I could feel her breath on my skin, I could feel the heat of her body, radiating over me in waves. "What if I was to do this? How does this feel?" she...said quietly, stroking my inner thigh with her finger tips.I sighed and closed my eyes. "Good, it feels good."She moved again and leaned towards me, sweeping my hair off my shoulders. "What about this?" she breathed, then leaned in and kissed my neck, twice in quick succession. Her lips felt warm and wet, burning points of contact that thrilled. Another true artist or a nungungi. I am hoping someone at the law school will know me. We learn from the past, we are not hostage to it." What did Pat mean, that you're no kookaburra?" Unlike most of the Europeans she sees, I'm not a chatterer." Right."Wednesday we went to the Art Gallery. First we located the Turner. Turners. Two watercolours and several engravings. I knew "Alnwick Castle" was the one dad talked about. But the other, "Scarborough Town and Castle," painted 20 years earlier, was. As my legs gave way beneath me, leaving me kneeling with my face against the bricks I knew I didn’t want to hurt him. Not now and not ever. He was the one though, my better. Eric was the only person to ever best me in a fight, the only person ever to knock me out. Eric was the one Samantha wanted. She’d wanted this man from the first time she saw him. Loved him, lusted him, chased him. Half the time I felt like I was a second choice, the consolation prize. The other half I knew it. His. It was time to get real; the hotel’s pool was beckoning. Another day at PittCon -- morning exercise, a shower, a day of not very important meetings and lecturers, then that common end of a conference's day, a lonely evening, and do the same thing again tomorrow. Well, maybe another dinner with Phil, and maybe another good night kiss? That would be nice, but I remembered how he looked at that escort, that “Robin”, and in spite of what he said I thought he might very well be ‘otherwise occupied’.