His hair was softer than his expensive, crimson sheets. It always smelled like ylang-ylang and myrrh. Vicki had wanted so badly to weave impatient fingers into the silken curls and tug his mouth to hers.
He had pulled away too soon that night. In her recent dreams, they had been alone and he hadn't stopped. In her most secret dreams, he couldn't get enough of her warmth. The vivid memory of a soft, persistent mouth trailing across her heated flesh, lower, tasting her wetness, moaning into her skin, kept Vicki from her newest case.
Shading her eyes from the glare coming through her office blinds, Vicki mumbled, "I've got to get a grip! Sunset's in two hours"