"Did I catch you at a bad time?"

"No, I just wrapped up for the day."

My friend coughs deliberately. I know him too well. He has something important to tell me. "Let me caution you before proceeding with this charade with Ms. Covington."

His words surprise me. "Are you advising me as a medical professional or as my friend?"

"Both."

"Is she sick?"

"No. She's everything I'd want in a woman."

He's never made such intimate observations about any of the women I've asked him to examine. Jealousy washes over me. "Explain."

"I'm not sure how to. To tell you the truth, Foster, I'm completely bewildered."

"By what? She's perfect."

"Oh she's anatomically correct, psychologically stable, demonstrates financial prudence, has a wonderful sense of humor, although a bit sarcastic at times, and comes from a great family."

"So what's the problem?" I start pacing, wishing he'd get to the f.u.c.king point. "I'm well acquainted with her family, remember? Pedigree isn't the concern. I need to know she has no current attachments, nothing that will complicate my efforts and waste my time."

"I'd say she's never had any deep attachments to anyone."

"Quit talking in G.o.dd.a.m.ned riddles."

"All right." He sighs. "Her hymen is intact."

"What?"

"Ms. Covington is a virgin."

Without thinking, I disconnect and tuck my cell into my shirt pocket. A virgin? She's nearly twenty-four years old and no one has f.u.c.ked her yet? Warning bells go off in my head. How is it even possible? She's hiding something. Maybe she had hymenoplasty, because nothing else makes sense. My phone vibrates. G.o.dd.a.m.nit.

"Didn't see that one coming?" Kevin asks.

"Unless you were giving a pelvic exam to a teenager, when is the last time you saw a virgin?"

"Never."

"My point exactly. They're practically extinct."

"No thanks to men like us," he jokes.

"I don't like it."

"Exactly why I suggested you reconsider your motives."

"I need to go."

"Call me later," he says.

Finished talking, I collect my briefcase and jacket from my office and take the elevator to the underground parking garage. I disarm the alarm on my black Jaguar coupe and slide onto the leather seat. My phone rings again, but I ignore it. Once again, Erin Covington has surprised me, the same way she did that night so many years ago. I wanted her then, and want her even more now. Some things stay with a man forever. I rev the engine and pull out of the garage, ready to burn off some of this new frustration with raw horsepower.

I punch the gas pedal, screeching down Ocean Drive, weaving around cars, not giving a s.h.i.t if a cop pulls me over. Staring toward the waterfront, I admire the horizon, where dark clouds promise some much-needed rain. Even the palm trees look wilted, thirsty for life-giving water. That's how I see Erin, as my deliverance from desolation.

Erin I meet Katie at the Lotus Dreams Teahouse for Irish night. I attend as often as possible, enjoying the traditional Celtic music and cultural readings that accompany the fragrant teas we sample. No matter how much I try, I just can't seem to get into anything tonight. My mind is still reeling from the medical screening I subjected myself to. I gaze at the framed pictures on the shop walls-scenes from authentic Irish villages, the occasional thatched-roof cottage, and stone fences. I smile, proud to be half Irish. We're drinking a new breakfast tea and I sip slowly, savoring the robust flavor.

Katie tries to speak over the flute solo, but I can't hear, and motion for her to scoot closer.

"Don't leave me hanging," she says. "I understand the doctor showed up at the bookstore. This is no joke, Erin."

"Did I ever suggest it was?"

"No."

"You're committed?" She rests a hand on my arm. "You can have whoever you want."

"Maybe," I admit. "But this idea appeals to me more. No strings, no worries, no chance of my mother finding out. Thank you for providing this opportunity."

"I didn't do anything really, just made a friendly suggestion to a friend of a friend."

"I disagree."

She rewards me with a soft smile. "Own it, Erin. And once you've discovered how special it is to take control of every aspect of your life, maybe you'll realize Thomas isn't worthy, and that you deserve so much more."

"Don't be so quick to judge. Your best friend might be a s.e.xual deviant."

She giggles. "Thinking about Foster while you m.a.s.t.u.r.b.a.t.e again?"

I nearly choke on my tea. She's too honest, but that's why I love her. "I'm thinking more along the lines of BDSM."

"You want someone to tie you up and shove something up your a.s.s? I can do that."

"Oh. My. G.o.d. No. I want to surrender to someone who gets me so hot I can't think straight."

"You want to be a submissive?"

"Not exactly. I don't know how to explain. I'm plagued by dark fantasies, the kind that earn good girls a spot in h.e.l.l."

My confession doesn't seem to faze her. She places her elbow on the table, resting her chin on her palm. "You're normal. Maybe a little crazy for waiting this long to listen to your libido, but trust me, itching for d.i.c.k is a good sign."

"The Lazarus Club is what I want. It's perfect."

