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for doctors. I’m divorced and I have one child, my daughter Nikki, who’s thirteen. What else is there to know?”
    The steady way he’s looking at me is unnerving, but it’s somehow setting a fire burning in my belly, a slow burn that I haven’t felt in a very long time.
    â€œI want to know whether you always wear a thong, or whether you just wore one on Monday when you came into the office.”
    I gulp. How had he known?
    â€œI want to know every inch of your body. I want to know what your hair feels like in my hands when I possess your lips. I want to know what turns you on, and whether you come with your eyes open or closed. I want to know what you taste like, and what your skin feels like when it’s slick with desire. But since I can’t know any of those things while we’re sitting in a restaurant, why don’t you tell me something else about yourself.”
    â€œWell,” I say, letting out a shaky breath. “I guess that clears up where this is going.”
    Beckett leans forward slightly, studying me intently. “Does that bother you?”
    â€œNo,” I whisper. I blush again, because it’s true.
    Satisfied, he sits back as the waiter sets several plates of sushi on the table. Using his chopsticks, Beckett picks up a sushi roll and brings it to my lips. I automatically open my mouth to take the bite, and I sigh as my taste buds process the unique blend of tastes and textures.
    â€œMmmm,” I murmur. It tastes divine, although my senses are so overloaded by the sexual tension that is crackling between us that anything would probably taste good.
    â€œTell me about your marriage,” he prompts, lifting another bite to my lips. I open my mouth, the tip of my tongue flicking out to taste it.
    I chew slowly and swallow, take a healthy gulp of sake, and begin. “Tim and I met our last semester of college. He was in my Renaissance Lit class at the University of Texas, and we both wanted to be famous writers. We spent hours drinking coffee and discussing modern literature, and later, drinking wine and making love in his apartment. It was all very literary and F. Scott Fitzgeraldish. In April, I found out I had gotten an internship at Redbook for the summer, and we planned to move to New York together after graduation and set the world on fire with our literary brilliance. Then, two weeks before graduation, I found out I was pregnant.”
    I empty my glass and Beckett reaches over to refill it, keeping his eyes on my face and my hand firmly held in his.
    â€œHis dad got him a job here in Houston with a marketing firm, which he hated, we moved here, and I gave up my internship. Nikki was born the following December. We couldn’t afford child care so I stayed home with her and started writing articles while she napped. I had my first article published in Woman’s Day magazine when she was six months old and that led to other assignments. Once you’ve been published in a national magazine it’s easier to get published in others, and before I knew it I was writing half a dozen articles each month and making more than Tim was at his marketing job. He decided to quit and look for a writing job. He worked as a copyeditor for a while for a small tabloid newspaper, but he thought it was beneath him to be stuck in a copy editing job and he eventually quit.”
    â€œSo he took over taking care of your daughter while you wrote?” Beckett asks, feeding me another bite of sushi.
    â€œYou would think so, but no. He actually didn’t spend much time at home because he was always ‘networking,’ which generally meant staying out late drinking with his friends.”
    â€œSo you were the primary caregiver for your daughter and the primary breadwinner?” he asks.
    â€œPretty much,” I say with a sigh. “Someone had to be responsible and he certainly wasn’t stepping up to the plate. Of course it wasn’t