by Serena Janes
Each time they came within a hundred yards of a carpet store, they were practically dragged inside, tempted with cups of steaming mint tea, frosty cans of Coke, or trays of pastries. Luc laughed at the way Hilda flirted with the salesmen, charming them as surely as the snake charmers with their cobras in the square. He didn’t know how she managed to escape each day without having bought a single thing.
They ate sweet pigeon pie, fragrant couscous, spiced roast lamb and pastries so good they rivaled the best France could offer. And cup after cup of mint tea, heavily sweetened and tasting like no tea anywhere else in the world, Luc thought.
Several times he found himself thinking about Joanna as he allowed himself to enjoy the sensory pleasures of the exotic. He didn’t know if she’d been to Morocco, and he wondered if she’d like it. He had to force himself to stop thinking about her body when he watched the belly dancers writhe and wiggle and jangle their chains in front of him every time he walked into a restaurant. Hilda’s lean figure didn’t have the curves and jiggle he craved. Joanna’s did.
Daniel would be expecting some sort of gift, so one evening Luc set off on his own to try to find something the boy would like. He always enjoyed haggling with shopkeepers in the traditional marketplace, and he particularly liked the way that shopping in this country was treated like a social interaction rather than the impersonal exchange of money for goods.
After looking at a dozen shops, he allowed himself to be lured into an Aladdin’s Cave of treasures, where the middle-aged proprietor offered him a seat. Over a pot of tea they talked amiably for half an hour before Luc began negotiating a price for a small brass-handled dagger for his son, and a pair of silver earrings for Anna. Hands were shaken, Luc’s purchases wrapped in brown paper and securely taped, and the deal was done. Luc walked back to the hotel feeling he’d just participated in a win-win transaction.
Each night after dinner, Hilda spent a few hours in an Internet cafe. Her smart phone had been stolen in Algeciras, she explained, and she needed to catch up on her correspondence. Luc had been using this alone time to wander the streets on his own, but on their last evening in Marrakech, he decided he needed to check his own mail. He walked to a cafe with Hilda, sat down at a terminal beside her and logged into his Hotmail account.
With a dry mouth and sweating palms he watched his in-box fill with messages. He became aware of feeling like his heart had lodged in his throat as a quick glance told him that not a single message had anything to do with, or was from, Joanna.
No. Why would there be? Fool!
He saw nothing worth opening except three messages from Daniel. A sliver of guilt made him sit longer than he wanted to as he dutifully composed a travelogue suitable for an eight-year-old. After sending it, he glanced at Hilda. She was typing furiously, oblivious to her surroundings.
“What are you composing there? A thesis?”
Not bothering to look at him, she said matter-of-factly, “It’s a love letter to my husband.”
“Oh.” Something in her voice told him she wasn’t kidding.
Shit! Of course she has a husband! And I didn’t ask earlier, so why would she tell me?
Luc didn’t know what to think. He didn’t really care that his traveling companion was a married woman. It wasn’t like he was planning on seeing her again once their little road trip ended. He just hadn’t expected her to be, well, happily married. She was pretty wild in the sack for someone who was in love with her spouse.
All of a sudden he felt far too hot. The tiny cafe was stifling, its ineffective little ceiling fans did nothing but stir up the thick air. He signed off and said, “I need a shower. I’m going to head back to the hotel. Will you be all right on your own?”
“Always,” she said, flashing him a grin without taking her eyes off the keyboard.
Chapter Nine
Over breakfast in their hotel’s dining room, Brenda broke the news that she wouldn’t be able to accompany Jo and Danny on their trip to Zahara and Grazalema.
“It’s that damned audit, sweetie. I’ve got too much to do and it needs to be done yesterday.”
“Brenda!” Jo exclaimed, sneaking a look at Danny to see how he was taking this development. He was innocently sipping from his cup of coffee. “You’ve come all this way and you’re going to miss the cutest part?”
