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mean talking about sex, because if actually having sex doesn't fluster you at least a little, you're missing something. But this flusters me."

As she continued to work, Tink nodded sagely. "Moving from friends to friends with benefits has the advantage of knowing who the hell you're getting naked with."

"There's that. But it could be awkward, right? After."

"Only if one of you's an asshole about it." She gave her gum another cheerful snap. "So, my advice - don't be an asshole."

"On some odd level that's actually wise." Emma set the foam to soak. "I need to check something in my appointment book."

"Okay. I'd schedule that nookie in for tonight," Tink called after her. "You'll be the happy flower lady tomorrow."

And there's another point, Emma thought.

She saw by her book she'd left the evening open. She'd marked the date with a large X after five o'clock, her way of warning herself not to get talked into going out. Too much work lined up for a date. But this wasn't actually a date, she decided. He'd come by, bring food, and then . . . they'd see. She didn't have to change or think about what she should wear or . . . Who was she kidding? Of course she'd worry about what to wear. There was no way whatever was going to happen with Jack was going to happen while she was wearing her work clothes and her nails were green from stems and foliage.

Plus, she'd need fresh flowers and candles in the bedroom. And she'd be more relaxed if she could take a nice bubble bath. Choosing an outfit was a vital element in an evening like this, not just what went on top, but what was under it.

She closed the book.

When she thought it all through, a not-actual date required more work than an actual one. She hurried back to her flowers. She had to finish her workday, give the client her best. Then she needed plenty of time before seven to make everything perfect, without making it obvious she'd gone to any trouble at all.

CHAPTER NINE

SHE SETTLED ON A DRESS IN A BREEZY PRINT. CASUAL, EMMA determined, simple and almost sweet with the little cropped sweater she paired with it. And what she wore under it was lethal.

Pleased with the results, she did a final turn in the mirror before giving the bedroom a close inspection. Candles for soft, romantic light, lilies and roses for romantic scents. The CD player set on low with a quiet, romantic mix ready to play.

Pillows plumped, shades drawn.

It was, she decided, a female den of seduction. She was damn proud of it. Now all she needed was the man.

She walked downstairs to make sure everything was ready on that front. Wine, glasses, candles, flowers. Music again, still low but more upbeat than the mix waiting upstairs. She turned it on, adjusted the volume, then circled around lighting the candles.

They'd have some wine, she thought, and talk. Then a meal and more conversation. They'd never had problems with conversation. Even though they knew where the evening was headed - maybe because they knew - they'd be able to talk, relax, just enjoy each other's company before they -

She spun around when the door opened, giddy nerves dancing. And Laurel walked in.

"Hey, Em, can I get you to put together a couple of . . ." Laurel stopped, lifted her eyebrows as she looked around the room. "You've got a date. You have a sex date."

"What? What's wrong with you? Where do you come up with - "

"How long have I known you? This side of forever? You put out new candles. You have foreplay music on."

"I put out new candles all the time, and I happen to like this mix."

"Let me see your underwear."

Emma choked out a laugh. "No. You want me to make up a couple what?"

"That can wait. I have twenty bucks that says you have on the sexing underwear." Laurel strode over, started to tug at the bodice of Emma's dress - and got her hand slapped away.

"Cut it out."

"You took a bath in the tonight's-the-night bubbles." Laurel sniffed. "I can smell it."

"So what? I often have dates. Sometimes I have sex dates. I'm a grown woman. I can't help it if you haven't had sex in six months."

"Five months, two weeks, three days. But who's counting?" Laurel stopped again, sucked in an exaggerated breath as she pointed at Emma. "You have a sex date with Jack."

"Stop it. Will