He smiled at me, and the smile was all male. That pleased smile that said he knew I was looking at him, and how much he liked the effect he had on me. He'd been in my bed for half a year, naked in it for about a month, and I was still staring at him as if it were the first time.

It made me blush and look away.

"Come to bed, Anita," he said, "you know you want to."

The anger was instantaneous. I wasn't blushing when I raised my eyes back to him. "I don't like being taken for granted, Nathaniel."

He sighed, and sat up, putting his muscular arms around his knees. "Don't let the whole baby thing push you back. You've made a lot of progress in your comfort zones, don't lose ground now."

"And what exactly is that supposed to mean?" I asked, hands on hips, glad to be angry. Anger was so much better than sad, or scared, or embarrassed.

His lavender eyes went all serious, not scared, or worried, but grown-up serious. "Are you really going to make us do this?"

"Do what?" I demanded.

He sighed, and said, "Why is my being nude bothering you?"

I opened my mouth, closed it, and finally said, quietly, "I don't know." That was the truth; stupid, but the truth.

Micah came to me, touched me tentatively. I went to him, wrapped my arms around him. He hugged me close, and I turned my face in against his neck, so I could smell the warmth of him. Just the smell of his skin made something hard and cold inside me loosen. I breathed in the scent of him, and underneath the smell of clean skin and aftershave, Micah had that nose-wrinkling smell, an almost sharp smell, of leopard. The smell of home.

He spoke against my skin, "Let's go to bed, Anita."

I nodded, still pressed against him.

I felt his mouth move in a smile against my skin. I knew exactly the feel of it, which meant I must make him smile with his mouth pressed to me a lot. I guess I did.

He drew away and started unfastening his collar. He had a tie bar to re­move. I stood there and watched him begin to reveal his tanned upper body, but instead of enjoying the show, I felt the anxiety creep back.

I touched Micah's arm, stopped him in the middle of undoing one of his cufflinks. "Stop for a minute." He turned puzzled eyes to me.

"You're nervous again," Nathaniel said. "Why?"

I shook my head, then looked across the bed. Jean-Claude was still across the bed, but he was leaning on one of the big wooden posts. His arms en­twined around it as he watched us. His face was neutral, but I'd been further into his head tonight than ever, in one special area.

"Shit," I said.

"What?" Micah and Nathaniel asked together.

"I know what's wrong."

They both looked at me, but it was Jean-Claude that I looked at. "It's you," I said.

"I have seen your men nude before," he said in that pleasant neutral voice.

"We've been in bed all naked and sweaty, Anita," Nathaniel said.

"Yes, but you've never had sex with him. I had sex with him."

"Jean-Claude has fed off me, Anita," Micah said, "has had more of my blood than yours."

I looked at Micah. "Are you saying having him take blood is the same thing as having sex with him?"

He shrugged, and I watched his face shut down to the look he wore when he wasn't certain what look I wanted. "I've had sex that didn't feel as good as Jean-Claude's feedings."

"Then you were doing the sex wrong," I said.

He smiled. "I was young; I got better."

"Yes, you did," I said, and smiled back.

He kissed me, then moved back and gave me a searching look. He moved past me to put the first cufflink on the bedside table. He started on the other sleeve, his back to me. I glanced up and found that I wasn't the only one watching him.

Jean-Claude's neutral, beautiful face watched us all. We had been naked and sweaty in a bed together. Hell, some nights the pile had included Asher and Jason. It just depended on who had fed whom last. So why was I sud­denly bothered by Jean-Claude watching Micah take off his shirt?

I suddenly had a smart idea. I don't have that many of them, not about my own emotional life anyway. "I know what's wrong," I said again.

They all looked at me. I touched Micah's naked back, but looked at Jean-Claude. "It was what we did tonight with Augustine."

Jean-Claude sat on the corner of the bed, one arm still wrapped around the bedpost. "What exactly are you referring to, ma petite} We did many things with Augustine tonight."

"I know that everyone thinks we're all snogging each other's brains out, but tonight was the first time I'd ever seen two men kiss. I've never even seen someone do ..." I faltered. God, was I still such a baby? No, damn it, I was a grown-up. "I've never seen anal sex before, let alone between two men. Let alone between my lover and a stranger." I took in a big breath and let it out, and went to the edge of the bed, a little closer to Jean-Claude. "Am I mak­ing any sense?"

"You were disturbed by what you saw," he said.

"Wait," Nathaniel said. The wait turned me to him. He was propped up on the pillows, the sheet forgotten in his lap, so that he was barely covered at all, but his face showed he wasn't even thinking about it. "How did you feel when Jean-Claude kissed Auggie?"

I opened my mouth, then closed it, because I wasn't sure what the answer was. How had I felt? "I didn't mind it. It was... interesting." That wasn't true. I looked down at the bedspread and said, "No, I... it was interesting."

"Interesting bad, or interesting good?" Nathaniel said.

Without looking up, I answered, "Good."

Someone sighed, and I wasn't sure which of them had done it. I looked up, slowly, and no one was looking at me like I'd said something awful. I don't know why I thought anyone in this room would think it was wrong that I liked seeing Jean-Claude kiss another man, but I did think it. I was waiting for someone to tell me to be ashamed of myself. I'd seen someone I loved kiss another man, and not only hadn't I been horrified, but I'd liked it. Was that wrong? I had waited for it to feel wrong, but it hadn't. It had felt strangely right, as if I'd been waiting my whole life to see it. It had felt right in that way that only the things that truly speak to your heart can feel. I hadn't felt bad when it was happening. I was feeling bad now. Why? Was it guilt? No, I felt uncomfortable, and a little squeamish, but not guilty. So what was it?

Micah touched my arm. "So many thoughts flying over your face—what are you thinking?"

"That I don't feel bad, and shouldn't I feel bad about it."

He looked puzzled, frowned. "Bad about what?"

"Shouldn't it bother me that I saw Jean-Claude kiss another man, a stranger at that?"

"Did it bother you?"

I shook my head. "Not at the time, no."

He smiled, eyes still a little uncertain. "But it's bothering you now. Why?"

"Did it bother you to watch us like that?"

He gave me a look. "I've watched you have sex with other men before, Anita."

I suddenly felt thirteen again, embarrassed and confused about the whole thing.

"I believe, ma petite, he is asking how you felt about watching me with Au­ gustine."

I looked at him, happy he'd helped me, but uncomfortable that he'd had to help me.

"Did it bother you?" Micah asked me.

I shook my head. "No, it was amazing. We did him. We owned him. It was ..." My breath shivered out of me. "It was a rush, power and sex all mixed up together."

"Then it's okay," Micah said. "Don't feel bad because you don't feel bad."

Of course, that was exactly what I was doing. "It sounds stupid when you say it out loud."

He hugged me, and I wrapped myself around the warmth of his skin. "It's not stupid, Anita. It's how you feel. Feelings are never stupid, they just make us feel stupid sometimes."