He grasped me firmly, but gently, just above my elbow and guided me into a
room, his room. Then he quietly shut the door and we were alone.
He approached me soundlessly, from behind, and spoke in a low, reassuring
voice, close to my ear.
"Just relax. . . "
Without warning, he reached down and I felt his strong, calloused hands
start at my ankles, gently probing and moving upward along my calves,
slowly, but steadily. My breath caught in my throat.
I knew I should be afraid, but somehow I didn't care. His touch was so
experienced, so sure.
When his hands moved up onto my thighs, I gave a slight shudder, and I
partly closed my eyes. My pulse was pounding. I felt his knowing
fingers caress my abdomen, my ribcage. And then, as he cupped my firm,
full breasts in his hands, I inhaled sharply.
Probing, searching, knowing what he wanted, he brought his hands to my
shoulders, slid them down my tingling spine and into my panties.
Although I knew nothing about this man, I felt oddly trusting and
expectant. This is a man, I thought. A man used to taking charge. A man not used
to taking "no" for an answer. A man who would tell me what he wanted. A man
who would look into my soul and say . . . . .
"Okay, ma'am," said a voice. "All done."
My eyes snapped open and he was standing in front of me, smiling, holding
out my purse. "You can board your flight now."
