Wild Orchids
“Her throat went dry. Her heart began knocking like a jackhammer in her chest. This could not be happening, not to her, she thought, and the thought took on the fervency of a prayer. Horrified, she stared dumbly at the menacing looking man folded into the brown vinyl bucket seat beside her. The glint of something shiny in the vicinity of his blue jeaned thighs caught her eye. She looked down at his lap to see the blue metallic barrel of a gun poking out at her from beneath the folds of a grimy sarape that had been carried over his arm as he stood on the street corner, and now rested in an untidy heap on his legs. Her eyes widened with fright, and flew back up to his face. The wide straw brim of a battered sombrero obscured all but a square chin covered by several days' growth of bristly black beard and a grim mouth that was nearly hidden by an evil looking black mustache. But one thing she could see: the man was big. Overwhelmingly so, as he sat so close that she could feel his hard mu...scled arm crowding hers, so close that she could smell the tangy aroma of male sweat.MoreLess
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