19/06/10  21:02 GMT

Okay, Carlotta, call this past week consolidation. Sexual chemistry was acknowledged on both sides, but our girl almost ran scared as a result, so it’s been necessary to calm things down. Even if it’s meant my taking part in a few ‘young-Christian’ dating activities.

Prime example, the bowling evening. This allowed for some hands-on instruction on the pretext of improving her technique, but she bowled too good a game to warrant much of that without my blowing my cover. I suspect she allowed me to help because it legitimised some up-close-and-personal. Her victory dance and taunting smile any time she got a strike made me want to throw her down in the bowling lane and nail her ass in front of all the other bowlers, while giving her tits a hearty groping so that they could all see. I can’t decide how calculating this Christian role model is in her sexiness. Could any girl be such a prick-tease inadvertently?

Role-model she certainly is to the teens at her church. A number of them spotted us at the alley and the girls in the group began waving over, giggling and no doubt debating the identity of youth leader Neely’s companion. “Wasn’t he at church one evening? Is that her new boyfriend? Where did she find him?” She was quietly mortified, that much was clear. “Don’t come over,” she was incanting to herself, “don’t come over.”

I’m her guilty secret, you see. The charming unbeliever with whom she should have no truck. No doubt there are plenty at her church who would mark me out as a lure of Satan come to tempt her, to insinuate my way snake-like around the foundations of her morality and squeeze till all collapses in ruins. Thing is, they’d be bang on the money.

Neely is dancing a tango with her own urges. We have outdoorsy-type dates, like our day trip into the Welsh countryside, or those surrounded by numerous chaperones, example: the Laser-Quest adventure with some of her grown-up church associates. “Can we make like we’re just friends?” she pleaded, prior to the meet, and I generously acceded to her request, knowing that at the very least I’d have my tongue down her throat before the evening was out.

What self-consciously trendy Christians her church friends are, with their well-thumbed music magazines and their fingers so firmly on the pulse of popular culture. Yet so wary of the politely skeptical journalist from outside their circle and comfort zone. And how ferociously competitive they all were in the laser-maze, skidding around corners and firing off shots with the energy only a bunch of sex-starved twenty-somethings could muster.

That is, I should qualify, with the possible exception of her co-worker at the church, in attendance that evening with his hot teenage girlfriend. Neely’s sweetly oblivious to the possibility of any sexual impropriety on his part, but nothing will convince me that he’s not banging his mocha beauty on a regular basis. There were too many covert glances between them when they thought no one else was watching. I wonder how my date would react if she discovered that to be the case.

In short, Mr Christian Youth is probably getting more than I am right now. There’s irony for you. Do you know, what with work and the tight Neely-focus, I haven’t shot a load into a female receptacle in over a month? That trounces my previous post-high school record. My solace is that the virtuous Miss Jordan has a birthday in three days’ time. I have high hopes that she’ll ease the restraint she’s been exhibiting. Since the occasion of my pouncing and her brief reciprocation, she’s been keeping our alone-time to a minimum and wrenching her poor conflicted self away from Bristol anytime she’s tempted to misbehave. Popping home to help a convalescent father, she’d have me believe, but it’s clear she’s running shy of temptation.

Her birthday will include dinner at my place, however, and I think I can work some magic. If not, I’ll have to rethink the whole damn strategy.

—Ray. 

19/06/10  18:58 PST

God, Ray, a month??? You must be jacking yourself into a frenzy. Either that or you have the most advanced case of blue balls known to man. I repeat my advice—go bust your nut inside some little fuck-friend. I admire the almost religious self-denial with which you’re setting about your quest, but hell, Ray, if you don’t ease some of that frustration, you’re going to torpedo your chances instead of this girl’s virginity by making some clumsy dumb-ass move on her. Drained balls equal renewed focus, right? More so if it’s the end product of a good hard fuck. You’re in danger of losing momentum—you’ve got to make this birthday supper count and for that you’ll need all your wits about you.

