I pull out of his kiss. “I don’t know what kind of woman you think I am, Jim, but I can assure you—picking up camping tour directors in an airport bar is not my style.” I sit back and straighten my shirt and sip my margarita.
He rolls his lips as if amused with the game and picks my hand up and brings it to his lips. He begins to kiss it, and then he turns it over and, with his strong tongue, licks the palm of my hand.
My s*x clenches in appreciation . . . f**k. I’m losing control of this situation.
Fast.
I glance over and see two girls sitting near us, transfixed and watching him with their mouths hanging open.
What must we look like? A gorgeous man sitting here making out with my hand while I act totally uninterested. Act being the operative word.
“You’re making a scene,” I murmur
