The Erotic Secrets of a French Maid Read Online Free PDF Page A

sometimes swept over her.
    Daphne nodded knowingly, eyes narrowing. "I think there is. And someday it's going to spring out and scare the living shit out of you."
    "Maybe when I'm eighty-five and senile."
    Daphne stood and headed from the room, pausing at the door to smile back at her. "Don't make it wait that long. You're only young once. Use that body while you have it!"
    Emma brooded on that parting remark for the next hour and a half, thinking about her sexual dry spell.
    Common sense and caution did have a way of taking the fun out of life.
    Or maybe it wasn't caution that held her back from bursts of ecstatic lunacy, but caution's evil twin: cowardice. That worry had haunted her since one of her professors, an architect whose skills and talent she deeply respected, had commented that her designs were "safe." Adequate and buildable, unlike some of her classmates' impractical designs, yet there was little about her work that would inspire anyone to build it. But there were small flashes of creative genius, he'd told her. Here and there, in the treatment of a staircase or a roofline, he saw a glimmer of what she was capable of.
    He had given her a B minus and told her that she'd be stuck doing architectural grunt work her whole career unless she learned to open up to her creative side, to stop being afraid of her own ideas.
    She supposed he'd intended the comment to wake her up and inspire her, but all it had done was undercut her confidence, not knowing how to make herself more courageously creative. She'd thought she was being creative, and didn't know where this hidden genius was supposed to be residing or how to force it out of its hidey-hole.
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    The phone rang, jolting her out of her dark thoughts. She lunged for it, then held it in her hand without answering, dreading the conversation to come.
    She swallowed her cowardice and flipped open the phone. "Hello?"
    "Emma?" a male voice asked, voice cracking in the middle of her name.
    "Yes?"
    Throat clearing." 'Scuse me. This is Kevin," he went on, voice warbling somewhere around normality.
    "We met today at Russ's house?"
    "Yes, hello. He told me that you might be calling."
    "And here I am!" He laughed and then coughed.
    Her last bits of hope for a potential match were fading fast. A silence stretched between them, in which she could almost hear the nervous tension thrumming through his wiry body. "How's your car?" she asked, for lack of anything better to say. "Get any scratches or dings this afternoon?"
    "A rock chip in my windshield as I was driving home. Can you believe it!"
    "Ooh, bad luck, there. I hope it wont be too expensive to fix."
    He took the topic and ran with it for the next five minutes, apparently taking Emma's mmms and ahs and polite questions as signs of interest. Her mind began to wander to one of her favorite mental escapes: designing her dream bathroom. What were the codes for placement of electrical outlets near water, again? She eyed the binder, her fingers itching to flip it open and check.
    "So I was thinking," Kevin said, "maybe you'd like to go for a drive out to Snoqualmie Falls, and we can have dinner at the lodge there."
    "Dinner?" she said, snapping back to the present, a wall of cobalt blue glass tiles fading from her vision.
    "I thought it would be a pretty drive."
    "I'm sure it would be—"
    "Great! How about Friday?"
    She hadn't meant to say yes; she hadn't meant to imply an answer one way or the other! "This week isn't good," she fibbed.
    "The Friday after, then. Or the Saturday—we could make a day of it! Maybe drive all the way to Ellensburg—"
    "No!" Emma interrupted in a panic. "No, no, dinner would be better."
    "Okay," he said, sounding disappointed.
    "Friday after next, dinner, Snoqualmie Falls," Emma repeated, trying to sound cheerful and wondering Page 18

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