"Yes." He doesn't hesitate. "But I'm not the only man they sleep with."

"But there are monogamous relationships here?"

"We prefer exclusive."

"Exclusive," I repeat.

"Yes." He lifts my hand to his lips. "You could inspire a man to make a long-term commitment, Erin."

"I could?"

"Easily."

He guides me out of the gallery, down the hallway, and into a lavish office. I wait for him in the doorway while he searches for something inside a desk. He mumbles and finally brandishes a folder, then slams the drawer shut. "Place should be better organized."

"What's in the file?" I ask.

"Worksheets."

"Are you giving me a test?"

"Someone should have given you this orientation packet before you attended a platinum party. Everything you need to know is here. Create your own experience, or you'll feel like everything is simulated." He offers me the folder. "I'm holding you to that promise, Erin."

I flip through the doc.u.ments while he makes a quick call. The first page says, Be filled with creativity and spontaneity. Challenge your fears. Resist the temptation to remain silent. Who wrote this propaganda?

"Erin?"

I look up.

"Your driver is ready."

We take a couple steps, but then I stop him.

"Change your mind about leaving?"

"No, I just forgot to ask you something."

"Anything."

"Hold up your hands, please."

"Do you have a hand fetish?" he asks but happily complies.

I sigh, thrilled with what I see. If Katie's advice holds true, Jeffrey falls somewhere in the middle-not too big and definitely not too small.

Chapter 12.

Erin Thank G.o.d Katie is sleeping when I get home. I kick off my heels and collapse on the sofa, gazing at the family portrait of Dad, Mom, and me hanging over the fireplace, the one they insist I keep. If they only knew . . . I wouldn't have to worry about marrying Thomas, I'd be disinherited and disowned. What am I going to do? Surrender to the growing need inside, or contain it like a b.u.t.terfly in a jar?

I struggled for breath inside the public room. But Catalina inspired me. I can't separate myself from what I felt, listening to her moans and cries or forget the tiny spasms inside my belly after her hands were secured and Robert made her beg for s.e.x. I close my eyes, experiencing the same excitement again. I'm miserable, not relieved. More h.o.r.n.y. More desperate to indulge my body.

My cell chimes and I reach inside my purse. Foster?

"h.e.l.lo?" I ask.

"You're up late."

"I-I couldn't sleep."

"Why? Thinking about our lunch date?"

"Not exactly . . ." If he only knew I'm l.u.s.ting after a man who looks just like him. It's so strange.

"Let me come over, Erin."

"Now?"

"Yes."

With Katie in the guest room, I'm safe. "As long as you promise to behave like a gentleman."

"Scout's honor."

I laugh, knowing Foster was never a Boy Scout.

"Be right there." He disconnects.

"Wait!" I get dial tone.

Twenty minutes later, I'm dressed in shorts and a T-shirt waiting for Foster on my front porch. His sleek black Jaguar creeps into my driveway and my heart races. Why did I let him come over tonight? Time alone, wasn't that my excuse for leaving the party so early? I had to get away though.

Maybe Foster will help me relax. I just might hold him to watching a chick flick, something heart-wrenching and cla.s.sic like Bridges of Madison County or even better, Madame Bovary. That's who I am, a faithless, soon-to-be-wife seeking pleasure in the arms of another man, one I haven't picked yet.

s.h.i.t! The folder Jeffrey gave me is sitting on my coffee table. It's too late to run inside but if Foster finds it . . . He waves as he gets closer. He's wearing dark jeans and an extra-slim French-cuffed b.u.t.ton-up that hugs his pectorals. Unbearably appealing, especially when I'm about to run inside and go a couple rounds with my vibrator.

"Good evening, Legs." His grin is infectious.

"Eyes here." I gesture at my face. "Maybe I should change into something with zippers and pad locks."

He chuckles and opens his arms. "I know how to pick locks."

We hug, his body heat more welcome than I imagined.

"You feel right in my arms, Erin."

I pull back. "Remember what we discussed?"

"Rules you never clarified."

"Hugs and kisses on the cheek are appropriate."

