CultOfTheBlackVirgin (14 page)

Fantasizing about Luc might be delicious, but she knew better than to indulge in the idea of bringing fantasy to life. Jo quietly began to chant a mantra to herself.

Good hockey fan that she was, she set it to the tune played on the organ between periods in a hockey game—
wrong wrong wrong wrong, wrong wrong wrong wrong.

If I repeat it often enough, maybe it will change my feelings?

It was probably wise to get out of the tub and put on some clothes, she told herself. The sight of her own nakedness aroused her more than she knew was good right now. So she got out, dried off, and covered up.

Because the heat in the room was so oppressive, she threw on the coolest thing she could find, a short cotton nightgown with spaghetti straps, and then pulled the only chair in the room over to the tall double windows to catch any breezes that might come up from the gorge below. Swallows were swooping through the hot, still air. She’d grown used to their cries now, and today a new sound was added to their song. Every half hour a church bell sounded the first few notes of
Ave Maria
.

She sat back in the chair, put her feet up on the sill and opened her book. She’d been carting around a biography of Marie Antoinette since she’d arrived in France, but it proved to be tough going. She could concentrate for only a few sentences before falling back into a Luc reverie, having begun to mumble to herself in the first person.

“But, after all, I’m only a weak woman. My will is weak, how can I resist him? He’s absolutely the man for me. I’ve never wanted a man so much, and I can’t imagine wanting any other—I’ll never be able to look at James the same again. My body wants him. And my body is so much stronger than my will right now. And if he wants me, well, then….”

She was shocked at what she’d just told herself.

NO! Wrong wrong wrong wrong, wrong wrong wrong wrong. Such scrambled, idiotic thoughts.
She knew they were.

“I think I need a miracle,” she said aloud. “I need some outside intervention here. Who can help me? Mother Mary? James?”

She felt a stab of guilt for not calling him.

No. Not James.

Effortlessly, she slid back to thinking about Luc—the way his eyes shone whenever he looked at her, seeming intense and playful in turn. The way he cocked his eyebrow when he flirted with her. She envisioned his utterly charming smile. The delightful little crooked tooth near the front. His full, succulent-looking lips. His soft wavy hair, the way it curled over his beautifully formed ears. And his body—she wasn’t sure if it was better to visualize it in its various parts, or as a whole….

There was a soft knock at the door.

She was annoyed at this second interruption. Getting up and straightening the thin fabric of her nightgown, she wondered if it was obvious she wasn’t wearing underwear on this warmest of days. She was too hot to care, and walked to the door and put her face close to it.

“Hello?” she asked the door, a bit curtly.

“C’est moi,” replied the door, in Luc’s voice.

Her heart leapt into her throat and her body went rigid.

It’s him! OhmyGod it’s him
!

All at once she was acutely aware of being soaked in perspiration. What she did next was not the result of any conscious decision, for she was in shock. She was merely a spectator, watching her body act, and talk, and do what was merely normal and polite in response to a friend’s dropping in for a little visit.

Her hands had somehow opened the door. For a second she could scarcely believe that she was staring at the object of her desire. He was holding a bottle and two glasses of ice. The ice was melting, so she swung the door wider for him to enter, without thinking about what she did, without having said a word.

She thought he seemed a little shy, or wary, as if she might order him away. As if maybe he was afraid he’d misjudged what had passed between them a few hours earlier.

But then his face lit up with that magnificent smile and he said unaffectedly, “I heard you were suffering terribly from the heat. I thought perhaps this was something I could do for you.”

It seemed he’d chosen pragmatism as his approach. His smile flickered a little self-consciously as he held up the bottle so she could see it.

“I’ve brought you a cold drink. The
best
kind of cold drink.”

He put the bottle of
pastis
and the glasses on a table. Then he turned those eyes on her, no longer smiling.

Luc’s presence in her room when he was supposed to be deep inside a cave somewhere confused her.

Still on automatic pilot, she closed and locked the door and turned to face him. He seemed to take this as permission to pour their drinks. She watched him, still struck dumb. The liquid, clear in the bottle, turned opaque and white when it hit the ice. This further confused her.

“Umm…why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be leading a group of spelunkers?” She almost stammered, her heart banging in her ears. Here he was, truly larger than life, in her room. She could scarcely believe it. He looked
so
good. More than good. Jo noticed his dark hair was damp, as if he’d just stepped out of the shower.

“Ah, don’t worry. Armand took over for me this afternoon. He’s the expert, and he can show everyone more than I can. I said I had to visit a friend in Sarlat. Then I borrowed his car and I came here, to see you.”

Her eyes widened.
This visit was premeditated? When did he plan it?

“You mean you planned to come here all along? You
lied
?”

Despite her growing excitement, she now felt fear. Things were happening too fast, going too far. This was much more than she’d ever imagined.

By now she’d moved back into herself, her mind regaining some control. But she struggled to understand what all of this meant, and how she should respond to it. She hadn’t asked him to sit down. There was nowhere but the one chair and the bed, and she couldn’t…

She stood with her back to the door as he recapped the bottle and moved towards her with the drinks.

He let out a sigh and looked directly at her, a serious, searching expression on his face as he handed her the glass.

“Yes, I planned this. This morning. And, yes, I lied,” he said simply, without shame. The look in his eyes was riveting, seeming to read her every expression.

“But I did not lie to you last night. I’m not married. I think you might believe me now. Your French is better than you’ve let on, isn’t it?”

So he did know she’d overheard his conversation at breakfast. She was caught, but said nothing.