Does the attached photo help or hinder? I took the shot for my married guy when I was out of town. My ass looks particularly hard and sculpted right now, don’t you think? I mean couldn’t you just bounce quarters off those buns? Thank you half a year’s circuit-training. He says he likes it framed in black lace, hence the stockings and suspenders. I smoothed it over in baby oil as well, right down to my tight butt-hole. I hope you appreciate the effect. He certainly seemed to, judging by how hard he boned me from behind the next time we met. I dressed up my sweet tush the same as in the pic, right down to the oily sheen, and my friend’s repressed husband threw a more vigorous fuck into me than I’d ever thought him capable of doing. Now he claims he wants to take my ass the same way. He’ll get the chance, but I’m gonna make him wait for it. Gonna make him beg.

If you screw your Neely-girl, you won’t have any begging to do—my ass will be all yours. You blow it, nada. Show your mettle in this, Raymond. Make her beg. I want to be party to another saint’s deflowering, the last one was so sweet.

Oh God, did I even tell you about Mindy Crenshaw? My roommate from New Horizons Church Camp, Summer of 2001? Cutesy Hallelujah-girl from Monterey. Heart full with the Holy Spirit, head totally empty. Cried with heavenly joy, hands raised to the sky, during every damn worship session. Get the picture? As though that summer wasn’t hellish enough, I shared it with her. I was eighteen (eighteen!) blackmailed into attending one more Jesus-camp by my parents. They discovered I’d been doing coke, courtesy of a friend’s parent, and it was that or rehab. Lesser of the two evils, though only by a sliver, what with Mindy eager to be my new bosom buddy.

So I turned it into an entertainment, in order to keep my sanity. It soon became apparent that one of the camp counsellors had the hots for Mindy. Great hulking guy called Trent, looked like he could punch out an oak tree. I could tell from the way he checked her out that this guy was good for a whole lot more than leading prayer breakfasts. So I lured him into the trees one night, slid to my knees, took his impressive cock in my eager mouth and sucked him dry. God, he stormed down my throat in a torrent, he’d been storing it up for days. (No masturbation at Christian Camp.) Well, I had him in my thrall from that point on. Told him I’d help land him the divine Mindy and gave him occasional sexual favors along the way to keep him on board with the plot. Not a huge chore.

Turned out Mindy had quite the teen crush on big Trent and soon they were indulging in steamy make-out sessions every chance they got. But of course, she wouldn’t easily let pop the cherry she was saving up for Jesus. So I buddied up to her, slipped a little something into her hot chocolate one evening to loosen up her tongue and drew out every scrap of personal info I could—dumb stuff about dreams she’d had and the freaking history of her family’s pets. Then I fed it all back to Trent so he could use it to advantage. He proved more able than I’d expected—fed her bullshit about a divine vision he’d had of them together, throwing in stuff I’d passed on, stuff about her he’d no way of knowing that she could understand. I’d scripted all his lines like fucking Cyrano de Bergerac and the dimwit fell for it. She was amazed, she was in a fucking religious ecstasy. Figured if God wanted her to be with this guy, then it wouldn’t be such a big sin to let him do the nasty with her.

I got to spy on it all as part of my deal with Trent. I hid in the camp counsellors’ bathroom and peered through a crack in the door as he helped her out of her panties, while all the other counsellors ran a canoeing event down on the lake. Quite a sight, once he’d introduced her to his Sword of the Spirit and got properly warmed up. Sweet doll-like Mind getting the bejesus fucked out of her by a giant stud who’d gone undercover as a disciple of Christ. I’ve watched my fair share of porn, but none of it gets me off like the memory of Mindy bent like a pretzel, Trent’s great shaft sawing in and out of that tight sweet Christian cunt. He looked like he was thanking me and Satan as he shot his load inside her. But that was nothing to the look on Mindy’s face when she went to use the bathroom post-coitus and found me masturbating on the edge of the bath.

“God,” I said to her, “he fucks like a steam train, doesn’t he? Don’t know about you, Mindy, but I couldn’t walk the whole next day!” That shut her up the rest of her time at camp, which was about half a day. Then she went crying home to Mom and Dad.