“Well, someone’s gotta keep the wheels rolling,” Brenda said with a neutral expression. “You two go virgin-hunting on your own, and take a million pictures for me.”
Jo caught the conspiratorial look exchanged over the table. Then it registered.
I’m being set up!
For a moment she felt confused and a little uncomfortable. But then she relaxed.
Is that really so bad?
She flashed Brenda a big smile and said, “Well for the sake of the magazine I’ll do what I have to do, I guess.” Then she slid her gaze to Danny and said, “I suppose we can handle it on our own.”
He looked at her with a light in his eyes so bright it almost eclipsed the sun. A little tingle in her belly told her she felt the same way. She could feel herself growing more feminine, more sensual, as she got up and walked back to her room to get ready for whatever the day would throw at her.
Just as they were about to leave, Brenda ran up to the car waving some papers. “Don’t forget about the virgins,” she panted. “It’s a long shot, according to these sources, but worth a look anyway.”
Jo took the information and Brenda slyly slipped her a small foil package. Condoms.
“We’ve only got three more days,” Brenda said meaningfully with a smirk. “Bye, now. Have fun!”
Jo felt herself flushing as she met Brenda’s eye and slid the condoms into her bag. “Thanks, Bren. See you at dinnertime.” Then she pretended to study the papers as Danny hit the road.
It was about an hour’s drive to Grazalema, and the roads were as bad as Danny had promised. But this time Jo wasn’t bothered by motion-sickness.
She was too excited.
There was something tantalizingly naughty about being alone with a handsome young Spaniard high in the mountains, with nothing but cork oaks as far as she could see. Theoretically, she was on the job, but all she had to do was keep the photographer company and take a few notes. And they had hours and hours to do that. They had all the time in the world.
Time and a packed picnic basket.
Danny said that lunch was going to be his treat today. They were going to dine al fresco in a ruined Moorish castle. Jo thought that sounded wonderful. The weather was perfect and she felt rested and happy after her full night’s sleep.
Grazalema was even more picturesque than Arcos had been, and at about two thousand souls, much smaller. Like the day before, Jo helped Danny set up his equipment for shots of the town’s best buildings. While he worked she had plenty of time to take some pictures of her own. The photographer was the subject of most of them.
Now that they were alone together, Danny had become more attentive to Jo. He held out his arm when the pavement of the town’s ancient narrow streets grew rough, and she found herself hanging onto him more than she needed to. It felt really good to be supported by a man.
And when he took her hand to help her climb steep steps or descend into dank vaults, she held onto it as long as she could.
Throughout the morning he talked about his family and how Spain’s economic collapse affected them. “No one has any extra money for something as trivial as dance lessons,” he explained. “So my father has had to fall back on substitute teaching in schools. He hates it,” Danny added with a grin. “All those little bastardos without any brains or manners.”
A wave of loss washed over Jo when she thought about her own father. She remembered the stories of how he had to take odd jobs to feed his young family while he was in graduate school. Her eyes misted with tears. Through hard work and a strong sense of responsibility to his wife and two little girls, he had made a success of his business career. Jo was grateful for the pri
vileged lifestyle he’d given her.
And now he’s gone. Just like that. Life is so short.
She looked around the dim interior of the Parish Church of the Incarnation. No black virgins anywhere, but she wasn’t concerned. Right now Danny was far more interesting to her than any old paintings or statues. She watched him bending over his camera, and fought off a crazy desire to put her hands on his body. He would feel warm and firm and very strong.
Not here. This isn’t the time or place. Just wait. Be patient.
When he was finished with his shots of the altar, he turned to Jo and said. “What about you? Tell me about your family. Where do your parents live?”
To Jo’s horror, her eyes filled with tears. She thought she was finished thinking about her father.
“Uh, well, my mother lives in Seattle, in our family home. But my father’s just died,” she blurted and scrabbled in her bag for a tissue.
