Standing on unsteady legs I rush to open it. The baby is sleeping. I'm afraid another resounding knock will wake him, or worse, draw attention from the neighbors. He’s standing there smiling, leaning against the door frame as if he belongs here. He’s wearing that sinister, all too knowing grin that makes me weak, though his eyes are dark—deadly even, as he looks me over. My eyes drift over him, drinking in the sight of his tall, lean form that fills out his faded blue jeans with such perfection it makes my thighs impulsively rub together. "Hey, I was in the neighborhood," he smiles again. It's not even the least bit true. His gaze moves past me to the faintly lit house beyond, as if examining it. "I take it your husband isn’t at home tonight?" There’s a lump in my throat making it hard to swallow. I move back shaking my head as I hold the door open wider in an unspoken invitation. He doesn't step in. "You—you know he's not," I stutter.
