Revenge of the Black Virgin (15 page)

They held each other tenderly, touching and
kissing with a restrained passion that stretched over hours. They
undressed each other slowly, respectfully, then climbed under a
blanket. Hands, skin and mouths were their only means of
communication, yet Jo was certain they had never spoken to the
other so honestly, so clearly.

At some point Luc was inside her, she
realized, and she had been coming and coming but she didn’t know
when it had started. Everything was no longer
her
but
them
, and she thought she’d fainted only to regain
consciousness as Luc, looking down at her with his dark eyes as she
rolled and moaned and whispered underneath him on the bed.

Then they slept.

Chapter Fourteen

At midnight they were awake and hungry enough
to get up. Jo wrapped herself in a robe, lit some candles, and laid
the food out on the table. She explained the cheeses, all from
Canadian dairies, and the wild smoked sockeye salmon as she watched
Luc eat. She had no appetite, and he had to coax her to have
anything at all.

“It’s your turn, now. I want hear what you
have to say,” he said somberly as he filled their wine glasses.

The festive part of the evening was over, she
realized.

“Of course,” she began. She took a deep
breath and blurted, “My father died. You know that. But you can’t
know what it did to me.”

“Eat this,” he said, holding out a piece of
cheddar. “Then tell me,” he nudged.

“Tell me,” he repeated, solemnly chewing, his
eyes never leaving her face. He’d pulled his jeans and black
T-shirt back on, and the dark color gave him a sinister air in the
candlelight. There was no music now. Just the sounds of the city
below them.

“For a while there I thought I’d lost
everything. My strongest parent, the number one support in life, my
confidante. I was his special girl. Can you see? No one will ever
love me like that again,” she whispered emphatically as she wiped
away her tears with the back of her hand. “Completely unconditional
love.”

He nodded solemnly.

“But I also lost James. He loved me but I had
to send him away. I hurt him and it was terrible.” She paused for a
moment, looking out the window to collect her thoughts.

“And then there was you,” she added
hesitantly as she lowered her gaze to her hands and began to fidget
with a ball of tissue. “I also lost you. And that was the worst of
all.”

When she looked up, Luc was still staring at
her steadily. She continued. “I kept my job, obviously, and I
voluntarily gave up my home to transfer up here. But all of my
emotional security was gone. And when I came to enough to realize
what I’d done to you I was horrified. Excruciating guilt and
horror. I hated myself. My stupidity.”

“Go on.”

“The clearer my thoughts and memories, the
more I suffered. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. What I assumed
was a temporary infatuation, just lust, seemed to grow and grow and
consume me with longing and guilt and remorse and a million other
emotions.”

She paused to blot her tears with the tissue
and take another sip of wine. Seeing as he wasn’t going to
interrupt her, she went on, taking the piece of salmon he’d put on
a cracker for her.

“I dreamed every single day that I would look
up from my desk and see you standing there in front of me. I
fantasized that you would reach me by email, letter, telephone—to
tell me that you loved me and that everything would be all right.
It was silly, I know,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Eat the fish.”

She did, then blotted her mouth with a
napkin, took a deep breath and carried on.

“I didn’t know how to find you, you see.
James went into my bag and took the card you gave me. He destroyed
it. You’re not on any of the social media. Your name just doesn’t
register when I try an Internet search. It’s like you’re
invisible.”

He nodded. “There are reasons for that. I’ll
explain later.”

“I thought I was beginning to lose touch with
reality. After awhile I wondered if I hadn’t imagined you—my
phantom French lover.”

They smiled at each other.

“And then I got Anna’s letter. So, with her
prompting, I wrote to you—to see if I could make happen what wasn’t
happening at your end.

“And I wrote to
Madame
G. too. Mostly
to apologize for running off like that, but also in the hope you’d
pass through Martel again this summer. And that she’d let you know,
maybe, that my intentions were good ones.”

He handed her another bit of cheese, Oka this
time, and she took it.

“But I got no answer.”

“No, you wouldn’t.
Madame
G. died,”
Luc said.

