Your hair, oh how I love your hair. Soft and healthy, I love how it falls over your brow and I sweep it to see into your eyes. I love how it feels between my fingers when my hand grasps unexpectedly at the back of your neck because I want you to kiss me harder, and I didn’t know that I wanted that. I wanted to be meek and sweet, respectful, a lady, as my parents would say. But your lips, God I love those lips. So soft and so cool and wet. Pressed against mine a knot in my throat forms and I struggle to swallow for just a half second, but long enough for you to notice and pull back and smile at me. I flutter my eyelashes and catch your stare and I blush, then you continue to push your lips on mine. As always, I’m over thinking everything by now, but you take my hand in yours and my thoughts wash away. That’s when I really noticed our dripping wet ice cold bodies. The rain storm that caused this was still tapping on the window of your room, and the thunder rumbled the walls. You slid. Everything from porters to gardeners; including dining room waiting staff, the barmen and the guy who always seemed to be kicking around behind the reception desk, but didn't appear to actually do anything.There were far too many staff kicking around for a hotel of that size, if you get my drift!From where I was standing, they looked out of place. And of course the little nods that they exchanged with Bernie and Marco, whenever we moved from one room to another, didn't help to disguise what their real purpose for being there was.Mind you, I suppose I was expecting, or even looking out for them.Bernie and I sat in the bar exercising our right arms and resolving all the problems, that seem to flummox our World's great leaders, for some time, before I ... we staggered up to bed.Well, I needed something to take my mind off the need for all that security around me. God alone knows what time we went to bed that night.John Carpenter reappeared, when the three of us were going into breakfast.
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