Revenge of the Black Virgin (2 page)

My father is dead. I’ll never see him
again. And then I left Luc, the man I love, without so much as a
goodbye note. I’ll never see
him
again, either.

Her body began to shake and a terrible nausea
welled inside her, making her want to retch. She ran into the
bathroom and spewed up some bile. Dry heaves bent her double with
pain—there was nothing in her stomach.

Then—finally—she could cry.

She soon discovered why there were such big
gaps in her short-term memory—she’d been purposely sedated. It was
after she’d managed to eat a bit of yogurt for breakfast, when
James tried to get her to swallow another little yellow pill, that
she realized what was happening. She thought he’d been feeding her
Gravol tablets as they made their way back from France. But Gravol
wasn’t yellow, she realized now.

Once she understood what he’d been doing, she
stumbled to her feet so quickly that her chair fell over behind
her. “You’ve been
drugging
me?” Her voice rose alarmingly as
she grabbed the edge of the table and leaned over him, eyes wide.
“You’ve been keeping me
drugged
so I’d be complacent and
follow you home like a good little girl?”

James recoiled slightly.

Jo knew he was shocked at her outburst. She
never raised her voice, and now she’d done it twice in two
days.

He looked at her steadily, keeping his own
voice calm. “It was for the best, sweetheart. I’m protecting you. I
know how much you loved your father. I didn’t want you to suffer,
and I had to get you home in time for the funeral.”

Jo awkwardly pushed away from the table,
spilling her tea, and began to pace in the small dining room, chin
thrust out. “Bull
shit
it was for the best! You misled me. It
was wrong, James. Can’t you see that I know that?”

“It was expedient,” he retorted with steely
precision. He sat very still, watching her carefully. “You had to
get home as soon as possible and I made that happen. I think I
deserve a thank you, at least. And maybe an apology.”

Breathing heavily, head pounding with pain,
she stopped and looked at him. The intelligent, attractive,
successful businessman who crossed an ocean to find her and bring
her home in time for her father’s funeral. Who still wanted to
marry her—despite how badly she’d behaved.

Maybe he’s right—maybe I’m losing it. Can’t I
tell the difference between right and wrong anymore?

For a spilt second she did feel gratitude for
everything James had done. She opened her mouth to say so but then
immediately remembered the deal-breaker.

He’s also the man who took me away from
Luc!

She turned on her heel and ran into the
bathroom, slamming the door, too confused to continue. Besides, she
knew she’d never win an argument with James. She grabbed a
hairbrush and started to run it through her tangled hair.

“Bastard!” she hissed under her breath. But
then she felt guilt.

Maybe that’s not fair. But what else can I
call a man who’s deliberately denied me my own feelings? And
prevented me from making my own decisions?

And that, she knew now, had always been the
crux of the problem with James. His need for control.

She had to let him go.

Breaking up with James wasn’t going to be
easy. He’d barely left Jo’s side since he followed her up to her
room at the
gîte
in Martel, packed her bag, and rushed her
into a hired car to the airport and then onto a plane to Seattle.
He considered her his prized possession, she knew, and he never
willingly let go of anything. She’d have to be strong.

And, at the moment, she was a mess.

First of all, there was the shock of losing
her father—the person she loved and admired more than anyone. Even
more than James, it turned out.

So suddenly, too. She couldn’t help thinking
that while she was celebrating a physical and spiritual union with
Luc, a strange man in a foreign country, her father’s heart had
just stopped beating. And to make things worse, Jo felt that it was
somehow her fault. If she hadn’t thrown her sanity out the window
to join the Cult of the Black Virgin, maybe she wouldn’t have been
punished like this.

She knew it was ridiculous to think this way,
but then her brain hadn’t been working properly since she took up
with Luc.

It wasn’t until she was halfway over the
Atlantic that it even registered the terrible thing she was doing.
She’d made a serious commitment to her French lover, only to
disappear four hours later without a word. She couldn’t imagine how
Luc would feel.
If only I’d left him a note,
she’d told
herself a hundred times.
If, if if…
But it was far too late
for that sort of thinking.

