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On the pin board in his cellar was a shrine to his latest obsession. There were photographs sneaked with his mobile phone and those where he had used the long lens from a parked car as she left All Hallows University College Hospital. He'd kept the paper napkin that she'd blotted her bright scarlet lipstick with and that he'd retrieved from her table after she left the coffee bar. There was a strand of her jet black hair that he'd managed to surreptitiously cut, standing so close to her in that packed underground train that he could smell the light, flowery, scent she favoured. Pinned alongside it was a plan of the layout of her apartment building and a list of the places she went; the health club, her favourite bar, and, for some odd reason, the old ruined abbey on the hill overlooking the harbour.His preparations were almost complete. On a small table in front of his shrine, his tools were arrayed like a votive offering to her presence. The picture he'd stolen of her, emerging from. He stopped and stared. She was on her front, with her arms folded under her face, which was turned away from him. Teams of debaters could have argued for days about whether her ass was exposed or not. The backs of her legs looked so long that they gave the impression they'd somehow grown a foot in the last few minutes. Her toes were pointed. Her legs were firmly closed."It's the right one," she reminded him.He moved around to that side of the bed, realizing she had positioned herself in the middle, which meant he'd have to either bend over at an acute angle to reach her, or climb up on the bed too. He knew what his back would feel like if he spent more than a few seconds bent over, but all he could let himself do, initially, was put one knee on the bed, to lessen the angle."The back?" he said, his eyes flicking from the creamy skin on the back of her right thigh, to the half of her ass that was exposed.Her legs suddenly moved, and her pointed toes were suddenly a foot apart."The.
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