That's why you get the old adage about a butterfly beating its wings in Brazil and causing a typhoon in Hong Kong.
"Some people," he added, "claim that chaos is a metaphor for life. Although unpredictable, life obeys certain rules: genetics, psychology, things like that. Presumably, each event is part of a grander scheme, as is the case with chaos. However, it's difficult to see life's pattern until it's complete. Humans are in the forest rather than above the trees."
"So if that blip of light were me, that jump to the right it just made might be my decision to come here rather than stay home?"
"It might," B.G. said and smiled angelically. "Dare I conclude that you're accepting our invitation? You understand, I trust, that the same rules that apply to the others apply to you. You are forbidden to achieve release unless I say."
"I understand. I'm pretty sure I can handle it."
Abruptly more devil than angel, B.G. rubbed his hands palm to palm. "In that case, I should share the rest of the rules. First, when your presence is not required, you are free to wander the house at will. Any area that is barred to you will be locked, with the exception of the other residents' rooms. Out of politeness, I ask you not to enter them."
"Will do," Charity agreed. "Can I ask, am I Mosswood's only guest?"
"We have additional residents ," he said. "People like Maurice who perform useful jobs. You, however, are the only guest per se. Consequently, all our focus will be on you. Everyone is dedicated to seeing that you, above all, have an extraordinary experience."
"Because you like studying desire."
B.G. gave her his courtly nod. "Speaking of our residents: Should you happen to meet a pretty blonde in the hall, and should she inquire about the nature of your desires, be sure you don't answer her. Sylvia is a marvelous masseuse, but not well suited for playing games. I try not to let her participate unless she's under my or Eric's supervision."
"Okay," Charity said, mystified. "I won't tell any pretty blondes what I want."
"Thank you," B.G. said, "and now, if I might make a request of you?"
She used a shrug to cover an inexplicable shiver.
He stepped around to face her, one hand on her shoulder while the other came to rest gently on her hip.
For a second, she thought they were going to dance. Though the hand that touched her hip was little more than a weight on her leather corset, the double contact made her feel as if a strong sexual current were coursing across her body.
Seeming oblivious to the effect, B.G. bent to look into her eyes. "May I kiss you, Charity?"
She had to shake her brain before it would work. "You're asking permission?"
"I believe in choice."
"When it suits you, you mean."
His lips curved faintly. "Even when it doesn't. The sweetest gifts are given freely."
"You're the strangest physicist I ever met."
"I'm the only physicist you've met, but that doesn't answer my question."
"Well, I'm supposed to say no , aren't I? I'm supposed to play hard to get."
"Only if playing hard to get is a personal kink. We want to rouse you , Charity, to intensify your longing to its highest pitch."
The hand that had warmed her shoulder rose to stroke her cheek, the caress as light as if she were made of glass. His eyes held a keenness she didn't understand, a hunger she suspected had nothing to do with her. She was willing to bet he had a personal kink, or a hidden agenda. That was the watch spring that wound him up.
As if he had all the time in the world, he swept the tip of his index finger across the upper lashes of her left eye. The tickle made her shiver again.
"A kiss," he said, "is merely an aperitif. It whets the appetite rather than sates it."
"And if I don't want a kiss?"
"Then you should refuse. What you shouldn't do is lie. That puts me out of patience. If you are too eager to please, you cannot be pleased yourself. Of course"—he treated her to another brilliant smile—"I do not foresee that being frank
"Some people," he added, "claim that chaos is a metaphor for life. Although unpredictable, life obeys certain rules: genetics, psychology, things like that. Presumably, each event is part of a grander scheme, as is the case with chaos. However, it's difficult to see life's pattern until it's complete. Humans are in the forest rather than above the trees."
"So if that blip of light were me, that jump to the right it just made might be my decision to come here rather than stay home?"
"It might," B.G. said and smiled angelically. "Dare I conclude that you're accepting our invitation? You understand, I trust, that the same rules that apply to the others apply to you. You are forbidden to achieve release unless I say."
"I understand. I'm pretty sure I can handle it."
Abruptly more devil than angel, B.G. rubbed his hands palm to palm. "In that case, I should share the rest of the rules. First, when your presence is not required, you are free to wander the house at will. Any area that is barred to you will be locked, with the exception of the other residents' rooms. Out of politeness, I ask you not to enter them."
"Will do," Charity agreed. "Can I ask, am I Mosswood's only guest?"
"We have additional residents ," he said. "People like Maurice who perform useful jobs. You, however, are the only guest per se. Consequently, all our focus will be on you. Everyone is dedicated to seeing that you, above all, have an extraordinary experience."
"Because you like studying desire."
B.G. gave her his courtly nod. "Speaking of our residents: Should you happen to meet a pretty blonde in the hall, and should she inquire about the nature of your desires, be sure you don't answer her. Sylvia is a marvelous masseuse, but not well suited for playing games. I try not to let her participate unless she's under my or Eric's supervision."
"Okay," Charity said, mystified. "I won't tell any pretty blondes what I want."
"Thank you," B.G. said, "and now, if I might make a request of you?"
She used a shrug to cover an inexplicable shiver.
He stepped around to face her, one hand on her shoulder while the other came to rest gently on her hip.
For a second, she thought they were going to dance. Though the hand that touched her hip was little more than a weight on her leather corset, the double contact made her feel as if a strong sexual current were coursing across her body.
Seeming oblivious to the effect, B.G. bent to look into her eyes. "May I kiss you, Charity?"
She had to shake her brain before it would work. "You're asking permission?"
"I believe in choice."
"When it suits you, you mean."
His lips curved faintly. "Even when it doesn't. The sweetest gifts are given freely."
"You're the strangest physicist I ever met."
"I'm the only physicist you've met, but that doesn't answer my question."
"Well, I'm supposed to say no , aren't I? I'm supposed to play hard to get."
"Only if playing hard to get is a personal kink. We want to rouse you , Charity, to intensify your longing to its highest pitch."
The hand that had warmed her shoulder rose to stroke her cheek, the caress as light as if she were made of glass. His eyes held a keenness she didn't understand, a hunger she suspected had nothing to do with her. She was willing to bet he had a personal kink, or a hidden agenda. That was the watch spring that wound him up.
As if he had all the time in the world, he swept the tip of his index finger across the upper lashes of her left eye. The tickle made her shiver again.
"A kiss," he said, "is merely an aperitif. It whets the appetite rather than sates it."
"And if I don't want a kiss?"
"Then you should refuse. What you shouldn't do is lie. That puts me out of patience. If you are too eager to please, you cannot be pleased yourself. Of course"—he treated her to another brilliant smile—"I do not foresee that being frank
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