“I bet you are.” She smiled, her eyes still closed.

“What do you mean?’

“Nothing.”

I saw a glint on her left hand in the fire light as she shifted. “Sarah, why do you wear a ring?”

“Why?” She opened her eyes to look up at me. They were clear, like blue glass.

“Because…because I want men to think I’m taken.”

“But you’re not.”

She frowned, closing her eyes again. “That part of me is.” I stroked her hair at her temple, feeling her relax again. “I wish you’d let someone in.”

She shook her head, but didn’t say anything. I was feeling warm, from the fire, the wine. She looked so fragile and vulnerable, and the words just came out, “You’re so beautiful.”

“Look who’s talking.” Her smile touched her eyes, even closed.

“No.” I ran a fingertip down her cheek, so soft. “I’m nothing compared to you.

Have you seen the way David looks at you? If a guy looked at me that way…”

“Don’t say that.” She turned around suddenly, so she was kneeling in front of me, her hands on my thighs. “Elizabeth, you’re absolutely beautiful. You know that don’t you?”

I shook my head. “I can’t do to men what you do. They want you. They all do.”

“They want what they think they can’t have.” She touched a finger to my cheek, trailing it up over my nose to my other cheek, and then down to my lips. I held my breath. She fingered my hair, rubbing it, taking a piece of it and touching it to my cheek, tickling, smiling. “What would you say…” she hesitated. I waited, barely breathing, unsure, uncomfortable and yet transfixed. “If I told you… I want you.” I swallowed hard. “You?”

“Me.”

I found my voice. It was a little shaky. “I’d say…I’d say…wow…and…thank you…” She waited and I didn’t say anything else. “But?”

“No buts,” I whispered. I touched her hair and she turned her face to rest her cheek on my hand. It was warm and flushed. She kneeled up fully and I uncrossed my legs. She was leaning against the couch between my open thighs, her face inches from mine, her eyes searching.