Her brain still scrambled by grief, drugs and
jet lag, she decided her only chance of regaining Luc’s trust was
to contact him as soon as possible. Then she might have a chance of
explaining what had happened. And, if she was very, very lucky, he
might forgive her.

But that call would have to wait, she told
herself as she rifled through her bathroom for some Tylenol. There
were too many other things to deal with. Foremost was something too
awful to contemplate.

Her father’s funeral.

Jo put on a black suit, applied a thick layer
of makeup and pulled her hair back in a severe twist. She didn’t
say a word to James, handsome and somber in a dark suit, and
remained silent as he drove to the chapel. As soon as she arrived
she fell into her mother and sister’s arms, then suffered through
the service. Afterwards she uncomfortably accepted the condolences
of several hundred mourners. Now that the sedatives had worn off,
she was bombarded by violent emotions and could barely keep her
face from collapsing.

Afterwards, she moved like a zombie through
the obligatory dinner reception at the Clifford house. It was
agony. She detested public shows of emotion.

James was concerned that she had eaten almost
nothing for two days. He filled a plate with food donated by
friends and family, saying, “Come on now, sweetheart. You’ve got to
eat. You look ill.”

The sight of food sickened her, but she knew
he was right. “Okay, I’ll try.” She looked down at the mounded
plate and wanted to cry again. It looked inedible. Processed
food-like substances held together by starch, corn syrup, gelatin
and hydrogenated vegetable oils. For a moment she longed to be back
in France. Where the food was real. Where Luc lived and breathed
and made his own wine and
cassoulet.

She managed a little jellied fruit salad but
when she recognized a lump of her cousin’s signature casserole, her
throat closed.

“I can’t eat this stuff,” she hissed at James
under her breath. “It’s Adele’s
condensed-soup-canned-water-chestnut-and-frozen-green-bean-
casserole. It’s
disgusting!”

James gave her a funny look as he watched her
carry her plate into the kitchen and ask her mother for more
Tylenol.

Her mother was in even worse shape than she
was. Sharon Clifford looked like she hadn’t eaten or slept for a
week. Jo and her elder sister, Julie, did what they could to
comfort their distraught mother. But it was obvious to Jo that her
parent needed James’ support more than her daughters’. Jo’s father
had always made the major household decisions in the family, and
now his wife would be left alone and confused.

To give him credit, James had always been
good with Sharon. The only time he left Sharon’s side all day was
when he was catering to Jo’s needs.

Jo watched him coaxing her mother to eat.

Surely this is the man I should marry
.
Too bad for all of us. It’s not going to happen.

Then, as the day wore on, she began to
realize something. Through controlling Sharon and her estate, James
was effectively controlling Jo. As she watched James offer Sharon
his arm, she felt a wave of fury wash over her.

My mother might need James to take control of
her life, but I sure don’t!

She was filled with a stronger resolve to
break away from James as soon as she could.

Tonight…if I can, if I can, if I can,
she chanted to herself on the way home as she let her still-aching
head roll back and forth on the headrest of James’ Mercedes
SUV.

It was past midnight when Jo and James got
back to her condo, and she was too exhausted to protest when he
started getting ready for bed. She felt a sinking sensation in her
chest as she looked at the suitcase he’d brought from his
apartment. There was enough stuff in there to last a long time. He
hadn’t gone in to his office, nor had he gone to the gym, since
arriving back from France. It appeared he was planning to stay with
her twenty-four-seven for as long as it took.

What’s he planning to do? Win me back? I have
to tell him he’s wasting his time.

She took a deep breath and expelled it
slowly. It did nothing for her. She still felt as weak as a kitten
as she automatically washed her face and brushed her teeth.

Tomorrow. I’ll do it tomorrow. When I’m
feeling stronger.

