Mrs. Whitcomb paid me with cash. I was half-afraid that she wasgoing to give me a check and stop payment on it when she finally came toher senses. Two...old bromides popped into my head: 1) the customer isalways right; and 2) there's no accounting for taste. Still, anyoneattempting to rectify this particular mistake would be in for a lot ofwork. It wasn't my problem. I pedaled home and ate my lunch. I had a hard time getting that redkitchen out of my head. Still, the lady of the house seemed. A lazy breeze licked her bare skin, its tongue the diaphanous gown she favored. The touch of the fabric against her skin brought a sigh from her mauve lips. Light brown nipples rubbed against the thin material as the breeze playfully wrapped around her. The dark hair at the juncture of her thighs stood out under the clingy pale gown.Simone wanted to ease this handsome stranger's pain. She didn't want him to grieve any longer, not if she could make him forget for a few hours. She walked to the. More

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