She was visibly startled, like an abrupt stop in the record player. She snapped from her thoughts (hopefully filthy ones) and looked at me. She stoppe... toying with the hair strand and her hand fell to her side. I stood and crossed the room to stand in front of her. Her skin had dried in the low temperature, the moisture of her recent bath all absorbed by the towel wrapped around her. The chilling November breeze blew through the window, raising goosebumps all over her skin. I leaned in close. Her jacket was expertly tailored and fit like a glove. Her pants…my Gawd, her pants! They highlighted her magnificent bottom, clinging to it and her upper thighs to the point that I thought their stitching would give way. Her feet were in her trademarked three-inch – this time burgundy – stiletto heels. Marsha must have warned her that she’d seen me. As I approached them, Cam turned, beaming, and greeted me with a ‘Hi, sailor!’ ‘Sorry I’m late,’ I apologized, at which point Marsha excused. More

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