Logic should have spoken. Reason should have questioned. Reality should have interfered. But all of it was drowned beneath the sudden rush of desperate hope in his heart.
Was it her?
Did his ridiculous dream actually come true?
A rare blush bloomed across his usually composed face. His gaze softened as his eyes traced the curve of the woman's back, the love marks scattered along her skin.
His heart tightened, strangely tender. Blood stained the sheets faintly. His blush deepened.
She was a virgin?
His chest constricted painfully. Had he hurt her? Was he gentle? Did she cry? Did she smile? Did she enjoy it? Was she happy?
He didn't know.
He didn't remember.
Frustration flickered in his eyes as he cursed the alcohol silently. Of all nights, why did he drink like that?
His hand trembled as he slowly reached forward, wanting to wake her, wanting to see her face, to confirm, to reassure himself that this wasn't another dream.
