<strong>Irene O'Rourke-Her Room with Sam</strong>-Day Two<br/><br/>Her eyes narrowed as he talked.  He talked too much now and the words, the sheer number of them, made her distrust him.  She glanced at the placid water of the tub and then back at the man.  Was he going to drown her?<br/><br/>What’s that he said? Purr?  Purr with pleasure?  Was he insane?  Did he mistake her for a house cat?  Oh, she understood now.  Cat house.  Very amusing.  But, he was the purse holder.<br/><br/>Irene stood up and pulled the chemise up over her head and let it drop to the floor.  She pivoted before him revealing that she had no pox marks, no syphilis sores, no scars whatsoever.  She prescribed to the French methods of personal hygiene and shaved her arm pits and her legs and her pubic hair.  Irene was careful of the hot desert sun so that her hands and face were barely darker than the rest of her peaches-and-cream skin.  She’d been in the business long enough that she didn’t blush when she took her clothes off...most of the time.  However, she felt herself flush as the man stared at her.<br/><br/>“If you like, I can call for someone to take your clothes to the laundry,” she said.  If she stuck to business, she wouldn’t think too much.  If she didn’t look him in the eye, it would be easier still.  As he was now quiet, she waited for a long moment before she couldn’t take it anymore and looked at him.<br/><br/>She stepped up to him and began unbuttoning his vest, focusing intently on the buttons, moving down to his waist.  She could smell him, now.  Standing close enough to feel the heat radiating off of his body, smell the scent of man, and leather, horse and a little desert sweat.  She wanted to lean into him and inhale.  Despite what he said, this wasn’t about her.<br/><br/>Irene slid her hands up his chest, pushing the vest apart and then off his shoulders, down his arms, catching it in one hand.  She smiled slightly, looking up at his face, just like she’d told herself not to.<br/>