of sex therapist. Temporarily. And I can’t go out and hire one, even if I knew how to hire one. I’d die of shame just getting the referral, and then … no. Just no. But as you’re so—well, clearly you’re experienced, and obviously, you don’t hate the idea. You just said. So …” I hauled in a breath. This had gone so much more smoothly in my spa-time imaginings. I’d been seductive, then, not sounding like somebody begging for a job. Or, rather, begging somebody to take a job.
A job he apparently didn’t want, because he’d taken a step back.
“Daisy,” he said. “Suppose you tell me exactly what’s going on here.”
“I …” My arm was flailing around some. “I have a problem. Well, obviously. We just said I had a problem. Like Fruitful. We both have a problem. But I’m not asking you to solve both of our problems,” I hurried to add. I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea.
“Bloody hell,” he said. “What am I meant to be, then, a gigolo?”
“No!” I said. “Well, obviously not. You pay a gigolo. Or a sex therapist, and you’re practically paying me. I mean, not paying me, obviously, but—yurt. Window glass. Et cetera. I wouldn’t be adequate, ah, remuneration. I mean, my … body, or whatever. Obviously. But it wouldn’t be terrible. At least, it probably would be terrible, but maybe I’d get better. That would be the idea. Think of it as tutoring.”
“Tutoring,” he said.
“That’s not helpful,” I said. “Repeating what I’m saying.”
“Oh, excuse me,” he said. “Please. Go on.”
He wasn’t smoldering anymore. Or, rather, he was, but not in a good way. In an I’ve-had-much-too-long-a-day-for-this way. He had his arms crossed—biceps, tattoo, et cetera—and was frowning down at me. Xena leaned against his thigh like she was saying, “I’ll love you, and you won’t have to be my gigolo.” I could see her point. I was pretty sure I wasn’t coming across as any kind of bargain.
I said, “Right. I’m just going to say it.”
“Always best,” he agreed.
“I didn’t have a good time with Gilead. Well, you’ve probably gathered that. I had a … a pretty bad time, in fact. He wasn’t gentle. He wasn’t patient. Fruitful could tell you.”
“Except that I’m never going to ask Fruitful,” he said. “I’m asking you.”
“He … spanked,” I said. “With a belt, sometimes. If you didn’t do well enough. For other things, too, but for that as well. You were meant to be appreciative. It hurt, and it was … it was humiliating.” I swallowed and plowed on. “Sex hurt, too. Intercourse. I know it worked for other people, though. Other women. For me, it always hurt. And I couldn’t do it well enough.”
“Right,” Gray said. “I’ll remember that. All of it.” A muscle at the corner of his mouth ticked, and right now, he didn’t look kind. He looked dangerous. If Gilead had seen him, I was pretty sure he’d have been running far and fast. He went on, “And you’re telling me that you … what?”
“I’ve tried, since then,” I said. “I have. I’ve done it, too. Twice. With two men, I mean, not the same man twice, because they don’t exactly hang around, after. Make an excuse and bugger off, don’t they. Disaster. I’ve tried going slow with dating since then, too. Nobody wants to take it slow enough, or I decide I’ll never get there, or … who knows, really. And I’d like to be normal. I want … I don’t know. Marriage? Probably not. Kids? Maybe. A kid, anyway. I never thought so, being the oldest of twelve. I’d have said I’d done enough mothering. But maybe so. Maybe I would. But I can’t, not if I can’t even have sex.”
“Could be you need hypnosis,” Gray said. “Therapy.”
“I’ve tried. Therapy, not hypnosis. We didn’t talk about that much, because I can’t. I can’t believe I’m telling you, but obviously, it’s because I’m getting better. Getting … closer. And I’m good, normally. I’m all good. I’m competent. I’m successful. I’m a good nurse. I work Emergency, and that’s not easy. I’m just not good at sex. But you see, with you … I feel like I am getting better. I’ve had feelings, and I never have feelings, not the way other people talk about. But I know I’m not going to be good enough to fool you, so I can’t just say, ‘Right, big boy. Let’s go,’ like women probably normally do.”
“I don’t think,” Gray said, a