Phryne needed very little encouragement in the matter. In fact, when Jack's designs became apparent, she showed him a delighted (but small, intimate, true) smile and wound both arms and legs around him. "You're surprising me again, Jack," she accused breathlessly while her hand smoothed through his hair.

And why not? The nipples of her high, firm breasts pebbled against his bare chest, nothing separated him from her but her very fine silk drawers, and nothing separated her from him that couldn't be promptly dealt with provided he removed his shoes. Nothing touched her but air, Jack's clothes, and Jack. This was as fine a state of affairs as she could imagine, and one she'd ceased permitting herself to imagine would happen any time soon.