His gaze. His touch. His fingers. His arms. The way he slid your dress down, the way he talked to you, the way he looked into your eyes without hesitation.

He knows how to treat a woman, and he knows he can be a gentleman if he wants to.

Two weeks since that night and still you can feel his hands on your waist, his gaze burning on your curves and his breath tickling your skin.

That man you met at the Jazz Cafe did things to you. He said his name was Simon, and that he was a lieutenant, so he’s a busy man… “But maybe I could dedicate you some of my free time, young lady.” He whispered as his lips kissed your knuckles.

And you couldn’t forget that. You’re there, lying in your bed and staring at the white ceiling of your hotel, your heart heavy in your chest.

Then your phone buzzes and you lift on your elbow, checking a new message. “I can still give you my time, young lady.”