“It was a jolt,” he said. “You opened the door that morning wearing a red robe, your face flushed and alive. I said to myself, what a lucky bastard he is, he who slept with you, who did not deserve you, who was a dolt. I shuddered with an exquisite rush of gratitude, unable to say exactly for what except that you stood before me on a cold winter morning, barely daylight, for possibly less than a minute.”
“And what did I say? Was I snotty because of the early hour?”
“You looked at me intently with liquid blue eyes, innocent eyes with an openness that felt like summer and said, ‘He is not here, he's on the road.’”
“Then what?”
“I left, tingling, thinking, What a doll, what idiot would be somewhere other than waking up with this ravishing girl in the red robe? I vowed if it were at all possible, I would steal you away, and eventually I did. Now I never want to leave town, my career is all but washed up.”
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