He was wearing one my suits, I noticed-one of those suits that would now look so comically big on me if I ever had the ridiculous notion of putting on... of them on again. The suit hung handsomely off his obviously fit and muscular body. His hair was black and immaculately styled; there was an adorable dimple in the middle of his chin and just a hint of stubble on his cheeks. He was Cary Grant, pure and simple-the Cary Grant of the '40s, of His Girl Friday and Suspicion and The Philadelphia. No man had called me an idiot before, not until after they had fucked me." I'm sorry for that. Sometimes I have a temper." I moved my eyes away from her legs and looked at the vase on the tea table. I knew I would want to fuck her if I kept on watching her legs."I bawled in the bathroom after that. But despite you calling me an idiot you also reminded me to watch out for that womanizing operations guy that I would be meeting. You cared for a bitch you hated." Oh," I murmured. I had no memory of. More

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