Jenny's cries stopped. Just like that.

Do something! my inner voice roared at me. But what the hell could I do?

'Thank Christ for that,' said the Londoner with a loud sigh, his tone suddenly more relaxed. 'She's a looker though, ain't she?'

'Don't even think about it,' answered the Irishman dismissively, and this time his voice came from right outside the bathroom door. 'We haven't got time. Get her off the bed. I need a leak.'

As he spoke, the door handle began to turn.

Jesus Christ! The bastard was going to come in here, and I'd locked the door! As soon as he realized that it was locked, he'd know there was someone in the apartment, and that would be it. I was trapped. One minute preparing to make love to an attractive woman, the next praying for my life.

The handle kept turning. The guy kept talking. My heart kept hammering.

Do something!

I leaned over and flicked back the bolt, hoping his voice would muffle the sound. Then, moving quickly and trying to make as little noise as possible, I stepped into the bathtub and pulled the shower curtain across so that I was hidden.

Just in time. In the next second, the door opened and he came in, shutting it roughly behind him.

I froze again, teeth clenched, not even daring to breathe as he stood in front of the toilet and unzipped, grunting loudly, only inches away. He was medium height, with the kind of contoured leanness that suggested he worked out a lot more than me, and if I'd put out my hand, I could have tapped him on the shoulder through the curtain – he was that close.