She was relieved that he was still giving her
space, at least, when they climbed into bed together. There was
nothing sexual in the way he held her and kissed her goodnight. She
even felt a bit comforted by his warm concern and soon fell into a
deep sleep.

Luc’s body was so big and hot and hard. She
sighed in pure pleasure, moving her hands over his broad back, his
shoulders and down along his arms, lifting up his sleeve to trace
round his tattoo with one finger in the dark. He groaned when she
snaked a hand around to touch his flat belly, pulling at his
T-shirt to get to bare skin. She kissed his hair, the base of his
neck, and reached her hand lower, under his shorts, excited by the
size of his erect cock. Her fingers grazed it lightly and he moaned
again.

Quickly he turned around and embraced her,
his mouth on hers, his hot tongue probing hers. She closed her eyes
and moaned too, and whispered some words that made no sense. Then
he was on top of her, pushing her legs apart, pushing himself
inside her with his cock and his tongue—pushing, pushing, then
pulling, hot and wet. And she opened her mouth, her legs, her heart
and she breathed him in, but…

What?

It was the way he smelled. It wasn’t right.
And the way he tasted. He felt different, too. And he was saying
something in a voice she didn’t recognize. She stiffened and his
movements slowed. Hesitantly, she opened her eyes.

James!

It wasn’t a dream. Or, what had started as a
dream about making love to Luc turned into a reality she did not
want
.

James pulled back from her and in the
semi-dark she could see a puzzled look on his face.

“What is it, sweetheart? Are you all
right?”

“Uh, yeah,” she lied. “Just a little
cramp.”

James kissed her deeply and resumed his
smooth thrusting but she couldn’t respond. It was all she could do
to not push him off—but she knew he was past the point of stopping
now. Almost right away he shuddered and was still, and only then
could she get out from under him.

“I’m sorry, darling, that I couldn’t wait for
you. I was too far gone. It’s been so long. Come here,” he said
panting, and reached a hand to her as she sat up on the edge of the
bed. “Let me make it up to you.”

She evaded his touch and headed towards the
bathroom. “No, no, don’t worry about it. I’ve still got this cramp
in my back. I think a hot shower might help. You should go back to
sleep.”

Under the scalding water Jo wept silent
tears. She scrubbed away all traces of James as if her skin was
tainted, crying for the lover whose skin she might never again be
able to touch.

She
had
to call Luc. As soon as
possible.

Chapter Three

The morning after the funeral, Jo woke up
with her head feeling clearer than it had in weeks. She turned over
in bed and looked at James, still asleep. His meticulously barbered
hair only slightly mussed, a light shadow of beard on his lean
face. He’d been sleeping next to her for two nights now, and until
her mistake last night he’d been respectfully hands-off, letting
her grieve. She was sorry for what she’d done, and in an instant
she knew that it was the last time they would make love. It wasn’t
him she was making love to. They were completely over. And the
first step to getting him out of her life was to get him out of her
bed.

But gently. Carefully. She didn’t want to
hurt him. He still had the diamond engagement ring she’d refused to
accept last month when they were in Paris. He still loved her,
despite everything, and she expected another proposal was in the
works.

I have to do it today
, she realized
grimly.
Putting it off any longer is cruel.

She grew afraid as she looked at her handsome
lover—her
former
lover, she corrected herself. She sighed
deeply, dreading what she had to do next.

James had proven to be a lot more difficult
to handle than she’d first thought, back when she was busy falling
in love with him. He was a very complicated man.

But she had no choice. Joining the Cult of
the Black Virgin had changed her. Now she knew the power of the
primal forces deep inside her, dark forces long suppressed by the
culture that created her.

Since the moment she’d met Luc, her body
forced her awareness of her basest desires—to give herself
completely to her lover. Not James—the lover chosen by her
intellect, the lover who would make a good match. The lover
approved by friends and family. But instead the lover chosen by her
body. A foreigner. A man she hardly knew.

Luc.

And now Jo believed, as the Virgin insisted,
that she could belong only to this man. The man who was desired by
every atom in her body.