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“Have a safe flight, okay?”
“I will,” he said and stepped forward until our chests were mere inches from one another. “Lucky,” he whispered, and his mint-scented breath brushed across my cheeks. “Before I go, I need to do one last thing.”
I quirked a brow, but he didn’t give me time to ask.
Within the blink of an eye, he wrapped his arms around me, pulled me tight to his chest, and leaned down to place his lips against mine.
A little moan left my throat when he slipped his tongue inside my mouth and kissed me in the way only Tiago could.
Good God, the man could kiss.
In fact, I often wonder if it was his sexual prowess that attracted me to him the most. I’ll probably never really know, but thinking back on the kissing as a measure of research is always worth it either way.
It’s worth reiterating. The kissing was good.
[pauses on a sigh]
So, he kissed me until my knees felt wobbly and my arms and legs turned to pliant, jelly goo. And when he pulled away, a despondent sigh got caught in my lungs.
“Yeah.” He nipped at my swollen lips. “I’m going to miss this.”
I was completely and utterly kiss-drunk, but I managed to whisper back, “Me too.”
One more soft, tender press to my mouth and he pulled away for good.
“Goodbye, Luciana,” he said and stepped up onto the sidewalk platform of JFK’s departure entrance.
“Bye, Tiago.”
He wrapped his knuckles around the handle of his suitcase, and after one last, fleeting glance in my direction, he was gone, through the automatic entrance doors and into the terminal.
I know. At this point, you’re probably feeling confusion.
A sexy Brazilian photographer with dark brown eyes and cute terms of endearment and mastery-level kissing, and yet…we were saying goodbye forever?
How did it all go wrong?
Well, if I were you, I’d hold back on your Tiago-love because there’s still a hell of a lot more to this story.
And it starts with a girl-date to Yankee Stadium.
