The Virgin
“I don’t care,” she said. “What you do doesn’t matter to me.”
“I want it to,” he said.
“Why?”
“I want you to like me,” he admitted. “Do you?”
“Not yet. Why do you want me to like you?”
“Because you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
She stopped and turned to face him.
“That’s a stupid reason to want someone to like you.” She shook her head and walked off again.
Kingsley stared after her a few seconds before catching up with her.
“I know,” he admitted. “But I’m male and feeling eighteen today for some reason.”
“Did that eighteen-year-old girl infect you with her immaturity?”
“I have only myself to blame for this.”
“You’re honest. I can appreciate that at least,” she said, taking long purposeful strides. A woman who didn’t mince or waste time. He liked that about her.
“You like honesty? I can tell you more horrible things about myself if you like. I have a list.”
“I think I have enough to work with here already.” Juliette reached a point where the path forked and she took the fork to the right.
“I’ve made a bad first impression.”
“I’ve seen worse.”
“Can you tell me what I can do to make a better impression?” he asked. “Gifts? Quests? Orders? I can take orders.”
“Priestly orders?”
He glared at her.
“Not those kinds of orders. Order me to do something for you, and I’ll do it to prove my worth.”
Juliette faced him again. She gave a heavy sigh as if he’d found her very last nerve and had stomped on it.
“Take your clothes off,” she said.
“Here?” They were standing on a path near a village and two hundred tourists on a beach.
“Here.”
“If I’m arrested for public indecency, will you get me out of jail?”
“No.”
“You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“If you were serious about me, you’d be naked already.”
Was he serious about her? She was unbearably beautiful, yes. And she’d stoned an obnoxious spoiled white American child. And she seemingly loathed him, which made her all the more intriguing. And if she walked away from him now he’d be wondering about her for the rest of her life.
Kingsley pulled his shirt over his head, kicked his shoes off and dropped his beach-battered khakis to the ground.
To be as naked as humanly possible, he also pushed his sunglasses up to his head so she could see his uncovered eyes.
Juliette didn’t look him up and down. She stared straight into his eyes and ignored every other part of his body, including his semi-erect penis.
“Are you lost?” she asked.
“Completely.”
“I can’t help you find yourself. I can’t help you with anything.”
“I don’t want your help,” he said. “I only want your body.”
Juliette apparently liked that answer. She put her canvas tote bag on the ground. Kingsley glanced down and saw it was full of nothing but rocks. Why would a woman carry a bag of rocks with her?
He would have asked but before he could say a word, she’d stepped forward, put a hand in his hair at the nape of his neck and kissed him.
He kissed her back, greedy for anything and everything he could get from this exquisite mysterious woman. He didn’t ask questions, didn’t ask why she kissed him. He let her kiss him and he kissed her back because there was nothing in the world he’d rather be doing at the moment.
Her lips left his and she took a step back. Kingsley slowly opened his eyes.
“‘Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth; for his love is better than wine...’” Juliette said softly, almost under her breath, but Kingsley heard.
“Song of Solomon,” Kingsley said. Juliette looked at him.
“Put your clothes back on,” she said, and he obeyed quickly before anyone noticed the naked man standing on the beach. “You know the Bible?”
“A little,” he said. “I went to Catholic school. I know the Song of Solomon when I hear it. It was my favorite.”
“Mine, too,” she said, her voice far away as if it had got caught in a wind. “‘I am black but lovely, O daughters of Jerusalem.’”
“‘Like the tents of Kedar, like the curtains of Solomon,’” Kingsley continued the verse. “I like the verse, but it needs improvement.”
“You think you can improve on the Bible?”
“I can. It says ‘I am black but lovely.’ The woman I see is ‘black and lovely.’”
“You’re trying to seduce me.”
“Is it working?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I’m glad I could improve upon my dismal first impression.”
“Come back to this place tomorrow at nine. I’ll give you a chance to make a better impression.”
“Why? Did you see something you liked when I took my clothes off?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Desperation,” she said.
“You like desperation?”
Juliette didn’t smile when she answered. She merely picked up her bag of rocks and turned on her heel.
“I like that we have something in common.”