He sat up slowly, wondering where he’d been and how much he’d drunk to make him feel so bad. Images flashed in his brain but refused to stay long enough to capture. He remembered a woman. Sweet-smelling. An incredible mouth. Mouth. That word stuck with him for some reason. He couldn’t remember kissing her on the mouth or kissing her at all, only wanting to—badly. Something about her mouth, about the woman, was important. The answer teased him, then moved out of his reach. Pulling the sheet away from his body, he looked down and swore. A quick glance at the other side of the bed was more comforting. He was buck naked and had a wound on his ribs he couldn’t remember getting, but at least he was alone. He tried to shake the dullness from his mind and concentrate on the woman’s face. Her eyes had been green and her hair…brown. Or maybe red. It had been long. He was sure of only that, but the rest of it…her features…her name…continued to elude him. He remembered her hair spread out across the pillow beside him, but had that really happened or was it part of the dream?