You know, Ray, it all confirmed what I’d known forever—strip away the sweater and the fish buttons from any angel of the Lord, and all you’ve got is one more naked slut wishing she was moaning on the end of a hard dick. Remember that, when Neely seems hard work. She may have a few more smarts than the divinely dense Mindy Crenshaw, but you’re the man to outsmart, seduce and ruin her. I expect and demand it. Your birthday gift to her doesn’t need purchasing online. You’ve already got it in your pants, so go deliver.

—Carlotta.

~~~~

Neely Jordan strolled leisurely to her café shift on the morning of her twenty-fifth birthday. It was shaping up as the first truly hot day of summer, the kind of day when life seemed all sweetness and God as beneficent as she hoped. The text on her phone—HAPPY BIRTHDAY NEELY J, LET ME MAKE IT SPECIAL. PARTY AT MINE, 8PM—perfected her mood. She was doing the work she loved at Alton Bridge, topping up her pay among friends at the heart of Bristol’s café-society. And cooking for her at his place that evening would be her new boyfriend.

Today she wasn’t frightened of the word. Her attachment to a non-believer was all okay. She wasn’t ‘unequally yoked’ as Pastor Simmons would have put it, had he known. Ray confirmed her in her faith, respected her values. His departure from his wayward past was due to her. As for her squeezable new friend’s immortal soul, she liked to think God’s grace further-reaching and more innovative than certain of her fellow Christians would have it. She was sure Raymond Archer was closer to Christ than he would have been, had he never met her.

Neely basked in a warmth only partially due to the sun which glinted through the foliage on Stapleton Road. She turned up Elbow’s One Day Like This on her iPod and concluded that such a glorious day as this one would indeed see her right. Only there would be many such days in her twenty-sixth year, surely. Jesus was still the rock on which she founded her life, but Ray …well …he served to enhance the view.

Jasmine and Leo had opened up by the time she got to Lemongrass. The shop already smelt of sun-dried tomatoes and roast coffee.

“Birthday girl!” A stereo greeting from her friends. Then from Leo: “Glad you decided to drag your lazy bum out of bed and get yourself down here. You might have notched up another year, it doesn’t mean we’re going to do all the bloody work!”

Neely grinned all over her face and thanked God for life’s good stuff.

Leo was grinning back at her, eyes glinting. Neely flung her arms around his tall skinny body, as he seized her in a birthday embrace. He crushed her to him and hauled her off her feet so that she was able to kick her heels. “See how she loves squishing those boobs up against me?” he said to Jasmine, before setting Neely down. “I’m the only guy she’ll do that to, new boyfriend included.”

“Does she give you a semi?” Jasmine grinned.

“God, I think she has done.” Leo checked his lower regions. “And that could be a first, girlfriend!”

“Leo, you perv, shut up!” Neely swatted him and went to put on her uniform. Boob-compressing hugs with Leo were risk-free, it was true. She’d scarcely dare hug a straight guy that way, for fear of producing that kind of urgent stirrings beneath his trousers. 

“You hear that, Jaz?” Leo called out. “She’s the only born-again Christian thinks I’m a perv for hitting on a girl.”

“That’s so uncalled-for.” Neely struggled into her burgundy canvas slacks and apron. She could hear Jasmine giggling uncontrollably. “Let it go.”

“I’m Neely’s token gay friend,” Leo went on. “She hangs out with me so when someone tells her Christians are homophobic, she can say ‘Check out the camp guy, he’s with me!’” 

Neely stuck her head around the door and scowled at him. “You don’t really think that, do you?”

His smile was as broad as before. “God, Neely, you are so easy.” He wrapped her up in a second massive squeeze. “I’m screwing with you, babe.”

“Okay, okay, you love me. I feel it! All right, put me down and leave me be, you’re not allowed to screw with me today. I’m playing the birthday card.”

“Speaking of birthday cards …” Jasmine was delving into a plastic bag behind the counter, as Leo set Neely to the floor.

“Not forgetting the present.” Leo joined her in fetching items from the bag.

“Yes, you’ve got to check this out before we let any customers in,” Jasmine urged with an eagerness that signalled danger. Tying up her apron Neely approached, on full Jasmine-alert.

