Of course he'd been right, and she'd felt that familiar sense of guilt wash over her. What was wrong with her? Why did it tantalize her so much? Why wasn't she as patient as Kurt? As in control of her desires?

Then something happened that should have set off the warning bells. They'd been sitting at the gate, waiting for boarding to begin. Kurt had been reading the Sporting News, his fingers absently stroking the top of her left hand. She watched his big thumb trace the vein under her pale skin, let her eyes travel up his thick forearm to his biceps under the sleeve of his pinstripe Oxford shirt, then to his eyes the same pale shade of blue, moving from side to side as he read.

She couldn't help it. She loved the way he looked. She'd touched him everywhere, she'd had her hands on his bare flesh, and that one time things got "out of hand," as Kurt referred to it, she'd even had him in her mouth.

He was beautiful. He made her feel hot and soft and female. She wanted to have sex with him. She wanted him inside her. She wanted to surrender to the mysterious pull of sexual desire. And yet she admired him so for his restraint, his strong sense of what was right and wrong. He was such a good man.

That's when she'd said, "Kurt?"

He'd looked up at her and blinked. "Hmm?"

She'd cleared her throat. "How important is sex in a relationship, do you think?"

His eyes went wide. "Charlotte-"

"I'm not pushing. I'm just curious. Listen, if a relationship between a man and woman were like a whole pie-"

"What kind of pie are we talking about? Apple? Boston cream?"

She'd laughed. He could always make her laugh. "I'm serious."

He'd bent down and kissed her cheek. "I'm listening. We're talking about a married man and woman, is that right?"