“I’m so sorry,” Danny said as he stepped closer and looked at her face. “When?”
“Just over a month ago. I guess I’m not used to the idea yet.” She felt herself leaning towards the magnetic masculine body beside her. She couldn’t help it.
He slid a warm brown arm over the back of her shoulders and pulled her towards him in a gesture that was somewhere between a hug and a sensual caress.
Her entire body leaped to attention. A man’s touch was almost foreign to her now. And very, very fine.
“Thank you,” she said as she blotted her eyes. “That’s one of the reasons Brenda brought me here. To get on with things, you know?”
“I understand,” he said softly. “But I can’t say I’m sorry about that.” He gave her a little smile and squeezed her shoulder. “If you father hadn’t died I wouldn’t have met you.”
He’s oh, so smooth. And oh, so sweet.
She leaned in just a little more, thinking how easy it would be to turn her face up to his for a kiss. Instead she smiled and broke away. “Are we done with this place? I could use some lunch.”
The little Hilltown of Zahara was the smallest of the White Villages, rising majestically above a pretty blue lake. But Danny didn’t intend to stop for sightseeing quite yet. As soon as he parked the car he hauled the picnic basket and a blanket from the back and grabbed Jo by the hand.
“Come on! You have to work for your lunch,” he teased, pulling her towards a steep stone path.
Jo could see the ruins at the top of the hill and groaned. “You can’t be serious! You want me to climb all the way up there on an empty stomach? In this heat?”
It was past one o’clock now, and the sun was scorching. Luckily she had planned for it and worn a light cotton sundress, but she could feel the sweat beginning to flow as a laughing Danny helped her climb.
The views from the summit were worth the work. Breathing hard, she took off her hat and looked at the vista all around her. She wiped her wet forehead with the cotton scarf on her hat. For a moment she thought of Luc’s red bandana, the one he always wore while hiking, claiming it had so many practical uses that everyone should carry one. But as soon as the memory popped into her head she looked at Danny and forcefully pushed it away.
That was then, and this is now. Seize the moment.
Danny, too was breathing hard, and Jo could see the damp patches under his arms. His T-shirt was snug, but not too snug. His lightweight pants were loose only through the leg, tighter at his narrow waist and across his dancer’s butt.
Perfect. He’s perfect for what I need right now.
He saw her looking at his body and smiled. “Did you say you were hungry?”
“Famished,” she said, smiling at being caught, and helped him spread the blanket in a patch of shade beside the crumbling stone of the old castle wall.
He’d taken some care in packing their lunch. First he pulled out a bottle of white wine wrapped in a waterproof bag of melted ice water.
“I think this is still cool,” he said as he began to remove the cork. “It’s a Catalonian wine, a Gran Vin~a Sol. I hope you like it.”
She couldn’t stop smiling at his earnestness as he filled two plastic glasses and handed her one. “What shall we drink to?” He raised his glass for a toast.
“Black virgins,” she answered. “They’re the other reason I’m here.”
“To black virgins, then. Salut.”
The wine was sharp and exquisitely cool. Delicious. Then he pulled out a crusty loaf and small paper bags spotted with oil. Jo unwrapped a parcel containing paper-thin slices of cured ham. She found three types of cheese in another.
“I wanted you to try some local goat’s-milk cheese, so I bought two types of Zuheros,” he said. “And as a special treat, for our special day,” he said as he flashed her a wide smile, “I bought a small piece of smoked Gomera, made in the Canary Islands.”
An image of Luc distracted her for a moment. She remembered how delicious he looked that time in St. Sozy when he acted as a waiter and served everyone at the dining table from a big platter of local cheeses. She’d been too full to eat any more but she found she just couldn’t resist him…
Then she looked at her handsome Spanish suitor.
“I am quite sure you haven’t eaten cheese from the Canary Islands, before, have you?” He was prying open a tub of marinated olives and little red peppers, unfurling paper napkins and spreading the feast out before them on the blanket. He, too, looked good enough to eat.