Leo reeled off a quick ‘Happy Birthday’ in a wonky operatic tenor, before handing over the card. It displayed the de rigeur hunk-in-a-thong, under which Jasmine had added the message: ‘Ray on a casual night? Or don’t you know yet?’

Neely did her customary eye-roll. “Thanks, guys, it’s a lovely card. Very tasteful. And in answer to the question, mind your own.”

“Which means she doesn’t know yet,” Jasmine said with a smirk.

“Okay, open the gift, open the gift.” Leo pressed a long scarlet box ribboned in silver into her hands. Neely’s friends smiled conspiratorially as she prised off the wrappings. The duo clearly anticipated an entertaining reaction.

The nature of Neely’s present was not immediately clear to her from the box—some sort of electronic device, hair-curlers perhaps?—so she opened it and continued inside, the seal already slit for her. She picked the object from its foam-rubber packing and set the box aside. Holding her gift by its white base, she observed how it swelled to bulbous proportions at its other end like a fat zucchini. There was a smaller nodule parallel to the main one, reaching out to create a pincer effect. The main section of the device was bright purple with a spongy texture, reminding Neely somehow of children’s TV favourite Barney the Dinosaur. The nature of the object, however, was not lost on her—she had seen too many episodes of Sex and the City to be baffled by that—and she burst into shocked laughter, clapping a hand to her mouth.

Jasmine and Leo were exulting in the response; despite her best efforts, Neely had clearly given them all they’d hoped for. The item did not pretend to resemble an erect penis in any aspect, but its clear practical function—the knowledge of where it was meant to be fitted— was enough to make her blush deep. “Check her out.” Jasmine was giggling. “She’s gone the same colour as her hair. Say hello to your new best friend, Neely.”

“Jaz!” Neely could not help but goggle at the article. “I can’t believe you got me a … Jaz, you’re wicked!”

“Hey, don’t blame it all on me,” her friend protested.

“We clubbed together.” Leo hugged Jasmine gleefully at their success in shocking the recipient.

“But … But wasn’t this expensive?” Neely waved the gaudy vibrator before them before realizing what she was doing and stuffing it back into its box.

“A little,” Jasmine admitted, “but it’ll be totally worth it, trust me. Try this and you might decide to stay a virgin the next twenty-five years.”

“That’s right,” Leo added. “You might want to wash it though. This dirty bitch has already given it a test run.”

“I’ve got my own!” Jasmine thumped him on the arm, sending Neely into a further bout of scandalised laughter.

“Although I got it all charged up for you. It’s ready to rock and roll.”

“So if you want to pop into the bathroom and give it a trial, we’ll cover the customers.”

“She might be a while, Leo, that beauty has a whole lot of functions.”

“The instructions are in the box, Neely, but if you’ve any problems I’m sure Jaz can fetch hers and you two can …”

“Enough!” Neely was clutching a pained stomach, eyes blurring with merriment. “Guys, you don’t actually think I’m going to use this.”

“Of course we do,” Jasmine exclaimed in mock-offence. “You think we bought it to mess with you? We figured if you’re definitely not going to use all Ray’s functions for moral reasons, then the least we could do was provide something to ease your frustration.”

“It’s perfect,” Leo said in a reasonable tone. “You don’t actually shag a real person, so you can have endless guilt-free orgasmic fun.”

“And you won’t believe what it does to you,” Jasmine said, plucking it back from the box so she could do some modest show-and-tell. “I mean the sensation constantly changes. It stimulates all of you, Neely, I mean all of you. Starts off at the head here, then travels down and around to this bit, so it buzzes right on you-know-where.” She tugged the smaller nodule to prize it away from the vibrator’s main swell. “And if you’re having problems slipping it in, look … It’s made of silicone, so you draw this bit away, insert nice and easy, then fit the little guy back so it does its job. And the vibrations kind of travel in a circular motion, so …”

