"Do you want breakfast? I’ll have room service send something up."

I don’t answer, assuming the question to be rhetorical. She’ll do what she wants, I imagine. God, what did she want to do last night? What did we do?

And what am I going to do now?


* * *

I am having a wonderful dream. I’m in Louisiana, staying at one of the old plantation houses, and the scent of magnolia is drifting in an open window. I’m in an upstairs bedroom, laying on a plump feather bed, being embraced by both its softness and a small body in front of me. She’s snuggled up against me tightly, leaving no room between our bodies, which is just fine with me. Her head is resting on my left arm and my other arm is thrown around her waist, under the fullness of her breasts. Her skin is soft and smooth and smells wonderful, even better than the flowers outside.

I feel her hand stroke my arm. It feels so good, so gentle. I stretch lazily, like my fat cat, and enjoy the feel of our skin sliding against one another. I kiss her shoulder. "Stay. Nice," I whisper. No need for this dream to end anytime soon.

"Harper?" My dream asks.

"Hmmm?"

"Harper … umm … wake up."

"No," I protest. This is too nice. "No reason to get up. Day off." I deserve one, especially after the last few days and the hostage situation. Surely, the world can continue on without me for awhile.

I relax again into sleep, letting it take me back without protest.

My dream girl turns in my arms, stirring me again. I fold my arms around her, pulling her close. She needs to learn to be still, enjoy the quiet of the morning. Instead, she’s plucking at the heirloom quilt covering our bodies and letting cool air hit warm skin.

"Harper?"

Honey, it’s early morning. Maybe she feels awkward here. I can fix that. I kiss her gently, enjoying the taste of her lips. It’s familiar, surprising me; I didn’t think I knew her, other than in a Biblical sense.

Then, my dream does the unexpected: she pulls away from me. I feel the sheet disappear and the quilt tucked tightly around my body. What’s going on here? This was supposed to be a nice dream.

Awareness comes suddenly.

This ain’t Louisiana, that ain’t an heirloom quilt, and she ain’t no dream girl. That’s Kelsey.

Oh shit.

I play possum and try to take stock of the situation. Through barely open eyes, I see Kelsey standing in front of a mirror, examining her body. I wish she’d drop that sheet a bit lower so I could join in the inspection.

Because I sure as hell don’t know what happened.

But, given the pounding behind my eyes, I’m surprised I can recall my own name. Jesus. That was some strong shit they served last night. Gotta remember to not drink Omaha Special Blend Whiskey in the near future. Or ever again.

I take stock of my body. I feel like crap. But that’s the hangover talking. My shoulder hurts, but I think that’s explained by my tackle of Kelsey yesterday after throwing the Betacam at Scamp. I am certainly relaxed, but it doesn’t seem quite like the normal post-sexual lassitude I typically enjoy. Did we? Or didn’t we?

I hear Kelsey begin rummaging around for something near the bed. Rolling over, I push myself up on my elbows to observe her. I think my Little Roo is upset.

"Did I do that?" she asks my shirt, as if it might answer her.

"Un-huh," I answer on behalf of my shirt. This is one of the few things I recall from last night. "You bit the first two off, then you just ripped it open." Surprised the hell out of me. Little tiger. I may have to change her nickname.

"Oh please. I have never in my life bitten off a button. Let alone two." The most precious blush is creeping up her neck and cheeks.

"Well, you did seem to find ripping them off far more satisfying." Come on, Kels, this isn’t so bad, is it?

"Harper." She sounds so weary. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Umm-hmm."

"Will you answer it honestly?"

"Umm-hmm."

"What happened?"

I smirk, a bit relieved that she doesn’t know either. At least, we have a level playing field. "You mean you don’t remember?"

"No," she squeaks.

God, it’s too funny to see the fierce Kelsey Stanton standing wrapped up in a sheet and looking none too sure of herself. I laugh at the thought and get smacked in the face by my shirt, suddenly flung at me by an angry blonde.

"Go to hell."

Ah, damn. I didn’t mean anything by that. Come on, Kels, this is funny. I mean, we both obviously want each other. This isn’t the end of the world, is it? "Ah, come on, Kels." I follow her to the bathroom and knock on the door.

"Leave me alone!"