His mouth drops open, but his eyes sparkle mischievously. "What about here?"

Before I can get away, our lips connect. So soft, different from Jeffrey's kiss, yet so reminiscent of what I experienced tonight. And here, that's what Jeffrey said as he caressed me between the legs. I shiver.

"Cold?" he asks.

"No-no, exhausted."

He turns to my driveway. "Who drives the BMW?"

"My best friend, Katie."

"She's here?" A flash of irritation shows on his face.

"Asleep in the guest bedroom."

He rubs his chin, shadowed by a couple days' worth of stubble. "Do you want to take a walk?"

I shake my head. "How about a movie?"

"Not in the mood."

"Pizza?"

He checks his watch. "It's midnight."

"I'm hungry."

"Shall we compromise?" he offers.

"What do you have in mind?"

"Quick stroll on the beach and then I'll order whatever pizza your little heart desires."

He drives a hard bargain, but if we're engaging in vigorous exercise, and I can speed walk, there's less chance he'll touch me so intimately again. "Deal!" I run, taking advantage. I'm in tennis shoes and he's in cowboy boots.

The beach is a short sprint away. I reach sand and keep running, happy I hit the elliptical in my office four days a week.

"Better slow down!" he calls from somewhere behind me.

I'm breathless and exhilarated, liking the idea of the chase. "Catch me if you-"

A second later I scream as I hit sand, landing on my stomach.

"Foster!"

He flips me over, hovering above. "Football, remember?"

"a.s.shole." I giggle, still trying to catch my breath. Although a steady breeze is blowing, whenever Foster is close, my body boils.

"Erin . . ." There it is again, that hoa.r.s.e, I-want-to-f.u.c.k-you voice.

"You played running back, not tackle." I try to shift the mood.

"I play lots of positions, Erin. And this happens to be one of my favorites."

He leans in, nibbling my lower lip, then trails light kisses down my right cheek. My core throbs, pleasure threading through me. No. No. No. I can't engage in any extracurricular activities outside the club. Penetrative intercourse, but kissing and groping weren't on that list.

I arch into him, offering him my desperate-for-attention mouth.

"Is that an invitation?" he growls.

"Kiss me."

He shoves a hand through his hair, then gives me what I need. I breathe in his intoxicating scent, spice and sweat, one kiss melting into another. His tongue sweeps over mine, all my hesitation and doubts gone. I tremble underneath him as he grinds his hips.

"Do you know what you do to me, Erin?" he whispers against my lips. "Feel it?"

I nod in silence, remembering the night in his backyard when I ran away. Amazing what a difference eight years can make. Now I'm begging for him to f.u.c.k me, hoping he'll receive a subliminal message and just do it. One of his hands slips underneath my T-shirt, and he drags a fingernail down my tummy. It's sweet torture.

"f.u.c.k!"

"What?" I lift my head, surprised by his outburst.

"You're not wearing panties." His forehead crashes into mine, and I give up, letting the back of my head drop.

His mouth consumes me while his fingers invade my shorts, tickling the sensitive flesh around my p.u.s.s.y. "You're a G.o.dd.a.m.ned furnace."

I writhe and moan like Catalina. Oh G.o.d. I've gotten my wish. He penetrates me with one finger, f.u.c.king me with his hand. Our kiss intensifies and I can't breathe or think. That tongue, those fingers, his eyes . . . Our gazes lock and I can't read the expression on his face. Is he angry?

"So wet," he moans into my mouth. "f.u.c.king wet for me."

His fingers slam into me. Then he releases my lips, lifts my shirt, and shoves the cups of my lace bra down. "Erin . . ."

He bites my nipple, then circles my areola with his tongue. He moves to my other breast, his eyes dark with desire. "Beautiful."

Under the influence of whatever dark spell he's woven around me, I let go, desperate to peak, by his mouth or d.i.c.k if he'll give it to me. And when the faint pulse of o.r.g.a.s.m starts, I scream.

"Come, baby. Come for me now."

I ride his hand, unafraid of the consequences that are sure to follow. "f.u.c.k me, Foster." What did I just say? I close my eyes, lost for what feels like forever.