CHAPTER 11
I'd had enough of Prittmanns problems for one day and took the evening off to join Marie for dinner, buying a couple of bottles of wine on the way out to her place.
As usual, she was leisurely dressed – this time in tight-fitting, velour pants and a clinging top, and looking very desirable. After giving her a soft, lingering kiss I didn't want to let go. She pushed me away gently.
“Our dinner's almost ready,” she said. We don't want it to spoil, do we?”
I accepted her womanly wisdom, opened a bottle and poured two glasses, taking hers to her in the kitchen. Whatever was in the oven smelled good. I rarely ate more than a sandwich for lunch and, by now, had a ravenous appetite. Sipping my wine, I put some music on the player and settled into an easy chair, relaxing for the fir
