Mail-Order Prince In Her Bed. Kathryn Jensen

apartment checking out her knickknacks—her collection of seashells, her dainty demitasse cups and saucers displayed on their own cherry wood wall rack—while she made coffee and nuked a Sara Lee.

      Finally, they sat on her couch and sipped and nibbled in electric silence. She thought she could hear her own heartbeat drumming in her ears. Her palms were moist and hot.

      It was she, despite all common sense, who returned to their earlier conversation. “It’s just that I believe sex to be only one factor in a complex relationship that develops, over time, into marriage. My mother had me when she was very young. She never went to college because of me. Her whole life was different than it might have been because I came along, because my father disappeared when she told him she was pregnant.”

      “And she supported both herself and you on her own?” he asked.

      “Yes. It must have been terribly hard for her. I just don’t want it to be like that for me, raising a child alone. I want a husband first, then children. Everything in its proper order, you see?”

      He took a bite of cake then nodded thoughtfully. “I understand.”

      “But, you’re right, a person can’t help being curious. I mean, at work every day, people tell jokes then look at me to see if I get them. They know, I guess, that I’m sort of…inexperienced, and it amuses them.”

      “You’re charming,” Antonio murmured, a smile lifting the corners of his lips.

      “And you have a one-track mind.” She rolled her eyes then laughed at his hurt expression.

      He put his plate on the coffee table and leaned toward her, his wide hands braced on his knees. “I’m not as obsessed with sex as you imagine. I just haven’t had much time or desire to be with a pretty woman, not for several years now.”

      She pinched off a morsel of cake to plop into her mouth. He certainly was an unusual man. Not at all easy to figure out. No woman in years?

      “Are you telling me you’re no longer just trying to make up for what your former employee did? The time you’re spending with me now is personal?”

      “It always was.” Before she could figure out what that was supposed to mean, he looked away from her so that she couldn’t read his expression. “Tell me, what will happen when you return to work?”

      Maria grimaced. “Oh, they’ll bombard me with questions. They’ll demand to know everywhere we went and everything we did.”

      “And you will say?”

      “I’ll tell them about the restaurant and the lovely meal, about the clothes and seeing the beautiful ceramics.”

      “But they will pester you for more, for they’ll want to hear what occurred later.”

      “Yes, I suppose they will.” The thought made her uncomfortable even now. “But I’ll tell them nothing happened.”

      He nodded. “Si. And they will laugh. Again.”

      “I suppose.”

      She stared down at her half-eaten cake, then impatiently shoved the plate off her lap and onto the table in front of her. A daring thought struck her.

      “I could make up something. What do you think? Maybe if I told them racy tidbits about you and me in bed, then they’d leave me alone. They’d see that their plan to embarrass me had backfired.”

      “How good are you at lying?” he asked.

      She pursed her lips and considered. “Not very.”

      “So you have a problem.” He stood up and walked to the only window in the room.

      It overlooked the side of another red-brick building. He stared through the glass pane as if at a breathtaking vista. She knew his mind must be elsewhere, and she couldn’t blame him. They were of two vastly different worlds. He was probably bored to tears with her.

      “Call your office and leave a message that you won’t be in tomorrow,” he said abruptly.

      She laughed. “Why would I do that?”

      He turned to face her, his eyes bright with fun, devious with mystery. “Because you’re having an affair.”

      “What?”

      “Because you can’t bear to leave the arms of the man who has made passionate love to you all afternoon.”

      She choked over her response. “You’re insane!”

      Rushing to her he pulled her off the couch. “Do you want to return to them as the meek, cowed Maria? The helpless target of their humor?”

      “Well, no, but I’ll have to go back sooner or later. It is my job, after all. They’ll only need to look at me to know that nothing happened.”

      “Exactly,” he agreed.

      Maria thoughtfully chewed the tip of one fingernail, but it didn’t help. “If there were some way to learn what it is like…you know, to learn without actually doing it.”

      “Well, there are certain films. But these aren’t the sort of things a woman of your caliber should be exposed to.”

      “I’m not even sure I’d want to watch other people…you know.” She felt a wave of heat rise up her throat. “Well, I’m not going to give myself to any man unless we’re married,” she repeated, “so that’s that.”

      “Not entirely.”

      She squinted up at Antonio warily. Donny Apericcio came fleetingly to mind. “If this is a trick to get me into bed—”

      “No trick, just a suggestion.”

      She just glared at him.

      He seemed oblivious to her lack of enthusiasm. “I assume you haven’t reached the age of twenty-two without being kissed?”

      “I’m twenty-five, thank you. And yes, of course I’ve been kissed…and I’ve kissed back plenty of times,” she defended herself.

      “Good. Have you touched a man and let him touch you?”

      “You mean, petted?” She knew she was blushing furiously now. “Sure. A little. It was okay.”

      “If it was just okay, you haven’t really been touched,” he said, his voice lowering to a husky mellowness.

      If he’d been standing closer to her, she would have evaporated. Even at the distance of half a room away, a pleasant warmth rippled through her. She winced, willing her body to behave itself. “I’m not sure what you’re suggesting, exactly.”

      “I’m offering to demonstrate to you how it is—between a man and a woman—without risking your virginity. I could teach you, cara.”

      She swallowed, her eyes widening despite her attempt to remain composed. She suddenly felt as limp as an over-cooked noodle. “I don’t think this is a good idea. Even talking like this isn’t a good idea.”

      She started to cross the room toward the door, having decided to ask him to leave. But Antonio moved quickly in front of her. She came to an abrupt and graceless halt within inches of his broad chest. He was so near she could feel the heat of his body through their clothing.

      “I wouldn’t hurt you. I would stop immediately if anything I said or did offended you,” he promised.

      She frowned. Why was this sounding like a win-win situation? Why was she even considering such an outlandish proposal?

      Because, she answered her own questions, she liked him. And she really was curious. Had been for as long as she could remember.

      She wanted to know what her husband would look like and do on the first night of their honeymoon. Wanted to be ready to respond to him appropriately, to please him.

      At first, she had told herself that was one of the exciting things