“Okay, okay, I get the idea.” Neely was overwhelmed by the demonstration, by the whole damn conversation. “You can put it back. Guys … I … I don’t know what to say.” She truly did not.

“Don’t say anything until you’ve used it,” Jasmine said. “You are going to use it, right?”

“I … I’ll … I’ll think about it.” Neely didn’t want to disappoint such cheerfully well-meaning friends. She wasn’t sure how to explain that she wasn’t even meant to be thinking about sex. That she could hardly use sex toys without dwelling on all the things she wasn’t supposed to be doing. Doing with Ray, to be specific. Whatever is true, noble, right, pure and lovely, think on these things, as the Bible phrased it. “Guys, it’s … it’s lovely. Really. Got an amazing aesthetic. I’ll display it in the living room.”

“Pass it off as an objet d’art,” Leo agreed. “If your parents or anyone from the church calls.”

“You know that’s such a good idea,” Neely said. “Gosh, I ought to kill you two.”

“But thou shalt not,” Leo responded. Cue further laughter. 

The festive atmosphere continued throughout Neely’s shift. Jasmine and Leo insisted on telling the regulars it was her special day, which led to general cheeriness and the buying of her favourite banana and blackberry smoothies by customers, with added vitamin shots. They cranked up the stereo and she danced to classic Motown while preparing sandwiches. By one o’clock when she hung up her apron, her early-morning high had been enhanced.

“Off to do your proper job?” Leo inquired as she emerged in jeans and tee-shirt.

“I’ve arranged for the rest of the day off.” She beamed. “An afternoon and evening of birthday indulgence.”

“What, going straight home to play with your new toy?” He nodded to the plastic bag she was clutching.

“Leo, I expect better from you. You’re as bad as Jasmine.”

“We’re only looking out for you, sweetheart. We want our girl to be happy.”

“I am happy,” she insisted, and she kissed his cheek prior to departure. “My present was a very sweet thought. Thank you.”

It was melting through the bag due to sheer wickedness, she was convinced, as she made her way up Bristol’s steep high street. She sensed the weight of her contraband all the more keenly when she checked her phone and heard a voicemail from co-worker Jonas.

“Happy birthday, Neelers! Don’t mean to rain all over your day, but JS wants us to kick off the sex ethics workshops a week from Sunday. Before all the teens finish school for summer, I’m guessing, and have all that extra time in which to misbehave. But look, don’t sweat it. We’ve most of the material thrashed out, so it only needs a bit of finessing, right? You have a great day. Enjoy yourself, don’t do anything I wouldn’t. Bye.”

Like carry around a state-of-the-art sex toy of a weekday afternoon? Neely almost burst out laughing as she entered the bookstore.

The gift token she had received as part of her parents’ birthday package was stowed in her back pocket. How better to spend the afternoon of her special day than immersing herself in a new read over a café lunch? She browsed until she lit on Markus Zusak’s The Book Thief—there’d been a good review in The Independent—and soon she was ensconced in the shop’s café area with a cappuccino and a tuna-salad sandwich, leafing through the opening chapters. The Death character who narrated the story, as darkness closed in on 1930s Germany, was more benign than the figure conjured up by Pastor Simmons in some of his more imaginative sermons. Her mind wandered to the question of how so conservative a man as Jack Simmons had found himself leading a young, modern congregation like Alton Bridge.

Neely was further diverted from her new novel by the customer sitting at the table next to her. She was not immediately sure that it was him—two years had passed, after all, since her one brief conversation with the guy. His hair was longer than she recalled, and his formerly clean-shaven face showed a good day’s worth of growth. But that rather swarthy quality to his skin and his dark eyes made him striking enough to remember. He caught and held her glance, making failure to acknowledge his presence more awkward than ignoring him.

She tensed before she said it. This guy’s name was synonymous around the church with both sin and hypocrisy. “It’s Danny, right?”

He was sitting with a coffee and a Stieg Larsson novel. There was a slight hesitancy in his response. “Yeah, that’s me. And you’re … Keeley?”

“Neely.”

