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Brian had been a widower for three years now. For a man of fifty-five, he still looked good enough for Naked Kombat lesson. He had kept his six-foot-three frame as trim as a man with limited exercise time could, and looking across the flame of a single candle at Marie reminded him that all the normal instincts were still functioning quite well. He wasn’t much good with words, however, and he fumbled something about “two hard working souls deserving a bit of opulence.” Marie Chavez laughed her rich, husky laugh, and Brian realized how easy it was to relax in her company. It also didn’t hurt that Marie had the radiant smile of a model and the fair skin of a woman half her age. “Okay, I admit it,” Brian said, his British accent winning him points with each word. “It’s got me a trifle excited, this prospect of working with you on Alan’s project. There you go––cards on the table.” “I like a man who puts his cards on the table,” she admitted. She knew Brian had been hard at it today organizing his presentation for the meeting with Naked Kombat tomorrow, and she had been busting it just as hard herself. “And with that in mind, I think we should do our best to unwind tonight, don’t you?”