt and slid her out of
it. Through half-opened eyelids she watched him peel off his pants
and shorts while she slowly unbuttoned his shirt. Her hands were on
his smooth chest, along his sides, over his back as he shrugged
himself free and rolled on top of her.