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To be fair, I’ve had the hots for her a long time. I suspect Kristine knew this, and enjoyed the attention. She often mad an effort to put her hand on my lower back when she spoke to me. More than once her hands have graced my thighs, I’m thinking deliberately, as she has leaned over my desk to point out something on my computer or on a sheet. But I had not acted on it. I was married after all. I’ve jerked off thinking about her, of course. I suspect Kristine knew this, too. I was very much under her spell.After dinner, there were drinks in the lounge. I was talking to a couple of other colleagues when Kristine came and sat in a big leather chair just across from me. She sipped her drink and looked at me, nodded, but said nothing. Instead, she leaned back, caressed her fishnet clad thighs, and crossed her legs, and dangled her shoe from her left foot. Oh, those cute feet of hers. She remained silent, listened to the conversation, but I couldn’t concentrate on that myself. I was a tad. Fogg had made, without hesitation, to rescue him from the Sioux. Mr. Fogg had risked his fortune and his life. No! His servant would never forget that!While each of the party was absorbed in reflections so different, the sledge flew past over the vast carpet of snow. The creeks it passed over were not perceived. Fields and streams disappeared under the uniform whiteness. The plain was absolutely deserted. Between the Union Pacific road and the branch which unites Kearney with Saint Joseph it formed a great uninhabited island. Neither village, station, nor fort appeared. From time to time they sped by some phantom-like tree, whose white skeleton twisted and rattled in the wind. Sometimes flocks of wild birds rose, or bands of gaunt, famished, ferocious prairie-wolves ran howling after the sledge. Passepartout, revolver in hand, held himself ready to fire on those which came too near. Had an accident then happened to the sledge, the travelers, attacked by these beasts, would have been.
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