Elizabeth Bevarly - The Virgin And The Vagabond

Then she reminded herself what kind of man he was. He didn’t claim a single character trait she insisted upon finding in a mate. He was a ne’er-do-well with no marketable skills, no job, no formal education, no roots and no desire to settle down. Okay, he was rich, so he didn’t really have any need of those particular traits, she conceded. Fine. He still wasn’t the kind of man she needed or wanted.

“I...um, I have other plans,” she stammered. “I have to be somewhere. Right...right now, as a matter of fact.”

Still, he was unfazed by her assertion. He cupped her jaw resolutely in his warm, rough hand and skimmed his thumb lightly over her cheekbone, starting a fire deep inside her that she feared would rage on forever.

“Like I said,” he told her softly, “I’ll wait.”

When he lifted his other hand, skimmed her hair aside and curved his fingers easily around her nape, her heart beat even more fiercely. “Oh...” she breathed softly, her eyes fluttering closed as the flames leapt higher and hotter inside her.

The thumb stroking her cheek continued its erotic rhythm as the fingers on her nape began to urge her forward, closer to James. For one delicious, delirious moment, she let herself be swayed, allowed herself to be overrun by his touch, his voice, his scent, his power.

Then, when she realized how easily she was succumbing to him, she forced her eyes open, leaned away and continued. “I mean, uh...I..I might be a while.”

He smiled that sexy smile again, and his gray eyes grew dark with something that touched her way deep down inside her soul. “That’s okay,” he said softly. The thumb caressing her cheek shifted down to skim lightly over her lower lip, and a tiny explosion of delight sprayed against her belly. “I don’t mind waiting for you,” he added. “You’re worth waiting for.”

Oh, wow, Kirby thought.

This was definitely a new experience for her. No man had ever spoken to her in such a blatantly suggestive way before. But here was James, an absolutely gorgeous specimen of manhood, who was actually interested in her, who was actually coming on to her, who was actually trying to...to...oh, God, who was actually trying to seduce her.

Not him, she told herself. Anyone but him. He was the last man on earth she should go up against. Over and over she told herself these things, until finally, finally, the warnings registered in her flustered brain. And when she realized she stood so little chance against him, when she understood that as long as he was within a football field’s length of her, she wouldn’t be able to resist him, then she knew all she could do was try to escape.

“No!” she cried suddenly, doubling her fists against his chest to shove herself backward, stumbling away from him when she finally did. Involuntarily her hand flew to her mouth, the backs of her fingers rubbing lightly over the lips he had touched so tenderly. Though whether she was trying to wipe away the sensation of his caress or preserve it forever, she honestly didn’t know.

Too late, she remembered that she and James were standing in a library. A really quiet library. A really quiet library with marble walls and floor, something she realized belatedly created a virtual soundstage for echoes. The moment the word No! left Kirby’s mouth, it ricocheted right back at her, punctuated by the stunned expressions of a dozen people nearby, and Mrs. Winslow’s fiercely uttered librarian’s “Shush!”

When Kirby saw that the majority of the people staring at them were members of the festival committee on their way upstairs for the meeting, she dropped her head helplessly into her hands. Then, without another word, without a backward glance, without a single thought for how monumentally embarrassed—and how utterly turned on—she still was, she spun around and fled.

As James watched Kirby’s flight, something he couldn’t ever recall feeling before unfolded deep in his belly. Regret. Honest-to-goodness regret that he would be denied the pleasure of her company for even a short period of time. He’d never felt that way about anyone in his entire life. Not about his family—such as it was—nor his friends—such as they were—nor his companions—ditto—nor even his lovers—major ditto. Yet a simple blond woman who was nearly a complete stranger had made him feel exactly that. Regretful. Bereft. Alone.

Amazing.

Then again, he recalled, Kirby wasn’t exactly a complete stranger. Not quite. Not anymore. Begley had discovered all kinds of things about her on his fishing expedition that afternoon, things that made James feel as if he knew her pretty well.

He shook his head in wonder as she disappeared through a pair of doors on the other side of the room, ahead of a group of people, all of whom—except Kirby—were glancing surreptitiously back over their shoulders at him. Only when they were completely out of sight did James allow himself to relax, to remember how soft and warm and compelling Kirby had been during their brief encounter, and to ponder again the wealth of information his valet had uncovered during a stroll through town a few hours earlier.

Begley had waxed poetic in particularly rhapsodic terms about an establishment dubbed the Dew Drop Inn, especially with regard to a certain proprietress named Jewel, of generous stature and even more generous proportions. In fact, Begley had gone on for so long about Jewel’s many charms that James had begun to wonder if his valet had ever even gotten around to completing the errand on which he’d been sent. Namely, digging up as much dirt as he could on a local citizen named Kirby Connaught.

Fortunately, Begley being the trusted and reliable servant that he was, he had performed his duties admirably. Eventually. And Jewel, it appeared, had been the one to provide him with all the sordid details.

According to the local barkeep, Kirby Connaught was a very good girl, a local scion of all things morally decent and profoundly innocent. She never had a harsh word to say about anyone—except, evidently, James. Nor was she capable of even the slightest misbehavior—except, apparently, theft of expensive champagne.

She was an orphan of modest means who still lived in the pink stucco house where she’d grown up, but also a daring entrepreneur who was trying—with questionable success—to launch her own decorating business. She was a regular churchgoer, a passionate art lover, an avid gardener, a reliable volunteer. A former cheerleader. A former calendar girl. A former senior class secretary, candy-striper, Girl Scout and National Merit Scholarship Semifinalist.

And, word had it, she was also a virgin. And not a former virgin, either. A current one.

That last part had really thrown James for a loop. Surely it wasn’t true. Surely the gossip was completely wrong. Surely there was no way the men in this town were stupid enough to have overlooked such a tempting, delectable, ripe, succulent, luscious, mouth-watering...

He inhaled a ragged breath and released it slowly. Such a supreme example of Venus in all her glory. Yet somehow, James knew that the gossip was indeed true. Kirby’s responses had been too quick, too obvious, too sensitive, too artless to have come from anyone other than a virgin.

How could such a thing have happened?

Of course, there was always the possibility that Kirby herself was responsible for her untouched status, he thought further. Maybe she simply gave any man who approached her the brush-off. After all, hadn’t she just done that very thing with him? She could be frigid, completely uninterested in sex. Or even a manhater, for that matter.

Immediately, though, he knew that wasn’t true. He could tell by the way she had responded to his touch only a few moments ago that she was in no way frigid. There was, without question, a wantonness in her that ran deep and strong. Kirby had a healthy sexual hunger—there was no question about that. What James couldn’t figure out was why she tried so hard not to feed it.