The Virgin And The Vagabond. Elizabeth Bevarly

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      “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.

      “It’s an ad for...for...” She, too, turned her attention to the magazine, then swallowed hard when she realized what she had selected by chance. She tried to make her certainty convincing as she said, “An ad for...um...ThighMaster. And I...uh...I really need one of those.”

      His expression was impassive. “Really? You’d never know it to look at you. And if you’ll recall, I have looked at you. Thoroughly.” As she fought off another blush, he bent forward and extended his hand toward the hem of her dress. As he did so, he added playfully, “But I suppose, if you insist, it wouldn’t hurt to have another look.”

      Viciously she smacked at his hand just before it made contact. “Mr. Nash,” she began again.

      “James,” he interjected, jerking his hand out of the way.

      She ignored the distinction and instead continued. “I don’t know why you keep bothering me, but I assure you I—”

      “I’ll be more than happy to explain it to you,” he interrupted her. “Over dinner. In my suite. Tonight. How about it?”

      She emitted a brief, quiet sound of disbelief. “I don’t think so,” she stated emphatically. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment.”

      “That’s okay. I’ll wait.” This time he reached for the magazine. “I can read all about my nationally desirable status.”

      Instead of handing over the magazine that still dangled from her fingers, Kirby snapped it shut and spun on her heel toward the stacks where she’d found it. As she went, she threw a comment over her shoulder. “I’d advise against it.”

      James followed close behind, his step perfectly aligned to hers. “Against reading about myself? Or against waiting for you?”

      “Both.”

      “Why?”

      “Because you’re not all that interesting, and I’m not at all interested. That’s why.”

      “You might want to at least listen to my offer.”

      She glanced over at him hesitantly, felt that odd heat starting to unwind in her midsection again and quickly looked away. “Oh, I think you made it abundantly clear this afternoon what you were offering. And as I told you then—whatever it is you’re selling, I don’t want any.”

      “Who says I’m selling it?”

      Before she tossed the magazine back down onto its shelf, Kirby held it up for his inspection. “It’s all right here in black and white, illustrated in living color.”

      “That doesn’t say I’m selling it,” he argued. “On the contrary, that article only goes to describe what a very giving person I am.”

      She nodded. “Yeah, that’s the problem. You give it to everything in a skirt.”

      “Not necessarily,” he countered. “Sometimes they’re wearing pants. Or swimsuits. Or wet suits. Or ski gear. Or lingerie. Or nothing at all.”

      Kirby wished he wouldn’t go into such detail. She really didn’t want to know. Mainly because it hurt to realize that the only reason he had any interest in her was because of her gender. He’d leap on anything that had produced estrogen at some point in its life.

      “You don’t have to spell it out for me,” she muttered. “I know what kind of man you are. I know you’ve been with a lot of other women.”

      He smiled at her phrasing. “Other women?” he asked softly. “Why, Kirby, you almost sound like you’re jealous.”

      She rolled her eyes and squelched the realization that for some bizarre reason, she was precisely that. “Oh, please. If there’s one thing I’m not, it’s jealous of anyone who might come into contact with you.”

      “Your lips say ‘no,’ but your eyes...”

      He let the old adage drift off, his smile becoming so smug now that Kirby wanted to smack it right off his face. With no small effort, she prevented herself from tearing the magazine to shreds right before his eyes—it was, after all, library property—and instead slammed it back down onto its resting place.

      “Go away,” she said as clearly as she could. “Leave me alone. I never want to see you again.”

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