He couldn’t help watching her. The years had done nothing to dim her beauty. She was beautiful, strong, and everything that he loved in women. She made her white sweater and jeans the epitome of class.
He sat in an armchair, a glass of vodka in hand. He continued to watch her sitting in the middle of the couch next to his chair. His focus never wavered from her and her focus never wavered from the task at hand.
He watched her practiced hands move. The deep red of her nail polish was a perfect complement to her pale white skin and to the black object in her hands. Her movements were efficient and yet her fingers seemed to linger as if she didn’t want to be finished with her task.
She didn’t smile but he saw the corners of her blue eyes crinkle in amusement. She licked her lips. She slowly tilted her head back to drain her own glass of vodka, baring her throat to his hungry eyes.
Neither of them noticed nor cared about their audience. Sarah hid around the side of the doorway and peeked in. She caught Frank’s sleeve before he could go in. “What is she doing?” she whispered.
Frank glanced in and smirked at her. “Vicky’s field stripping a rifle and cleaning it.” He arched his eyebrows. “To a very appreciative audience of one. Can you believe Ivan calls her bunny and she lets him?”
Sarah peeked in again and frowned. “She looks almost like a mother cradling her child.”
Frank took one last look at Vicky and Ivan, took Sarah’s arm, and led her away. “I wouldn’t call any of the vibes in there maternal. Come on. Vicky’s the last woman in the world I want to cross.” He leaned in close to her ear. “I love you but she’s much scarier.”