“So, Señora Leigh,” he said with that crooked grin, the one which always made her knees feel like they had given out and she would soon fall. “What is the matter? You said it was urgent?”
He draped an arm along the top of the sofa. Even through his pale blue long-sleeved shirt she could see the sculpture of his muscular arm. The humidity had come early this year, inevitable yet aggressive, and Mr. Garcia loosened another button, his chest hairs black and slightly damp. Leigh´s breath caught a little bit, and for a moment she questioned her plan, fearing rejection. But now he was here, and she knew that if she did not follow through, that she would regret it for the rest of her life. Or, at least, the rest of the summer. If not now, when?
1968 words (MF)
Cover art by Robert Flynt