"You American?" he said, looking me over with a smile."British," I replied as I looked him up and down. He was tall, goodlooking. It looked to me like...he worked out.We talked for a while. He was a Danish photographer who split his timebetween London and New York. He was in Iceland taking photos for afashion magazine in Japan, of which I'd never heard.He leaned in close to my ear, "I could use you," he whispered.I laughed at his bad pickup line and raised an eyebrow."No," he said, "I really mean. She was tall, fit, perfect curves, with a gorgeous face. But the way she was put together and carried herself made her more attractive to me than her physical beauty. I watched her walk in head held high, wearing heels, a pencil skirt, fitted buttoned white shirt, and perfect hair.I could tell she knew she could ask him questions about the meeting, but I could see she was toying with him. Making him keep his excitement built up inside, not able to share it with anyone. She gave him looks that. More

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