“Here. Let me show you how to drink this,” he said, dismissing the gravity of the subject with a slight smile. “Your first drink should be very large. Take as much as you can swallow, and feel the cold as it goes down.” He did just this.

She numbly followed his instructions. It was either that, or throw him out.

And she couldn’t…

“Do you feel the icy cold go down all the way to your stomach? Then it spreads out. It lowers your core temperature. Can you feel it?” He took another drink, and smiled more broadly at her. “Ah. Very nice.”

She doubted very much that an alcoholic beverage, even an icy one, could cool the furnace inside her, but she nodded and drank. The strong licorice-tasting drink practically scalded her throat, hitting her stomach like a bomb.

“Yes, good,” he said, “but wait. Can you feel how the cold changes to warmth? It spreads from your middle outwards to the rest of your body.” He placed a hand on his stomach and slowly moved it in an ever-widening circle to illustrate the warming and relaxing effects of the drink. She couldn’t stop herself from glancing at the glint of his belt buckle, and quickly looked away. “Can you feel it?”

She
could
feel it. She took a second drink, which went down more smoothly. It added to the glow that was already warming her in a most pleasant way, despite the heat in the room. Although she was starting to feel a bit more in control of herself, she was also beginning to sense the danger she found herself in, or more precisely, the danger of Luc finding his way into her room. She knew he hadn’t come here to discuss spelunking or geology. Nor did he intend to extol the virtues of France’s most wicked liquor. Her mind was racing.

“Thank you for thinking of me. I mean…for the drink. But you shouldn’t be here. Uh…I shouldn’t be here with you. I mean, did anyone
see
you?” She kept her voice low, worried about being overheard.

He crossed the room and stood in front of the windows. He turned to the view and, ignoring her question, began to give her a lecture on erosion. “Do you know that this gorge was formed when blah…blah…blah.”

She couldn’t focus enough to understand his words. Her heart was still pounding too loudly in her ears and she was uncomfortably aware of how much she was sweating. All she could do was stare at him, his body, impossibly present here in this small room with her. He was wearing only a plain white t-shirt and walking shorts. No bandana, and his feet were naked inside his leather sandals. Once again the metal glint of his belt buckle drew her attention to his groin. She forced herself to look away, mortified, and took another drink.

“Come here, Joanna, and see the layers of sedimentary rock pushed up by earthquakes.” He was not smiling, but she saw a light dancing in his eyes as he motioned towards her with one hand.

She couldn’t move.

He leaned forward with his elbows on the rail that spanned the width of the window to prevent guests from tumbling one hundred yards straight down, continuing to watch her. Then he threw back the rest of his drink in a single gulp, and an awkward silence filled the room. He broke it by shaking the ice in his glass, looking at her with that eyebrow cocked, a playful expression on his face.

The sound of the ice rattling in his empty glass was a sign, Jo knew. Now something had to happen. They endured a few more moments of perfect silence as they stood looking at each other.

Then, he stood up straight, and in a grave tone, said, “I think you are a very beautiful woman, Joanna, but far too serious.” He smiled then, his face transforming itself with an expression that made her knees feel weak for the second time that day. “I think I’ve made you nervous because I’ve told a lie. I’ve lied so that I can be alone with you for a few hours. Not the actions of an honorable man, I admit.”

At least he got right to the point. She hated bullshit. But the lie was the least of her worries. It was what the lie made possible that really frightened her.

Liking him tremendously for his bluntness, she whispered. “Yes, and now I’m afraid. I’ve been afraid of you from the moment I first set eyes on you. Or maybe I’m just afraid of myself.” She was not smiling, and looked away after this confession.

He arched his brows in slight surprise. “But why should that be? The second we met we were both aware of the strong attraction we have for each other. Don’t be afraid. It is a beautiful thing. In my experience, it is a very rare thing.”

Joanna didn’t speak or look up at him.

“I’ve taken a chance today that I’ve been reading you correctly. From the moment we met. Last night at the dinner table. Today on the pier. We want the same thing, do we not? And although you think this may be wrong of us, it’s only between you and me. No one else needs to know.” He spoke softly, logically.

After a pause, he continued. “What are you thinking? Tell me.”

She’d been staring somberly at the floor but now she looked up at him. It was impossible to think, so what could she say? It was true—he had read her desire correctly, but now she was having second thoughts. This was not the passionate coming together of her naïve fantasies. Apparently she’d played the coquette so successfully that she’d convinced him she was his match in this game of seduction.

But she wasn’t, she knew now.

Only a few moments earlier she’d felt the thrill and empowerment of knowing she belonged to the Cult of the Black Virgin. Where was that confidence now? Here was the man she’d desperately wished for as a lover, in her room, with hours of freedom ahead of him. And she was paralyzed, trembling.

Gulp.

“Yes, you
have
been reading me correctly, but I should confess I’ve been acting out of character with you. I don’t know what I’ve done,” she softly admitted, putting her half-full glass down on a table.

She looked into his eyes and was held by their force as he answered her. “I know that, Joanna. Otherwise I wouldn’t want you so much. You are a beautiful, irresistible woman, but I have met many such women. It’s your heart that has spoken to me. I see your struggle. The struggle between what you want and what you must protect.”

At his words, she began to tremble more violently. Her boundaries were about to be breached. Her world was going down.

“I share it, believe me,” he continued. “I may not have a wife any longer, but there are other people in my life who would be hurt by my wanting you. Do not take my being here lightly.”

She could say nothing as she weighed his words. Could they be true? She so wanted them to be true.

If she did the right thing—if she ordered him away—she knew she would feel regret. A regret for missed opportunities if she chose to turn away from this
beautiful thing
she and Luc felt for each other.