“Neely. Yes, I remember. Alton Bridge. I met you before a service one evening. Right before I moved on.”

She remembered their brief encounter quite clearly. Jack Simmons had introduced them. She’d heard wonderful things from him about Youth Pastor Woodward, yet the few seconds she’d actually spent in Danny’s company had underwhelmed. He’d been polite and good-looking, certainly, but there’d been a distracted quality about him, a sense of someone ill-at-ease in his surroundings. She’d put it down to an off-day on his part, but subsequent revelations had shone a different light on his behaviour. The conversation between them now was quick-fire, two people trying to outrun embarrassment.

“That’s right,” she said. “I wasn't even officially employed by the church back then, I was kind of sussing it out prior to interview. I remember hearing you speak. Before you left.” Immediately she regretted the reference. He’d been discovered rutting in the preparation room that same night. Having delivered a sermon on the Parable of the Wise and Foolish Virgins, if she recalled correctly. “So … what are you doing now?” 

“Square Deal,” he said cryptically, then delved into the pocket of his creased leather jacket and flipped out a card. “It’s a charity promoting fair trade with developing nations. We’ve done stuff as well on cancelling Third World debt and we were linked to the Make Poverty History campaign. They employ me full time.” 

“Well that’s good,” Neely said and realised the unspoken follow-up was for someone who’s been kicked out of a church job having screwed a stranger on the premises.

Thankfully Danny Woodward appeared not to have picked up on the nuance. “We try to recruit a lot of teens from local schools, youth centres and churches to do summer work,” he said, “plus we’ve had trips out to Kenya and Sudan this past couple of years. Great events … had a really powerful effect on the youngsters who went out there. So if you know anyone who might be interested at Alton Bridge …” He proffered the card to Neely and she took it, slipping it into a back pocket after a cursory glance. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll keep it in mind.” There was a persuasiveness to his pitch, and Neely wondered if he still used those skills to seduce unassuming young women. The wolf in sheep’s clothing.

“Sorry, I’m assuming you’re still working there,” Danny said.

“Yes, I am. It’s going well. We’ve got a whole bunch of new initiatives going for the kids. Community stuff, you know, kind of leading on from what you started, I suppose. They’re a good group.”

“I know. Many new, or the same crowd as when I left?” 

“Some new, a lot you’d remember. Some real livewires coming up from the juniors.” She stared at Danny, who was all interest now at mention of his former charges. Had the guy seated before her not been caught out, she would have been working under him. Heavens. Who knew what he might have hoped her to do under him? “And Pastor Simmons is still there, working hard as ever.” She wasn’t sure why she had thrown that in. Maybe as a kind of taunt.

“Good old Jack. Keeping everyone on the straight and narrow.” Danny swilled coffee in his mouth like he was trying to wash away the taste of a bitter memory. “Keeping them straight and narrow.” He said it almost to himself, smiling ruefully at his own joke. 

His tone made Neely flinch. She turned defensive on the pastor’s behalf. “He’s a good man. A committed Christian, with the young people’s welfare at heart.”

“Well you’ve got to work with him now, so I’m glad you see it that way.” 

“I do see it that way.” Neely’s defences built themselves more sturdily. “He cares about those kids.”

“I don’t deny it, but he cares much more about how they affect his church’s reputation.” 

“That’s not true! Look, just because you …” Neely knew from his face that she had betrayed her knowledge of ‘the incident’. “… Had a falling-out with him ...” she continued lamely before the sentence fizzled out.  

“Ah. So everyone knows now.” His voice was flat, resigned. “I figured as much.”

“I didn’t say that. I don’t know what people … what they ...” Dear Lord, Neely thought as she floundered, why do I ever get to thinking I’m clever? 

“So much for keeping it quiet.” Danny sipped again from his cup. “Don’t tell me, Neely, I’m an object lesson from the front of the church every Sunday. ‘How to torpedo your testimony.’” 

