The Erotic Secrets Of A French Maid

and stole the radio. I got two rejection letters in the mail today from firms where I'd interviewed. My student loan, car insurance, health insurance, and quarterly taxes are all due, and my roommate just called and told me that she's moving in with her boyfriend next week, which means my rent just doubled.' She laughed, but it sounded tinged with hysteria. 'That's all. Nothing serious!'

'No, nothing serious, but I remember those days myself. Everything hung together as long as nothing went wrong, but when something did go wrong, I was screwed.'

She looked at him with interest. 'Yeah? What did you do when that happened?'

'Slept on friends' couches and only ate the free food at the pizza place where I worked. That was while I was in college.'

Her mouth quirked. 'I suppose I could live in my car and eat out of the refrigerators at the houses where I clean.'

'I doubt it will come to that. Do you want some coffee?' His arousal had gone down, and he felt safe standing.

'Sure.'

Emma followed him into the kitchen, bemused by the turn the day had taken. With each sucky thing that happened, she had felt herself sinking lower and lower under the weight of her situation. It hadn't helped that she had PMS, had stayed up until four in the morning working out and rejecting ideas for the train station, and all she'd eaten today was a banana.

Still, she'd thought she was holding up all right through car break-in, rejection letters, and bills until Daphne called, ecstatic over Derek's proposal that she move in with him. The moment Emma hung up, emotion had washed over her, unstoppable as the tide.

The last thing she'd expected was that Russ would witness her meltdown. The poor man had looked as horrified as she was.

She bit her lip against a smile, thinking of his offer of a hug. He'd dealt with her emotions the best he could. He had no idea that taking him up on his offer had more to do with the chance to touch him than it did with her need for solace. Yet something about the simple physical contact had soothed her, and once her nose cleared she realized that she liked how he smelled. She'd have happily stayed in his embrace all day.

She took a seat on one of the tall stools at the kitchen island while Russ set about making coffee.

'There are times I'm almost nostalgic for that time of my life,' he said.

'I'll trade you.'

He shook his head. 'I wouldn't take the memories from you. It makes success all the sweeter.'

She put her elbows on the counter and rested her chin in her palms. 'Success. I begin to wonder if I'll ever find it.'

'What type of firms did you interview at?'

'I have a master's degree in architecture. I'm trying to find an internship position.'

He stared at her. 'A master's degree?'

'So you wonder why I'm cleaning houses, don't you?'

'Yes. In a word.'

'It was supposed to be temporary.' She held up her fingers, counting off: 'The money is okay, it takes no training, you don't have to give notice when you quit, I get to see inside a lot of houses and see both bad and good design, I can arrange my schedule to allow for interviews, and the work doesn't take any brain power, so I can save my thinking energy for things I care about.'

She dropped her chin back into her hands. 'Only the money turns out to be not quite good enough to cover a perfect storm of bills and circumstance.'

'Why not take a regular job, if that's what it takes to make ends meet?'

'I'm afraid of getting sidetracked. I'm afraid I'll get lost in some other career, and architecture will become the thing I always wanted to do but didn't. And by the time I try to go back to it, it'll be too late. All my knowledge will be out of date and my ideas won't have evolved with the times. I won't be a wannabe anymore; I'll be a wanted- to-be.'

'So what are you going to do?' he asked, setting a mug of coffee in front of her. 'Cream, sugar?'

'Both, thanks.' She stirred her coffee and noticed him giving the same treatment to his own coffee. Heavy on the cream, heavy on the sugar, like a mug of hot coffee ice cream. 'I don't know what I'm going to do. Try to get more work, I suppose.' She sipped her coffee, thinking about Daphne moving in with Derek. Daphne said that Derek didn't want her to contribute toward his mortgage; that he wanted her there because he loved her, not because he wanted to save a few bucks.

'Do you know what I think sometimes?' Emma mused aloud.

He raised a brow. 'No.'

'I sometimes think that it would suit me perfectly fine to be a man's mistress.'

His brows went up.

'I'm not the only woman to ever think it, you know,' she said in mock-seriousness. 'And I don't mean mistress in the sense of a married man's lover. I mean that sometimes it seems like it would be a pretty good deal to be a man's kept woman. Have him pay my living expenses in exchange for on- demand sex.' She grinned. 'Hey, I'm horny anyway. It would kill a couple birds with one stone.'

'Could you do that? Emotionally?'

She shrugged, a half smile on her lips. He didn't think she was serious, did he? 'Who knows? Maybe. If the situation was right.'

Could she really do it? Probably not. Not unless it was someone like Russ, whom she wanted to sleep with anyway. She made a show of tapping her fingertips along her jaw and tilted her head, looking up at the ceiling as if considering. 'I'd have to like the guy, or at least respect him. And I'd have to find him physically attractive.' She slid a glance toward him and smiled wickedly.

He looked stunned. 'I thought women wanted love with sex. Marriage. Children.'

She dropped her hands to the counter. 'Oh, I do, but in a few years. Right now, I don't want my life to get swallowed up in a romantic relationship.'

'Swallowed up?'

'I don't want my ambition to get diluted by attachment to a guy. I've got too much to do, too much to achieve, before I get wrapped up in a relationship.'

The look on his face was one of utter befuddlement. 'I don't think I've ever met a woman who felt the way you do about love and sex.'

She waved her hand dismissively. 'Don't take me seriously. The mistress stuff was just an idle thought. Surely you've had impractical fantasies too?'

He laughed. 'You just described the perfect fantasy of a lot of men. A beautiful young woman who wants regular sex from him but no emotional entanglements.'

She chuckled, feeling a bit better. 'Well, there you go. And speaking of going, don't you have to go to work?'

'I have some things to do in my home office; then I'll go in.'

She slid off the bar stool. 'Well, thanks for the coffee and sympathy. I have another house to do after yours, so I'd better get cracking.'

She was happy for an excuse to get away from him. God. What was wrong with her?

You want to get into his pants, that's what's wrong, her inner voice said as she went to fetch her vacuum. She'd noticed in the past that when talking to an attractive guy, she gave away her interest by turning the conversation to sex. Never in an, 'Oh baby, take me home tonight' way; she talked about sex under the guise of having a pseudointellectual discussion. She'd mention a Cosmo poll or a factoid heard on TV related to sex, and ask his opinion. The words would spill out of her mouth before she consciously knew she liked a guy.

She shut her eyes, shaking her head in embarrassment. She'd outdone herself this time. She'd all but offered to be Russ's paid love slave. What must he think of her?

'Criminy,' she said under her breath, borrowing a word from her deceased grandmother. The day just couldn't get any worse.