Chapter 82

After a while, he stood, dried his eyes, and took a deep breath. “Damn it,” he whispered, “I am not a prisoner here.” He went out to the foyer, where a gilt-edged mirror hung on one wall. He looked at himself and was pleased with what the mirror threw back. The garden and lawn work had made him trim, building and defining his muscles. The T-shirt clung alluringly to a muscled chest and went taut around his biceps. And damn if he didn’t fill out his jeans, faded at his bulging crotch, in a very provocative way.

“Why let all this go to waste?” he wondered, trying to smile.

He grabbed his car keys from the secretary desk by the front door. “It’s your loss, Michael.”