"That’s not what you said last night," I tease. Kels, don’t be this way. It doesn’t have to be this way, right?

"Fuck you."

"Yup, that’s what you said last night. See, Kels, it’s all coming back to you now."

"Harper, if you have a kind bone in your body, you’ll let me take a shower in peace."

"No problem." Guess it does have to. "Could you hand me a robe first?"

The door opens, she stares for a long moment and then she shoves a robe into my hands, the door closing again immediately. "Here."

Maybe this can still be salvaged. "Do you want breakfast? I’ll have room service send something up." Perhaps food will calm the savage beast.


* * *

As the water runs over me and I let it wash away some of the cobwebs, I try really hard to remember what the hell happened last night.

All right. Now let me think. We came back here. I remember Harper having a little trouble getting the door open.

Oh God. It was because I was standing behind her running my hands up and down the front of her shirt.

I remember pushing her into the wall and kissing her senseless once we were inside. She tasted so good, oh so very good. I remember the burning in the pit of my stomach, the ache between my legs. Oh Jesus, I remember wanting her so damn bad. I don’t ever remember feeling like that before, to want someone so much it hurt.

Her hands were all over my body and felt so good. I didn’t want her to stop. I wanted her to take me to bed and make me feel, make me feel anything she wanted me to. Of all the things I do doubt this morning that, most certainly, is not one of them. Last night, I wanted Harper Kingsley.

Have I lost my fucking mind?

Good God. I lean against the shower wall as the water runs over my body. How goddamned irresponsible could I be? Harper is my co-worker. The last thing I need is an affair with her. I laugh a little as the word "affair" tangles itself in my mind. I didn’t want an affair. I wanted a quick fuck.

It was a bad idea then and it’s bad idea now.

I finish my shower and begin toweling off, trying to remember the rest of last night. Okay. After the kiss, what happened? What happened?

She began undressing me. Slowly. I remember it being slowly. Far too slowly for my tastes.

Shit!

I did bite her buttons.

Fuck! I think I even spat one across the room.

Then she caught on to the game we were playing and began undressing me the way I wanted it done. Fast and hard.

We ended up on the bed pawing each other like the first two women to discover great sex. Oh yeah, I remember her long strong, body coming to rest on top of me. Her firm thigh finding the exact spot that I wanted it in. Her mouth on my neck.

I lean with my hands against the sink, my head down and my eyes closed as some of those sensations come flooding back, nearly causing my knees to buckle.

Then what the fuck happened?


* * *

I hang up after ordering breakfast. In the bathroom, I hear shower running and I try not to imagine Kelsey’s naked body under it. As the fog clears, I do remember the magnificent body I uncovered last night.

I started imagining it in detail when we were out dancing.

I remember the Denim Diamond, the country and western bar we ultimately ended up at. It was a classic – sawdust scattered on the floor, along with peanut shells, a large dance floor, lots of two top tables circling it, and peroxide waitresses in boots. Those are a personal favorite of mine.

But, I hardly noticed them last night with Kelsey.

We grabbed a table near the dance floor, ordered a round of drinks and listened to the latest Dixie Chicks single. Some of the locals recognized us from the television coverage and sent over another round.

And then another.

And another.

And then someone showed up with a bottle of Omaha’s famous special blend whiskey. Which we drank.

Soon, there was a whole crowd around our table, laughing, drinking, and daring us to line dance.

I was actually pretty good considering I was drunk off my ass. Kelsey, bless her heart, was trying.

So, like any good friend, I helped her out. I found the best way to do that was by placing my hands on her hips and guiding her through the steps. Good, clean, innocent fun.

Certainly nothing that anyone at the bar thought twice of.

But, they didn’t see us in the hallway outside her room at the hotel.

I remember her fondling my breasts as I tried to open her door, causing me to drop the damn card key twice. Each time I bent down to pick it up, she ran her hands over my ass in ways I didn’t imagine she would think to do.

I nearly bashed my head into the wall the first time.

The second time I moaned and got the fucking door opened.

We stumbled into the room and somehow managed to get the door closed. No need to give our fellow guests at the hotel a free show. I was surprised to find myself pressed up against the wall. Not quite how I imagined this moment. It was supposed to be Kels against the wall, me pressing against her, taking control.