He’ll be sweet and succulent, too. Like Luc, but a different flavor.
“No, I haven’t. Wow, this looks so good! Thank you,” she said, watching him tear off a chunk of bread. He handed it to her and she dipped it into the oily olives and bit into it greedily.
“My pleasure,” he said. “But wait. I want to take a picture.” He sprang to his feet.
Jo looked up at him in confusion. He hadn’t lugged his big camera up this far. But then she saw him pull a slim little digital out of his pocket and begin to compose a shot.
“For me,” he explained. Snap. Snap. “Just a little souvenir.”
They ate, they drank, they talked. And, most importantly, they laughed. By the time the wine was gone Jo had forgotten all about loss.
He was sitting very close to her, his graceful body almost touching hers as they shared their meal. Then, when they were finished with the food, the real touching began. The grazing of the back of a hand here, the brushing away of a fly there. Moving a lock of hair. Straightening a collar. It was all contrived and playful, and made Jo feel younger than her years. She knew he was working up the nerve to kiss her.
Despite the heat, she shivered as he ran his warm fingers along the inside of her forearm.
Then slowly, almost casually, he raised his hand and wiped a spot on her cheek with his thumb. “A bit of oil,” he said softly. She watched with big eyes as he slowly put the thumb into his mouth and licked it clean.
The sight of his pink tongue rasping against his brown thumb was her undoing. She thought about the packet of condoms in her purse, reached out and grabbed his hand. Then she pulled it towards her and put his warm, wet thumb into her own mouth.
Their eyes locked, and she heard his sharp intake of breath as she bit down lightly. His thumb was warm and tasted of salty flesh.
Instantly his arms were around her and they tipped over onto the blanket.
Just as their mouths met the sound of voices brought them up short. Jo jerked up to a sitting position as a group of walkers panted their way to the summit of the hill, at least one of them grinning as he passed near their picnic site.
She and Danny exchanged surprised looks and broke into laughter.
“That was close,” Jo said, brushing a curl back from Danny’s forehead. “Maybe we should rethink this.”
Danny groaned in frustration.
She watched the group, German tourists, she saw now, begin to spread out and take photographs of each other against the ruins of the fortress. They didn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave.
; Danny ran his fingers down the side of Jo’s face and said, “So it is. But we have all night, don’t we? And tomorrow, too?”
Jo leaned into his face and kissed his lips demurely. “Yes we do. But until the time’s right, I know what else we can do.”
“Tell me, la belleza. I am at your service.”
“Teach me to tango.”
Danny laughed and kissed her again. “Tango? Why the tango?”
“Because I like the tango. I think it’s very sexy. And because I’m such a klutz, I’ve never been able to do it properly.”
She didn’t want to say that she’d learned to dance from her father, but the tango wasn’t in their repertoire.
“And I want to surprise Brenda tonight. Okay?”
“Sure. Okay,” he said as he jumped up, pulling her to her feet. “But we don’t have any music.”
“We’ll count, or something. Show me where to start.”
Danny grasped Jo’s hands and began to place her body in the right position. “Like this. With the abrazo, the embrace.”
“See? It’s sexy already,” Jo said, laughing. She fell out of his formal embrace and pressed the length of her body into his.
He kissed her, deeply this time, and her body began to thrum with anticipation. She broke away first.
“Back to work,” she ordered.
“Okay. Now, concentrate.” And he began his lesson.
He explained the difference between traditional tango, which originated in Argentina, and contemporary versions. “In the original dance, the embrace is usually quite loose, like this,” he said as he held Jo at a distance from his body. “But people like you prefer to make it more fun by doing this.” He pulled her towards him until their bodies were pressed tightly together again. She could feel his erection and she rotated her hips suggestively over his.
“Umm,” she agreed.
“We won’t get very far if you don’t behave.”