Not the act itself, the feeling of Doyleinsde his mouth. What he had enjoyed was the femininity of it all. He hadenjoyed the idea that a man could see...him as just a girl. He had revelledin the fact that he could embrace this side of himself so readily. He hadloved that he, a plain, quiet nobody, could make a man like Doyle forgetwho Jessica Munroe even was, if only for a minute. The small nugget ofpride that hummed inside him at the thought made Art feel a little sick.He needed a shower.Art. A Starburst patchwork quilt wasfolded neatly over the foot rail.She stood before her French Provincial vanity while she took off herjewelry: the triple strand pearls that her mother had given her at herwedding, the pearl button earrings that always fascinated Sandy, her goldlink bracelet, and the white sapphire cocktail ring she had bought withpart of the proceeds from her engagement ring. She glanced at her watchwith a gold mesh band curled in the pink Wedgewood dish. Plenty of time fora nap.. More

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