He stood framed in the doorway to his office watching her as she flounced down the hallway directly toward him. He had no idea who she was, only that she snagged his attention like fabric on a nail.
She walked on impractically high heels that she wore with surprising poise, matched with stockings that could have been pantyhose but he prayed were not. Her short pleated burgundy skirt and tight crimson sweater sparked with sexual fire, fed by the black choker curled around her neck like smoke. Above it all, a mass of firecracker red hair blazed with color and bright promise, curls bouncing with each step she took. She was so perfect she didn’t seem real.
Several seconds passed before he recognized her.
It was his wife.
from Firecracker Red, by J G Cain