He loved her hair. The feel of it, the smell of it, he often tried to imagine how it would feel, draped across his chest while she slept in his arms. ...onight he had every intention of finding out. Slowly he kissed his way down her neck, her head tilting back as she sighed softly, giving him better access to her delicate throat. Kissing and nibbling, he moved slowly over the exposed flesh that warmed under the touch of his lips, following a hidden trail that would lead him to the inviting. In the light of the lantern I saw a petite thirty-something dark-haired woman dressed in a black sheath cocktail dress with her back against the bulkhead. She shaded her eyes against the light as I struggled to figure out what to say, and settled for, "Your cousin sent me."It even sounded lame to me and I didn't even know if she could speak English. Perhaps, "Ms. Bartoli, I presume" would have been more appropriate. Why is it you always think of these great lines after the fact?She smiled, and. More

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