His hand slid forward, following the line of my arm to where my hand rested in front of me. “Freezing,” he commented. My heart was racing. It took...everything I had to keep my breathing steady despite the fact that my skin was on fire where he touched me. He slid the tiniest bit closer to me, but was near enough that I could feel traces of his breath on my neck. “Roll over.” His voice was soft and undemanding. I rolled toward him.Taking my cold hands in his, he rubbed them before bringing them. Make that week, he thought. He'd get this job done and that would be it. It was hard to believe sometimes that he did this for enjoyment! He was done for the week, hell for the month. An hour later he was eating lunch in the truck and turning down a long dusty road. The sign on the mail box had said Jill Cannon in hand painted white letters. The lot number was correct and matched his notes. He had turned with confidence, but now he was beginning to wonder if the road would ever end. It was. More

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