more concessions for murder

Paul waited until Steve-the manager- or- whatever he was- was out of earshot and then looked back at Caitlin. Caitlin was staring off in the direction that the manager had taken. Paul gave a grunt of disgust at her distraction and said.

“Excuse me, Miss Marshal?”

Caitlin came back to reality. “Yes?” she answered nervously.

She looked at Paul as if she had just noticed him as he signaled with his right hand to a baroque style bench, one of eight that ringed the lobby. She turned and walked over to it still massaging the pain in her arm.

Paul followed her, his frustration and anger cooling as he observed the gentle tilting of Caitlin’s hips as she walked. Her buttocks were tight and muscular and moved smoothly as she walked. That guttural feeling returned, and Paul found a new heat building in him as she sat down, adjusting her black velvet skirt over her knee. Caitlin’s legs were long and well toned. She was taller than Peggy was, as almost as tall as Paul himself. She had blonde hair that fell in deep curls about her narrow shoulders, her skin was smooth and her breasts- her breasts were perfect. Paul felt his heat rise as he looked at Caitlin’s breasts held away in her velvet v-cut dress. She was showing cleavage. Paul thought about cupping each of her breasts in his hands. His daydreaming ended when she made a throaty sound and his eyes met her icy blue. Paul’s fever fell like ice in a windstorm.

Caitlin sighed, her eyes still flashing as she remembered Paul had a real obsession with her breasts. The thought made her sick to her stomach. She glared up at him as he went to sit down beside her. She slid further down the bench in order to leave a space between them.

From his position under this cold new glare, Paul began to remember why he had come to hate this woman so much. What had started out as an innocent flirtation had become a nightmare of harassment and subsequent lawsuits. He stared back at Caitlin feeling a new deep sense of rage creeping up inside of him.