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"A lot of men supposedly do-not the exam, but the finger thing during sex."

"Emma, it's not an area of my anatomy that I wish to explore in a sexual way. The reasons why don't matter. That part of my body is off limits, permanently."

She shrugged and peeled off the gloves, careful to turn them inside out as she did so. She was a little hurt that he wasn't willing to give it a try. It seemed that she was the one who had been taking the bigger risk, and it would have been nice if he'd met her halfway. "Okay. I thought you wanted new things, is all. You said you wanted me to be creative."

"Come here," he said, opening his arms.

She crawled back into place beside him, lying on her side against his torso, her arm over his chest. "I only wanted to please you," she said, playing with his nipple, tugging lightly at the hairs around it. She found it a little easier to talk if she didn't look at his face. "If this didn't please you, then tell me what would."

Russ put his arm around Emma's shoulders; she was obviously upset. There was nothing more embarrassing for him than a detailed analysis of his sexual behaviors and preferences, yet that was what she was asking for.

"You don't need to be quite so, er, theater-oriented about the sex," he managed. "I don't need costumes and a script, or choreographed dance sequences." He felt her flinch, and grimaced at his social clumsiness. But how else was he supposed to say it? "The costumes have been fun," he said, trying to soften the criticism. "You've looked wonderful in them, and I especially like the, er, garter belt bit."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. It's very nice. But beyond a bit of sexy lingerie, my tastes are pretty tame. Vanilla. White bread. Even bland."

"What about all that creativity you asked for?"

The creativity that he'd meant to describe his di

"So, what do you want? Do you want the missionary position each time?"

What I want is to have sex with you-Emma Mayson. Not a harem girl or Betty Crocker with a bowl of pudding. But it wasn't part of their arrangement that he ask for access to her i

"I'm open to other positions. Let's just stay away from the accessories and the scripts and, er, the advanced sexual techniques. We don't have to work our way through The Joy of Sex."

He felt her sigh, her breath warm on his skin. "I didn't really want to put my finger in there," she said softly.

Relief went through him. He'd been afraid she must think him a conservative old prude. "Then why'd you do it?"

"Because I let the book tell me what to do."

"Emma, I'm not going to enjoy something if you don't she didn't let it. Caution and common sense and flat practicality were the laws of her life, and the terror of making an error was the guiding principle behind it all.

What a relief it would be to mess up and not care; to shrug her shoulders, say "Whoops!" and move on.

The need to make no wrong step kept her from taking any steps at all.

Emma chewed her lip. She did want to see Russ skate; she wanted to catch a glimpse of him in his normal life, at ease among friends. "We can go-"

Daphne shrieked. "Yes! Shall I drive? Do you want to drive?"

"We can go," Emma repeated, trying to scowl, but a smile tugging at her lips, "but we're not going to let him know we're there."

"What fun is that?" Daphne asked.

"Yeah, that's no good," Beth said.

"Hey, it's enough that I agreed to go! And it'll be fun; think of it as playing spy."

Daphne grumbled. "Fine. We'll be sneaky. He'll never know we were there."

"He better not. I don't want him to think I'm a psycho stalker."

"Don't worry," Daphne said, but there was something in her grin that Emma didn't trust.

She glanced at Beth. She wore the exact same grin.

Oh God.