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be.”
    “You thought they’d be having tea and crumpets? You know the definition of porn, right?”
    “Don’t make fun of me. I thought it would be more…suggestive and arty. Almost, I don’t know, kind of pretend. This is very…real.”
    “I’m not making fun of you, sweetheart.” He bent his head and kissed her. “There are some films like that. And I think they probably appeal more to women. Slightly more romantic. But I think guys prefer this sort of stuff.”
    She pressed her lips together, still feeling the brush of his mouth. “Do you?”
    “We’re a pretty basic species.”
    She scribbled a few notes on her clipboard. Then she leaned back against him and sipped her wine. Ocean’s Eleven Inches , huh? Glancing up at Rusty mischievously, she wondered what the movie would be called if he were in the starring role. She was desperate to find out and pondered on whether to start taking off her clothes. But even though he smiled at her, something in his eyes made her hold back.
    She continued to watch the DVD for a while, leaning her head on Rusty’s shoulder. He smelled nice, some aftershave with a spicy scent that made her tingle. On the screen the man and woman continued to have sex in a variety of positions, and she studied them, occasionally jotting down notes. And all the while Rusty drew small, circular patterns on her shoulder with warm, light fingers.
    “Well?” he asked after a while, watching her write something down. “What’s the verdict?”
    Her gaze rested on the screen. “Don’t know, really. It’s sexy, in a kind of mechanical way. I think the acting puts me off. She’s so obviously faking it.”
    “Yeah, I don’t think there’s an Oscar on the way anytime soon.”
    She laughed, looking up at him, and their gazes caught, snagged, held. He lowered his head and kissed her again, long and lazily, his hand moving from her shoulder to brush the nape of her neck, tangling in the curls tumbling from her head.
    When he eventually pulled back, she surveyed him. “Okay, so give me a score. How turned on are you?”
    He raised an eyebrow. “By the kiss?”
    “No, silly, by the DVD.”
    “Out of what?”
    “Ten. One being a striptease by your elderly maiden aunt, ten being a striptease by…er…”
    “You?”
    She grinned. “If you like.”
    He glanced at the screen and shrugged. “Seven?”
    “Ooh. Fairly high then.”
    “That surprises you? What’s your score?”
    She studied the DVD. “Five-and-a-half? Six? He’s not all that. I couldn’t see myself fantasising about him.”
    “Oh, and who do you fantasise about when you’re alone in your room, young Faith?” He ran his fingers all the way up her arm, making her shiver.
    “Um…” She could feel her cheeks growing hot. “Brad Pitt.” She pushed herself off the bed to cover her embarrassment, refraining from reminding him that Pitt’s character’s name in the proper version of Ocean’s Eleven was Rusty. “Let’s have a look at Forest Hump . See if that does the trick.” She concentrated on swapping over the DVDs—and on banishing the memory that had jumped into her head. She couldn’t possibly look at him. Brad Pitt. Brad Pitt, that’s all. The second DVD in, she climbed back on the bed and snuggled up to him. He kissed her briefly before pressing Play, and they settled back to watch.
    Faith studied the film. It consisted of an orgy in the middle of a forest, featuring half a dozen guys and a few more girls, all butt naked and writhing around in various positions. Only half her attention was on the screen, however. The rest of it centred on the guy currently sipping his Coke and making occasional comments about the movie.
    She was becoming increasingly aware that Rusty hadn’t done anything more than kiss her. She’d kind of expected him to be undressing her by now, playing with her as they got more turned on, but he hadn’t made a move on her at all. Was he waiting for her to do something? And if so, what?