She sips her drink. "I'll support whatever choices you make, but only if you keep me updated on everything. Start with the exam today. What did Dr. Feelgood do?"

"A routine physical, chest X-ray, bloodwork, urine test, and pelvic exam. I nearly forgot the psychology test."

Her mouth drops open. "That's crazy, might as well be getting screened for the Marine Corp."

"I'm pretty sure the workouts are Special-Forces-approved."

She giggles. "What did he say?"

"He seemed surprised I was a virgin."

"No s.h.i.t."

"He asked me if I knew what I was getting into."

"Do you?"

Why does she keep questioning me if she was the one who initiated everything? "Don't backtrack. I want this so bad I can taste it."

She stares at me. "I'm finally speechless."

"Still my BFF?"

"Only if you promise to get me an invitation to that party."

Chapter 7.

Erin As Foster promised, a Mercedes sedan is waiting at the curb for me by 12:45. I dash to the bathroom, turning on both lights, then stare in the big oval mirror over the sink. I'm wearing a black Barbara Bui pencil dress with a cropped lace jacket and strappy heels. For some reason I went for dramatic and spent an hour curling my hair and applying smoky eye shadow. I rarely dress this formal, happy to wear jeans, peasant tops, and heels most of the time.

"Erin?" Mary calls.

"I'll be right out."

"The chauffeur is waiting outside the car."

I freshen my mauve lipstick, then turn the lights off. Leave it to Foster to employ men who are as impatient as he is. As soon as I get outside, the driver straightens his spine and grins at me.

"Ms. Covington?" He opens the pa.s.senger door.

"Yes."

"Mr. Wagner is eager to see you."

I ease into the luxurious interior, met by a mixture of scents, new leather and sandalwood. The chauffeur gets in and connects his seatbelt.

"We'll be going downtown," he informs me. "I'm at your disposal for the day, let me know if you need me to stop anywhere."

"Thank you." What else can I say?

He exits the Moore Plaza and merges with traffic on South Staples Street. I'm glad he's opted to avoid the Crosstown Expressway, I prefer taking Ocean Drive downtown. I love the bay and parks.

"Would you care for any music?"

I tap my chin, wondering if there's anything to help prepare me for this luncheon. "John Legend."

I catch his grin in the rearview mirror as the music starts. I mentally sing along to "All of Me," reveling in the words. Does Foster even know how deeply his actions affected me that night at his parents' house? I ran home in tears, devastated and unsure if I'd ever be able to show my face again. Corpus is a large enough city, but the social circles our families move in don't have any degrees of separation.

Minutes later, when the car stops, I look up, surprised we're in the parking lot of a gated condominium complex. "Wait," I say before the driver gets out. "This isn't a restaurant."

He twists around. "No, ma'am, it's not."

"Mr. Wagner a.s.sured me we were meeting in a cafe, not in a private home."

"This is the company condo, ma'am, complete with a private chef and ocean view."

"Chef?"

"Yes, ma'am."

I find some comfort in knowing we won't be alone. "All right."

He gets out, then opens my door. He escorts me upstairs, knocking on the front door. I hear heavy footsteps and Foster answers wearing faded jeans and a Dallas Cowboys jersey. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d told me no jeans. I frown, but appreciate how good he looks in denim.

"Erin." His lingering gaze makes me squirm. "Please, come in."

I brush past him, eyeing the interior, curious what he's planned. Sunshine fills the great room and the dining room table is situated along a wall of gla.s.s that offers the ocean view the driver mentioned. The table is set for two, and a bouquet, identical to the one Foster brought me yesterday, graces the center. I suck in a breath as I walk to the windows. No restaurant downtown offers this kind of seascape. Although I live on Padre Island, two blocks from the beach, there's something special about gazing across the water a dozen stories up.

"Time has been kind to you, Erin."

I turn. Foster is standing behind me. "You told me not to wear jeans."

"Sue me." He shrugs. "I wanted to catch a look at those legs, baby." He bites his fist.

"Legs are legs."

"Au contraire. Yours are beautiful, like ivory pillars."

Not original at all. I'm thinking Song of Solomon. His legs are like pillars of marble. Foster always knew how to sweet-talk his way into a girl's heart, then between her legs. Seeing him grown up, just a bigger and more dangerous version of himself, makes me feel vulnerable. I can't ignore his southern-boy charm or the fact that when he glides his tongue over his full lips I feel something. Warmth spreads up my body.

"What are you thinking, Erin?"

I feel the blood drain from my face. "How full of s.h.i.t you really are."

He palms my hip and I jerk away, catching his smirk.

"Relax," he says. "I'm glad you're here." He steps forward, trapping me between the gla.s.s and his hulking frame. He slides a finger up my arm, evoking such a deep, violent shiver my s.e.x clenches. "Are you hungry?"