The Hangover

Jen’s head throbbed and her teeth must have put on socks during the night. A groan escaped her lips while she untangled herself from the sweaty sheets. “But I didn’t get drunk.”

Then the night replayed itself, in full color, in her mind. The auction. Her behavior. She shuddered. And worse yet, the kiss that had curled her toes. That meeting of their lips bettered the first one.

Sean was an amazing kisser. His lips burned tracks over hers. Her fingers went to her face. “My lips feel normal.” But how could they be after they’d been captured and tortured by a master.

“How will I ever face him?”

Not only had he kissed her, but she kissed him back. She’d been a willing participant. Her eyes fell closed, and she felt heat in her cheeks. Again.

“Fortitude,” she told herself. She could get through this. She had a job to do.

“Who am I kidding?” Her greatest fear lay in never being kissed like that again.

Okay, enough.