“You’re an American, aren’t you?” the man said.
Emma stared at him. “Is it so obvious?”
He smiled. “No, I just overheard you earlier speaking to one of the attendants. On holiday?”
“Kind of,” she replied. He was clean-shaven, with small laughter lines around his mouth. She thought him attractive in an unassuming way.
He chatted to her some more. She made polite replies. She noticed his hands, which were neat, almost small enough to be the hands of a woman. Suddenly, quite unexpectedly, she had a vision of them touching her, his right hand sliding up her skirt, pushing inside her knickers. Ridiculous, she thought. Am I really so frustrated?
“Would you care to walk around another room or two with me?” he said.
Emma didn’t quite know how to say no. She followed him out of the café. They
