I walked through the door, weighted briefcase in one hand, a stack of mail in the other, hair disheveled, a look of weariness and exhaustion painted on my face, as we made immediate eye contact. "Sit down," he said, with the hazel eyes I have been smitten with for more than 35 years. "How was your day?" he asked. Intuitively, knowing the words about to spill from my mouth, he rose, then poured me a glass of wine. "Just relax for a few minutes." Catching my breath, dropping my workload to the ground, my lips formed half moons pointed in his direction.
He is my rock. My seducer. The one who knows me from the inside out.