"What's this?" He was clever enough to know that the wild look in her

eyes meant she would strike first and be sorry for it later. He'd been

right about the virginal part, he thought while his breath heaved. And

he wanted to be the one to relieve her of the obstacle. "Defending your

honor? You were ready to cast it aside a minute ago."

She only shook her head, jabbing with the blades as he took a cautious

step forward. "Get out. I want you to get out. Don't come near me

again, or Marianne. When I tell her-"

"You won't tell her a thing." Through his fury, he smiled. "If you do,

you'll only lose a friend. She's in love with me, and she'll believe

exactly what I tell her. Imagine, coming on to your best friend's

lover."

"You're a b.a.s.t.a.r.d, and a liar."

"Quite true, Emmy luy. But then you're a frigid tease." Calmer, he

picked up his discarded beer and swigged. "And here I was, trying to do

you a favor. You've got problems, sweetheart, big ones, but nothing a

good f.u.c.k wouldn't cure." Still smiling, he rubbed himself. "And

believe me, I'm a very good f.u.c.k. Just ask your best friend."

"Get out."

"But you wouldn't know about that, would you? Sweet little Catholic

girl, all hung up in sins and those sweaty dreams you have when you

listen to me upstairs with Marianne. Your kind likes it to be rape, so

they can pretend they're innocent all the time they're screaming for

more."

Setting her teeth, Emma looked deliberately down to where he continued

to caress himself. "If I use these," she said quietly, "I'm going

straight for your b.a.l.l.s."

She had the satisfaction of seeing him pale at that, from rage and, she

was sure, from fear. He stepped back, and the sneer that had women

screaming for him sent sweat dripping down her back.

"b.i.t.c.h."

"Better a b.i.t.c.h than a eunuch," she said calmly enough, though she was

afraid the scissors would slip any moment from her nerveless fingers.

They both heard the elevator open. They both braced.

"Emma!" Marianne's cheerful voice sang through the loft. "Emma, are you

home?"

Blackpool sent Emma a quick c.o.c.ky look. "Right here, lover. Emma's been

showing me the prints."

"Oh, she's finished them."

He turned and strolled out, leaving Emma to stay or to follow. "I've

been waiting for you," she heard him say in a voice like cool silk.

"I didn't know you'd be here." The breathlessness in Marianne's answer

told Emma she was being kissed. Prying one hand from the scissors, she

rubbed it hard against her mouth. "Let's have a look at the prints."

"Why look at pictures when you've got the real thing?"

"Robert-" Marianne's protest ended on a m.u.f.fled groan. "But Emma's-"

"Don't worry about her. She's busy. I've been waiting to get my hands

on you all day."

Emma stood where she was as their murmurs and whispers trailed up the

stairs. Very quietly, she closed the door to the darkroom. She didn't