She was scowling; he had caught her at something, he supposed. The problem was that he still hadn't determined exactly what it was, but now that she was giving him that look he felt he had to stop — er, exploring — to try to put his finger on the answer. He moved his right hand down to rest on the bedspread beside him, and was about to move his left away from her chest when it suddenly struck him. That was it — that was the difference.

"Your breast," he said, glancing down at it. His hand still rested there, though obviously he'd stopped caressing her. He didn't know what to make of this development.