"You like it when I do that, when I boss you around?" His question seemed to make the air thick, difficult to breathe, as it hung between them. Gillian found herself unable to pull her eyes away from his, feeling somewhat like a butterfly stuck with a pin under a magnifying glass. She'd always warned Cal away from seeing too much, but she was just now beginning to understand what it felt like to have him truly reading her, seemingly accessing her thoughts directly from her mind without need of gesture or microexpression.

She gave her head a brief shake to try to clear out the mist that had developed in it; somehow she knew that Cal wouldn't be fooled into interpreting it as a denial.

"Sociology," she said. The apparent non sequitur had the dual benefits of distracting Cal from his train of thought and creating a rare look of pure confusion on his face.

"What's that, love?"

"It was a sociology professor, Cal." She'd decided, correctly, that answering his original question was much less dangerous than continuing along the path they'd been on.

"Let's not be stingy with the details, now, Gillian," he admonished her, raising his eyebrows knowingly. She shrugged innocently. "For instance, did you go after him, or did he seduce you?" His leer had returned, but she just gave him a superior smile.

"If you must know, I went after her," Gillian replied, pleased by the genuine surprise that showed itself on Cal's face. "She was beautiful, and French, and I liked how her lips looked when she said my name, Zhillian." She smiled involuntarily at the recollection.

"Seriously? You wouldn't be having me on here?" When she nodded, affirming the truth of what she'd said, he shook his head. "I take back everything I ever said about your atrocious lying abilities," he said, amazement in his voice.

"Now, I never lied about that – you just never asked," she pointed out.

"Well, I mean, you were married when we met, right? Why would I think to ask?" It was clear that he hadn't quite gotten over being taken off his guard yet – it was good for him, she reflected; happened rarely enough.

"'I am vast; I contain multitudes,'" she quoted, satisfaction practically bursting on her face.

"Yes, I'm beginning to see that, Foster," he replied seriously. "Which brings us to your forfeited turn, I believe. It'll be truth, I assume?" Cal's businesslike tone was back, and it seemed that he was in a hurry to get to his next question. She was tempted to deny him the opportunity, but suspected he'd find a way to make her regret it if she deprived him of whatever he wanted to know. She nodded again, though she was sure he'd caught her moment of consideration; no doubt he was working on a suitable 'dare' even as he prepared to launch his next question.

"Listen carefully, right, because this is a special kind of question," he advised her. "When I asked if you wanted to play this little game, I wanted to find out about your wild college ways, but you thought of something else, I saw it on your face. Something else you dreaded me asking, but at the same time it excited you. No good denying it," he added, as she opened her mouth to object, "you were practically squirming off the sofa there a few minutes ago, love, and that was long before we got to your admittedly provocative confession."

Gillian was aware that her eyes were roaming rapidly around the room, and she forced them to rest on Cal's. His gaze was a challenge, mixed with something else, something hard and glittering. "What were you afraid I'd ask?" he finally said, studying her face, noting the way her shoulder rose in an aborted shrug. "Not quite the right question, then, I'd wager," he said, eyes never leaving hers.

"How about this, darling," he said, the lowered timbre of his voice sending a visible shiver along her spine, "what did you want me to ask you?"


A/n: a short chapter - my goodness, it takes these characters a LONG time to access stuff that's buried. =)

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