Nothing sexual, he hurriedly told himself. Nothing like that at all. Just because Lonnie was – he snapped the sick reverie as a hot coal began to burn once more in his belly. He turned to the stunning beauty of Kim Copeland and felt the tingle of her provocative physical aura and the relief from his bitter depression. He said: "Well, this is it, Kim. Glad I could be of service."

"Won't you come up for a cup of coffee?" she asked, her wide eyes dispelling any salacious intentions such an invitation might arouse. Roger felt torn between the natural hesitation of a married man to be alone with so alluring a female as Kim and the reluctance to once more be alone. She purred through her slightly moistened lips, "Or a drink? It's a little of that old Indian Summer today, and sort of hot. I could use a gin-and tonic, and I don't like drinking alone."

She placed a friendly, warm hand on his leg – not too low, nor so high as to warn him, scare him off, just at the place mid-leg where a hand might touch innocently. But Roger felt her electric contact, and his mouth went dry. "I… I really don't know if I should."

"Do you have anything planned for right now?"

"Well, no, not really. I…" he looked at her, weakening, and bit his lip. "I don't know if it would be right, that's all."

Kim laughed lightly, like a spring nymph enjoying the morning dew. "Oh, you men, always thinking about your wives!" She chuckled again with a lilting, teasing manner. She moved like a lithe cat, her breasts pushing against the fabric of her dress. "As you told me, Roger, I won't bite."

The reference to his wife, if only in a passing, allegorical way, made Roger jerk on the car seat. His heart trip-hammered. "What about my wife?" he said in a halting voice.