“No!” Jo started in her seat. More tears
sprang to her eyes. “When? How?”

“Shortly after you last saw her. Her
heart.”

“I’m so sorry.” She was, too. The old woman
had been kind to her, and her death was one more loss. She put the
cheese down, unable to eat anything more.

“I’m sorry, too. We quarreled, you see. About
you.” Luc’s face was grave. “And I’m afraid my last words to her
were not kind ones.”

Jo sighed deeply. “This doesn’t get any
easier.”

“No,
mon Cherie.
It doesn’t.” He
reached across the table and took her hand. “Tell me what happened
with my ex-wife.”

“I think you should be telling me,” Jo
countered. “All I know is that one day I find a letter on my desk
with a Cahors postmark. I almost wept with relief, until I saw it
wasn’t from you. How did she know about me? About us, I mean?”

Luc shrugged. “I told her,
naturelment.
I’ve always trusted Anna. I guess I felt she
was the only person in the world I could still trust, and so I told
her everything. She suggested I take a road trip on my bike to try
to get you out of my head. I went to Morocco.”

And Spain!
Jo winced as she remembered
the pain of seeing Luc with that blonde in Ronda. But she didn’t
want to mention she’d been there. Not yet.

“And she just interfered? Wrote to me all on
her own?”

“Yes. While I was away.”

“And when you found out what she’d done?”

“Like I said, I trusted her. She’s usually
right. I just went with the flow. She booked my flight and here I
am.”

“When did you receive my letter?” She had to
know if it was before or after blondie on the bike.

“Not until I got back to the office after my
vacation.”

Jo felt the prickling tension leave her body
and she sank back into her chair.

“So you haven’t had much time to process all
of this.”

He shook his head. “A few days.”

“Did my letter change how you felt about
me?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Maybe?” His expression told her nothing. She
began to feel very tired.

“I can’t let myself trust you yet, Joanna.”
He looked deeply into her eyes. “That’s going to take time.”

“I understand,” she said softly. Reaching
over the table she raised his hand to her lips. “Let’s go back to
bed. We both need to sleep.”

Being in bed with Luc was an experience that
both thrilled and terrified Jo. First of all, she’d never really
imagined what it would be like to be in bed with him and not be
having sex. It felt odd, somehow, to be laying naked beside him,
under the covers, motionless, waiting for sleep.

He might have been sleep-deprived and ready
to pass out, but she’d never felt more alert in her life. As she
sensed him slipping into oblivion, her mind raced through replays
of the previous few hours, anticipating what the next day would
bring, and worrying, worrying, worrying…

What if, after all we’ve just said to each
other, he decides to leave anyway? And if he doesn’t, how long will
he stay? And where do we go from here?

She wished she could just relax and be happy
for what she had—the sexiest man alive, whom she loved more than
she believed possible, sprawled out naked beside her in a beautiful
penthouse overlooking the still waters of English Bay. His regular
breathing should have calmed her, but she couldn’t stop thinking,
thinking, thinking…

Unable to get comfortable, she got up, put on
a flimsy nightgown and sat down in an easy chair beside the bed.
From there she could watch him sleep.

She saw that his ring finger no longer bore
the pale indent of the wedding band he’d cut off for her in France.
The fact he wore it long past his divorce was proof to Jo of his
fidelity to his family. Not only was she in love with him in every
way imaginable, he was a good man, to boot.

As perfect as I’ll ever find.

The sheet had slipped down around his chest
and she noted the fineness of his strong shoulders, sharper now
that he’d lost some weight. The Yin and Yang tattoo on his bicep
seemed to pulse with meaning in the semi-dark. Now she knew its
significance. She didn’t have to ask him, but intuited, somehow,
that what was important to him was the very harmony—sexual and
spiritual—that the two of them shared. A continent and an ocean
couldn’t weaken their bond. The Black Virgin was right.

Once I tasted the thrill of giving myself
over to my lover, completely—to fuse with him, to become a part of
him—I could never settle for anything less. I can’t lose him again.
I can’t.

