With a sigh, he pushed his chair away from the desk and leaned back. A soft noise at the doorway caught his attention and he turned to see his wife at...the door. She wore a long grey pencil skirt that accented the curve of her hips with a white blouse tucked in at the waist, fitting tight over her breasts. He could see the white line of her bra and the perky bumps made by her nipples and he smiled.She wore soft natural makeup and her hair was pulled neatly back into a tight bun. Her glasses made. She appeared to be near forty, but her face was without wrinkles or worry. She was slim but the fit of her pants hinted at well-toned legs. “Yes, thank you,” she replied. “Are you waiting for someone?” I pressed. “I’m a widow; I shall always be waiting for someone,” she replied softly, still holding a weak smile. “May I sit down?” I asked, pointing to a chair on the opposite side of her table. “Yes, of course,” she answered. “So, you’re alone?” I asked. “But you’re okay?” “Yes, of. More

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