He was, he realized, still stuck back on the term donor. “I’m a little weirded out here, Sage.”

“I bet. I’m going to ask you to think about it. Don’t say yes or no yet because it’s a lot to think about. After you do, if it’s no, we’ll understand. I haven’t said anything to anyone else in the family, so there’s no pressure there.”

“Appreciate it. Listen, I’m oddly flattered that you and Paula would, ah… want me to sub for you. I’ll think about it.”

“Thanks.” She pressed her cheek to his. “I’ll see you at lunch.”

When she left he stared down at the Coke in his hand, then crossed over and put it back in his little fridge. He didn’t think he needed any more stimulation. One thing at a time, he decided, and went out to Layla.

“Okay,” he said.

“Your sister was very friendly, positively breezy. She behaved as if she hadn’t heard me announce I was going to have sex with her brother.”

“It’s probably that natural act, celebration of human expression thing. And she had stuff on her mind.”

“I’m a grown woman. I’m a single, healthy adult.” In a gesture that smacked of defiance, she shook back her hair. “So I’m telling myself there’s absolutely no cause for me to be embarrassed because… Is something wrong?”

“No. I don’t know. It’s been a really strange morning. It turns out…” How did he put this? “I told you my sister’s gay, right?”

“It was mentioned.”

“She and Paula, they’ve been together some years now. They’re good together, really good together. And…” He paced to the window, back. “They want a baby.”

“That’s nice.”

“They want me to provide the Y chromosome.”

“Oh. Oh.” Layla pursed her lips. “I guess you have had a strange morning. What did you say?”

“I don’t remember, exactly, with all the going blind and deaf. I’m supposed to think about it. Which, of course, I’d have a hard time not.”

“They both must think a great deal of you. Since you didn’t say no, straight off, you must think a great deal of them.”

“Right this minute, I can’t think at all. Can we close the office and go have sex?”

“No.”

“I was afraid of that.”

“Your last appointment is at four thirty. We can go have sex after that.”

He stared at her. “It continues to be a really strange day.”

“Your schedule on this strange day says that I’m to make a conference call for you on the Benedict case. Here’s the file.”

“Go ahead on that. Do you want to come to lunch with me, over to Sparrow’s with the family?”

“Not for a million dollars.”

He couldn’t blame her, all things considered. Still it was an easy hour for him with his brother and Ridge’s wife and little boy, with his sisters, his parents, filling Sparrow’s little restaurant.

Layla went to lunch when he returned, and that gave him room to think. He tried not to watch the clock while he worked, but he’d never, at any time in his life, wished quite so much for time to fly.

Naturally, his last client of the day was chatty, and didn’t seem the least bit concerned about billable hours, or the fact that it was now ten minutes after five. The price of small-town law, Fox thought as he fought the urge to check his watch, again. People wanted to shoot the breeze, before, during, and after business. Any other time, he’d have been perfectly happy to kick back and talk about preseason baseball, the O’s chances this year, and the rookie infielder who showed such potential.

But he had a woman waiting, and his own engine was revving.

He didn’t precisely drag his client to the door and give him a boot to the sidewalk for good measure. But he didn’t linger.

“I thought he’d never shut up,” Fox said as he locked the door behind him. “We’re closed. Shut down, don’t answer the phone. And come with me.”

“Actually, I was thinking maybe we should consider.”

“No, no thinking, no considering. Don’t make me beg.” He solved the matter by grabbing her hand and pulling her toward the stairs. “Marriage counseling, burning buildings, nice ass-in no particular order-just to refresh your memory.”

“I haven’t forgotten, I just-when did you clean?” she asked when he drew her into the apartment.

“Yesterday. It was an ugly business, but fortuitous.”

“In that case I have the name of a cleaning woman, Marcia Biggons.”

“I went to school with her sister.”

“So I’m told. She’ll give you a chance. Call her.”

“First thing tomorrow. Now.” He leaned in, took her mouth while his hands skimmed down from her shoulders to her wrist. “We’re going to have some wine.”

Her eyes blinked open. “Wine?”

“I’m going to put on some music, we’re going to have some wine. We’re going to sit down in my fairly clean living room and relax.”

She let out a breathless laugh. “You’ve just added one to the list of why I’m here. I’d love some wine, thanks.”

He opened the bottle of Shiraz a client had given him at Christmas, put on Clapton-it just seemed right-and poured two glasses.

“Your artwork shows off better without the mountain of clutter. Mmm, this is nice,” she said after the first sip when he joined her on the couch. “I wasn’t sure what I’d get, seeing as you’re more of a beer guy.”

"I have deep wells.”

“Yes, you do.” And gorgeous, thick brown hair, wonderful tiger’s eyes. “I didn’t get a chance to ask if you’d read our notes, or the marked-” She swallowed the rest of the words when his mouth met hers again.

“Here’s what we’re not going to talk about. Office work and missions from gods. Tell me what you did in New York for fun.”

Okay, she thought, small talk would be good. She could talk small with the best of them. “Clubs, because I like music. Galleries because I like art. But my job was fun, too. I guess it’s always fun to do what you’re good at.”

“Your parents owned a dress shop.”

“I loved working there, too. Well, playing there when I was a kid. All the colors and textures. I liked putting things together. This jacket with this skirt, this coat with this bag. We thought I’d take over one day, but it just got to be too much for them.”

“So you went to New York, left Philly behind.”

“I thought I’d go where fashion rules, on this side of the Atlantic anyway.” The wine was lovely, just slid over her tongue. “I’d get some polish, some more experience in a more specialized arena, then open my own place.”

“In New York?”

“I flirted with that for about five minutes. I was never going to be able to afford the rent in the city. I thought maybe the suburbs, maybe one day. Then one day became next year, and so on. Plus I liked managing the boutique, and there wasn’t any risk. I stopped taking risks.”

“Until recently.”

She met his eyes. “Apparently.”

He smiled, topped off their wine. “The Hollow doesn’t have a dress shop, or fashion boutique, or whatever you’d call that kind of thing.”

“At the moment, I’m gainfully employed and no longer thinking about opening a boutique. My risk quota’s been reached.”

“What kind of music? Do you like to listen to?” he added when she frowned at him.

“Oh, I’m pretty open there.”

He reached down, slipped off her shoes, then brought her feet up into his lap. “How about art?”

“There, too. I think…” Her whole body sighed when he began rubbing the balls of her feet. “Any art, or music, that gives you pleasure, or makes you think-or better makes you wonder; it’s-it’s what makes us human. The need to create it, to have it.”

“I grew up soaked in it, various forms. Nothing was out-of-bounds.” His thumb, just rough enough to thrill, ran down her arch, back again. “Anything out-of-bounds for you?”

He wasn’t talking about art or music now. Her stomach jittered with lust, fear, anticipation. “I don’t know.”

“You can tell me if I hit any boundaries.” His hand went to work on her calf muscles. “Tell me what you like.”