“Well, you know, you do get the occasional mention.” 

“Oh, I’ll bet I do.”

“Not by name, you understand. But he doesn’t want people to fall into the same … situation, so ...” 

“So he revives the memory of the fallen preacher, rakes up all his sins. I’m sure he makes quite a tragedy out of it.” 

“That’s not exactly—”

“Ensures I’m persona non grata around people I used to consider friends. Such a forgiving man.” 

“Well, what do you expect?” Neely was shocked by how heatedly the words had come out, loud enough to attract several other customers’ attention. Danny stared at her and she wilted under his scrutiny. But then she remembered the disenchantment some of the older congregants had suffered, the disappointment of the church’s youth. Due to their youth pastor’s hollow platitudes; words full of Christian integrity, and yet he couldn’t keep it in his trousers. Not even long enough to get free of the building. That’s how much store he had put by his faith. She lowered her voice but did not back down. “Well I mean after what happened, after what he saw, can you blame him?”

Danny contemplated Neely gravely and it made her quail again. “Do you know what happened?” She tried not to imagine it. “I mean, were you there?” She attempted to speak but found nothing to say. “Neely …” He pulled his chair up to her table. “You struck me as a smart girl the first time we met. Still do. So why you’d condemn me out of hand without understanding the situation is a mystery.”

“I didn’t condemn you.”

“Neely, it’s all over your face.” She knew it had been and she reddened. “Yet you know nothing about me. Not the first thing. All rumour, all hearsay. What happened at the church that day, what was going on in my life at the time. The sort of … of turmoil I was in before and after. Okay, someone’s told you about the single biggest screw-up of my life. So, what—are you perfect, Neely? Do you never get tempted? Can you assume other people are guilty and not turn it around on yourself?” His eyes bore into her. He could not have known how keenly his words sliced. “I’ve had plenty of condemnation and I don’t need yours. ‘Judge not, lest you be judged.’ Does that not count for something?”  

Neely dropped her gaze, chastened. She sensed a fundamental sincerity in his words, at odds with everything she had ever thought about him. And even if he were insincere, he was still right. Who was she to write off the moral character of, effectively, a complete stranger? “I’m sorry, I had no business saying that,” she muttered, unable to meet his eye.

“Forget it. Look, I was being a bit spiky. You didn’t deserve it. Guess it’s still a sore point with me.”

“I’d …” Neely had a pressing need to abort conversation. “I’d better go. I’ve got stuff needs doing.” She went to gather up her things hastily—too hastily. The plastic bag she seized by the wrong end as she arose and her boxed birthday present spilled to the floor, free of its wrapping.

She made a panicked dive, but Danny got there first and for a moment they held it together, as he checked its contents. His expression suggested a valiant attempt to conceal amusement. Neely’s blush returned, magnified to the power of ten. She fumbled for something that would exonerate, but all she achieved by way of explanation was a feeble “It’s my birthday.”

Danny released his grip on the present. “Well then,” he said with an irreproachably straight face, “here’s wishing you a very happy birthday.”

Neely thought her face might irradiate the entire bookstore. “Thanks,” she said shortly. “Bye.”

She rose and hurried out of the shop, bristling with humiliation and anger. Anger at Danny for happening to be there and anger at herself for acting like an idiot. Her glowing birthday mood had been displaced by a whirl of maddening thoughts: handsome young Pastor Woodward fornicating in a back room at the church, his hurt look across the table, the image no doubt in his mind of her putting her gift to work. And Ray. Lovely Ray, probably buying supplies right now for the birthday celebration he was so intent on providing her. So respectful of her virtue for as long as she chose to retain it. Never pressing her for more than she was willing to give, and all the more sexy for it. All the more irresistible.

Stop it, Neely, stop it now. Get a grip, for heaven’s sake. Enough with the sex!

Oh Lord, like telling herself that was going to help…

TO BE CONTINUED