The Virgin And The Vagabond

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.

“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.”