Despite her fear, she must have dozed off
because she was startled by a strange noise. It took a moment for
her to understand that Luc was grinding his teeth as he slept.

Her heart went out to him as she thought of
all the pain and worry he must have been suffering on her
account.

Of course he’s not going to just drop all of
his insecurities about me. After what I’ve done to him it’s enough
that he’s here. I can’t expect too much from him. I need to just
love him, and give him time to heal.

Just then he awoke. She saw his arm reach out
for her, and when he realized he was alone he sat up and looked
around the room, alarm on his face.

“Ah. There you are. What are you doing over
there?”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t sleep, and I like
watching you,” she said as she got up and climbed in beside him.
“It’s still hard for me to believe you’re here.” She snuggled
against his warm flesh, wanting to make love again. He kissed her,
then began to run his hands over her silky nightgown.

This time they came together like an
explosion. It was over before Jo knew what had happened. One minute
she was exploring the inside of his mouth with her tongue, then the
next thing she knew he was heavy and panting on top of her, his
cock still pulsing inside her. But it was over. The sheet
underneath her was wet, her nightgown was torn, and she was covered
in sweat, her own rhythmic contractions taking their own sweet time
to die away.

He rolled off to spoon her, and she fell
asleep in his arms.

* * * *

Luc didn’t fall back to sleep right away.
Holding Joanna was a miracle, and he felt too much to allow himself
to slide back into forgetfulness. She was everything he’d
remembered, and somehow much more. He didn’t want to ever let her
go.

She said she loved him. Her words and actions
seemed proof, he supposed, but could he trust them? How could he
know? He was afraid of being hurt again.

Then he smiled at himself, for his
foolishness.

Here I am, exactly where I wanted to be. It
doesn’t get any better than this. She said her heart was open to
me. I need to open mine to her.

Otherwise, what’s the point?

He kissed a sleeping Joanna between her
shoulder blades and lay with his nose pressed against her shoulder
until the dawn light.

Sometime later he was woken by the sound of
the shower running. Just as he decided to join her, the sound
stopped and Joanna walked into the bedroom in her red-flowered
robe, her hair wrapped in a towel. He thought he’d never seen such
a beautiful woman as he watched her sit down beside him and lean
over to kiss him lightly on the lips. Her eyes were shining.

“Good morning,” she said simply, running her
fingers along the stubble on his cheek.

Had two words ever conveyed so much love? He
reached over to pull the back of her hand to his lips, kissing it.
“Good morning to you, my ravishing one. What time is it?”

“Almost ten.”

“Really! That’s the most sleep I’ve had in
months,” he said. “And I feel great.” He stretched his body in the
bed, enjoying the sensation. Yes, he was pretty relaxed. “It’s my
turn for a shower, and then I’m going to ravish you some more,” he
said as he threw back the covers and headed for the bathroom.

“Don’t forget to shave, this time!” she
called after him. “I’ve got a serious case of whisker burn.”

As he soaped himself Luc noticed the jacuzzi
tub in the corner of Joanna’s bathroom. It was flanked by tall
windows overlooking a park. He didn’t know how he could have missed
it last night. He could hardly wait to get Joanna into it.

But first, he wanted to eat.

“What’ve you got for food? I’m starving,” Luc
said as he walked damp and barefoot into Jo’s kitchen. She was just
setting up the espresso machine, and he grabbed her around the
waist and hugged her so hard she let out a little squeal.

“Well, what do you want? I’ve got
everything,” she said, opening the fridge.

It was packed. He rifled through, touching
everything he saw. “Milk, cream, lots of cheeses, juice, ham,
shrimp, sausage, olives… how many kinds of yogurt do they make in
Canada anyway? And look at all of these vegetables. Mushrooms—and
let’s see—eggplant, zucchini, peppers. Is this basil?” he asked,
holding up a plastic bag of greens.

“It is.”

“Great! I’ll make us a beautiful frittata.
You have eggs?”

“Of course. I keep them at room temperature,
like you French taught me.” Jo laughed.