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Caught by the police.

Her face was a little wider than it used to be in her early twenties; her lips were fuller and her breasts certainly were larger but, dammit, so were her hips.

'I could eat you', she mouthed at the mirror then blew herself kisses, pleased her green eyes appeared to be glowing. Well she was sexually excited.

Back to Mr Stiff.

She giggled, taking the wrong meaning when she meant conservative. She had the plan: say a bright 'Hi' and comment what a lovely apartment and fabulous views. Easy. All she had to do was to knock on the door of 7-11 and her rehearsed greeting would flow but she'd have to be aware of not being thrown by unexpected responses or gestures from him.

The elevator doors opened and Harry was standing there, smiling.

Drat he was supposed to be in apartment eleven.

It didn't matter; she only had to ad lib.

Oh gawd, he was wearing dark suit pants, a white shirt over which was a muted floral waistcoat - she just loved men wearing waistcoats, the modern kind like he was wearing.

Harry held out his hand, probably a gallant gesture to assist her to step from the elevator, but she stupidly shook it and said hi again, which prompted him to repeat his greeting.

"Lovely foyer," she enthused.

There was no foyer, it was just a spartan spot in the hallway of plain grey walls broken by the finger-marked stainless steel surrounds of the elevator doors, now closed, a wall-mounted fire extinguisher and a 'Smoking is Forbidden in Public Areas of this Building' notice.

The carpet was stained.

"It's a bit austere," he said, looking a little surprised. "But it's home."

"I draw. Perhaps I could sketch something for this wall opposite the elevator doors or go whacky with graffiti."

That was meant as a joke and he smiled hugely and revealing great teeth. She imagined her nipples showing interest in those teeth.

"I was saying let me take your carry-bag."

"Oh sorry, my mind was on teeth - er tea."

"You'd like a drink of tea?"

"No, I hate meant golf tees."

He looked astonished. "You play golf?"


"Oh yes, I often play nine holes with my mother and occasionally a full round with my father and his buddies if they are a player short."

Impressed, and taking her carry-bag and almost dropping it because of the weight, he asked: "So you have a handicap?"

"Yes twelve."

He looked, er, stunned. He must play golf.

"What's your handicap - golf I mean?"

"Eighteen," he said weakly.

They shared an outside interest besides sex, at least hopefully sex. Sierra was delighted and that showed on her face. Hooking her arm into Harry's and chuckling she said, "Fancy that, all these years of working together and we didn't know we shared an outside interest like golf. I wonder what other recreational and social interests we have in common?"

Harry turned to stare at her.

"You should remember - we've often talked about music, theatre, film and concerts, fitness, food, favorite drinks, holidays and even clubbing."

"Did we?" Sierra murmured, then biting her wretched tongue.

"Of course I understand your indifference because of your consuming interest."

"My consuming interest?" she asked, without thinking.


Sierra's knees almost gave out but he tightened his arm hooked through hers to steady her.

"Have you been drinking?" he asked, smiling and looking deeply into her eyes. "God, your eyes are beautiful."

She swallowed and he pushed her through the open door of Apartment Eleven and she felt his hand lightly run down her right butt. Her butt!

This guy had her off-balance. What's going on here?

"Nice apartment; very tidy for a man," she blurted and attempting to recover said, "Where's the gorgeous views. Oh gawd," she said, seeing only the architecturally uninspiring buildings out the window. "Don't answer - I don't know what's happening here. I think I psyched myself up so much because I was coming here that I'm over expecting."

"Over expecting, exactly what are you expecting?"

Sierra maintained a practiced array of special smiles for new men.

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