Mrs. Carlyle and the overture

Almost two hours later, I went into the drawing room, again. I was dressed in the best suit I had in my luggage. Mrs. Carlyle was sitting at the piano playing a light tune. I noticed that she was wearing a rather revealing dress. In my opinion it was not quite appropriate for a married lady to wear something like this during an evening, being alone with a stranger. She stood up when she noticed me.

"You are extremely punctual, Mr. Webster. Would you like a drink?" She went to a small table with several bottles and crystal glasses on it, "A whisky perhaps?"

"Yes, with pleasure."

She poured me a glass. I went to meet her and took the glass from her. She poured herself a liqueur.

"Sit down, please."

She pointed to an upholstered couch. I waited gallantly until she was seated and then sat down at the other end, leaving a suitable distance between us. After a little trivial small talk, we got down to the reason for my visit.

She opened the sales pitch with clever remarks about horse breeding. I assumed that she had picked them up from her husband and I responded by pretending I was talking to an expert. To arouse her interest, I offered an unusually high purchase price; this was my normal and always successful tactic. Of course, I never intended to actually pay this gross sum. But with this overture, I sparked the sellers' greed and secured their attention and some concessions.

I only would come to the actual negotiations later when I got to see the horses. Then I would point out their actual and perceived weaknesses and deficiencies and thus push the price below the average. I didn't want to miss out on the opportunity to practice my business skills on this lonely lady. My profits would be astronomically high.

We agreed to ride out to the pastures the next morning to inspect the herds. Occasionally, during the conversation, she held out her empty glass to me.

"Would you be so kind?"

I emptied my own glass and went to refill both. After the fourth or fifth time, she was sitting in the middle of the couch when I returned. Whether to her left or right, I would only have a chance to take a seat if I accepted that our thighs were touching. I remained standing, undecided.

"Well?" she asked me with an innocent look in her eyes, "don't you want to sit down?"

Shrugging my shoulders, and I settled down. She didn't flinch back as our legs rubbed against each other. I could feel the warmth of both our bodies through the layers of fabric. We were closer than we had ever been before. I recognized the natural blush in her cheeks, a slight glassiness in her gaze and noticed the sweet, ****-spiced smell of her breath.

There was an almost magnetic attraction between us and we leaned towards each other. Her lips were slightly parted. Then the magic of the moment evaporated. She straightened her back, sat up straight and blinked the moisture out of her eyes.

"I think we'd better continue our conversation tomorrow," she said.

However, she didn't move away from me, but maintained contact between our legs.

I nodded and made an effort to stand up. But she put a hand on my thigh to hold me back. I looked at her. My gaze lingered on her long, silky eyelashes. She had her eyelids half closed, which made her eyes look extremely sensual.

Or like the eyes of a predator assessing its victim.