“His shirt, tie, and trousers were folded small as an apology on a faded blue-velvet chair.”

“His five feet three rested angular on the folding chair, a body small, well-wrought and somehow precious, as if it were the forgotten creation of any goldsmith—even Cellini—shrouded now in dark serge and waiting to be put up for auction.”

“Lifting the bedcovers I see out of my one operational eye that my trousers are still wrapped around one leg and I now have a tie on. Now that was a neat trick – how’d I manage to get my shirt off without talking off the tie first?”

“Folding chairs were flying through the air as if propelled by dozens of invisible Bobby Knights.”

“His hair was still wet, and he was in a black long-sleeved T-shirt and tattered blue jeans. His feet were bare. Casual. Comfortable. Gorgeous.”

“I’ll accept your apology on one condition.” He folded his arms across his chest.“Anything?”“You trust me.”