Elizabeth Bevarly - The Virgin And The Vagabond

The librarian shook her head. “That’s why we have the reading room over there. Of course, there are those who prefer to photocopy the articles they wish to read. Be aware, however, that should you do so, you might potentially be violating copyright law.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to do that,” Kirby assured Mrs. Winslow. “I have a few minutes before the meeting. I’ll just go to the reading room.”

Mrs. Winslow smiled, clearly satisfied that Kirby had made the right moral choice.

Kirby spun around, her attention drawn to the picture of the man staring at her from the magazine cover. The glossy paper James’s smile was as flirtatious as the real life one’s had been, and his eyes in the photo held all the mischief she had seen in them in person. She supposed a man like him could turn the charm on and off like a faucet, adjusting the flow and temperature in accordance to whether or not there were flashing cameras and/ or his adoring public within range.

So caught up had she become in studying the smiling, handsome face on the magazine’s cover, that it came as a tremendous surprise to her when a familiar, masculine voice said out of nowhere, “Then again, why would you want to photocopy the thing when you can have the genuine article?”

Kirby snapped her head up at the question, only to find herself falling into the depths of those pale gray eyes that had so captivated her earlier. James Nash had changed his clothes, too, she noted, and now wore charcoal trousers, a white, open-collared shirt with the sleeves rolled to just below his elbows, and a knit black vest. His jet hair was still bound at his nape, and for some reason, she found herself wondering just how long it was.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, hoping she only imagined the husky, breathless quality her voice seemed to have adopted.

“Following you,” he told her frankly.

The tremor that had begun in her belly when she first saw him began to rattle throughout her entire body at the ease with which he offered his statement. “Why?” she managed to ask.

He shrugged casually, as if his answer should be obvious. Then he took a few idle steps toward her, his gaze never leaving hers. “Because wherever you were going, I wanted to go there with you.”

“Why?” she repeated.

He smiled as he halted a few inches shy of her. “Because I’m very curious to learn more about you.”

“Why?”

His smile grew broader. “What are you? Generation Why?” he mimicked. “I should think the answers to all your questions would be obvious.”

“Well, they’re not.”

This time he was the one to inquire, “Why?”

Because no man has ever been in the slightest bit interested in finding out where I was going, she wanted to shout at him. Because no man has ever been curious to learn more about me, that’s why. Instead of answering him, however, Kirby remained silent.

He sighed with what she could only interpret as disappointment. “Whatever. You know, for some reason, to see you go scuttling up the steps of the local library was in no way surprising.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded, finally finding her voice.

He met her gaze levelly. “Just that after what I’ve learned today, I shouldn’t be surprised that you would indulge in such quiet, safe activities, that’s all.”

Kirby narrowed her eyes at him. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Instead of answering her directly, he said, “You know, most people wouldn’t feel guilty about reading something like Tattle Tales magazine—its circulation is huge. And most people sure wouldn’t feel compelled to hide it under their purse as they carried it up to the check-out desk.”

She gaped at him, fighting off a blush, burning inside that he had been observing her as she read about him. “I did not hide it under my purse.”

He chuckled, a sound that was soft, certain and seductive. “Like hell you didn’t.”

“Mr. Nash—”

“Please, Kirby, I thought we’d gotten past that. Call me James. After all, I have seen you naked.”

Even without turning around to look at her, Kirby knew Mrs. Winslow’s head snapped up at that pronouncement. She knew, because she heard the little gasp of horror that accompanied it. Kirby closed her eyes tight and tried to rein in her mortification.

“Only because you’re a...a...a promiscuous...playboy... Peeping Tom,” she declared through gritted teeth.

She spun around to look at the librarian. “Mrs. Winslow, he didn’t really...! mean, he and I didn’t... What I mean is, I would never... Especially with someone like... You know my reputation in town is...” She halted suddenly when she realized she was making absolutely no sense.

But Mrs. Winslow only raised a steady hand, palm out, and shook her head. “You owe me no explanation,” she said. “Bob has been officially sighted out there in the cosmos, and we can’t be held responsible for our behavior once the comet is within range. Whatever you do in your spare time now, no one can fault you.”

“But I’m not doing anything in my spare time,” Kirby insisted. “Least of all...that. Especially not with someone like...him.”

“Whatever you say, dear.” Unfortunately, the librarian didn’t look at all convinced.

“Honest,” Kirby reiterated. “He was spying on me.”

“Kirby, don’t be embarrassed,” Mrs. Winslow continued. “I myself have even succumbed to the comet’s influence. Last night, I went to the Videoramajama, intending to rent a Jane Austen double feature, and came home with two Keanu Reeves movies instead. And they were actually quite good. He’s a rather remarkable actor, even without a shirt.” She paused a thoughtful moment then added, “Yes, indeed I would venture to say that shirtless, he is without question in his milieu.”

And with that, Mrs. Winslow dropped her gaze back to the assortment of colored index cards littering her desk and continued with her task.

Great, Kirby thought. She supposed she should feel thankful that no one other than Mrs. Winslow had overheard James’s comment. The librarian was one of the few people in town who frowned upon idle gossip. Then again, whatever was going on between her and James felt anything but idle. She lifted a hand to her forehead and rubbed ineffectually at a headache she felt threatening. Then she spun back around to face her accuser.

“Let’s get a couple of things straight right now,” she told him.

He smiled. “Gladly.”

She took a few steps forward, lowering her voice as she drew nearer. “Number one,” she began slowly, “you did not see me naked.”

James rocked back on his heels as his grin turned smug. “Oh, yes I did. And quite a sight it was, too.”

“You didn’t have my permission to look, therefore, it doesn’t count.” Then, before he could protest, she held the copy of Tattle Tales aloft and hurried on. “Number two, I did not pick up this magazine because there was an article about you in it.”

Now his grin turned really smug. “Oh, no?”

“No,” she assured him. She lifted the magazine up for his inspection and pointed to a small box in the upper right hand corner. “See this? There’s an article about Joe Piscopo in here. Now, I don’t know about you, but I’ve always been a big, big fan of Joe Piscopo.”

“Have you now?”

“Oh, yeah. I used to have a cat named Joe.”

“Do tell.”

“And that’s not all,” she continued, riffling through the pages until she came to the back of the journal. She scanned the columns fiercely, then thrust her finger against the first ad she saw. “Just look at this.”

Nash bent forward, squinting to see what she was pointing at. “What?” he finally asked.