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but she could see this man carrying out pretty much any role with capable ease.

    He was dressed conservatively, like her, but he didn't seem like the type who considered casual wear to mean not wearing a tie. She could see him wearing jeans and a sweater and looking comfortably at home. In fact, she could picture him sitting outside on her patio drinking coffee and orange juice, reading the paper, having breakfast. The image was so unexpectedly ordinary that she blinked.

    "Hello," he said, regarding her with steady eyes. "You must be Rachel Law."

    She nodded.

    "My name's Chase."

    The name suited him, she thought. It was a solid kind of name, but not boring. "Hello, Chase."

    He walked over to join her at the small round conference table, pulled out a chair, and sat across from her. "If you don't mind my saying so, you don't look like a woman who has any trouble getting a date."

    "No," Rachel agreed. "The trouble is getting one worth the time and effort."

    "Sex isn't worth your time and effort?"

    The question was asked in a matter-of-fact tone. She didn't get the sense that he was trying to shock her or make her feel uncomfortable, just stating the obvious. Because people became clients of the Capture Agency for a very specific reason.

    "It hasn't been," Rachel answered, matching him for directness. "Not bad or anything. It's just that sex was never very exciting. Not fun. No surprises."

    She looked down at the tabletop as if the designers at IKEA could help her search for the right words. "The men I dated, the relationships I had, I knew what they were going to do before they did it. Everything was predictable, and it seemed so pointless."

    Rachel gave a slight shrug and continued, "I know I could have made an effort. If I wanted something different in bed, I could have shown up with a can of whipped cream. But the problem was on the inside, and I didn't think adding props would change anything. I thought—" She broke off and then looked up at him, meeting his eyes. "I thought if I met somebody who was whipped cream and handcuffs on the inside, then whether we used any props or not, it wouldn't matter. It'd be exciting and different because he'd be different."

    "Capable of surprises."

    "Yes." She smiled at him. "Exactly."

    He studied her as if she'd presented him with a puzzle. Something gave her the idea that he was very good at figuring out puzzles. Finally he said, "Stand up."

    "Excuse me?"

    "Stand up." He smiled at her, and it reached all the way to his eyes. His expression was warm, reassuring, with a hint of humor. "I want to see if you're really ready to do this."

    "What, here?" Rachel felt competing surges of anxiety and anticipation. "Don't we talk first, get to know each other a little?"

    "I'm not going to ravish you on the table," he said. The smile widened just a little. "Although that's certainly an interesting idea."

    "Oh." She folded her hands primly in her lap and made no move to get up. "Then what?"

    "An exercise. Ever been in theater?"

    Which had what to do with her sex life? "No," Rachel answered cautiously.

    "This is an exercise that casts often do together. Putting on a production means people will be working closely together for some time, playing roles. They have to trust each other to do their part well. It makes for the right environment for creativity and cooperation, for good performances."

    She could see how having the right environment could foster the level of comfort needed for the best possible performance and how that could transfer to this kind of sexual role-playing. Rachel nodded her understanding. "I see. And you do this exercise standing up?"

    "Yes." Chase stood and extended a hand to her. Rachel slid hers into his grip. His hand felt warm, strong. He helped her to her feet, then let go, not using the contact to try to prolong any kind of physical intimacy.

    "How do we do this?" she asked.

    "You stand here." He indicated a spot farther away from the table, with