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Do you ever get the feeling that you have forgotten something? Jessica Connors had that feeling from the second she walked out of his house this morning, up until just five minutes ago when she realized what she had forgotten was her underwear. She sat at her desk, tangled her fingers in her dark auburn curls, and read the same line of the book five times before it dawned on her that she had already read it. She loved her job as a book editor; always gave one hundred per cent, and God damn it this book had to be on his desk by tomorrow morning. But today her mind was elsewhere. She could not get him out of her head; his big brown eyes, his short cut dark brown hair, his skin rubbing gently against hers. It replayed like a movie repeatedly in her head. He touched her so lovingly and with so much care that she almost believed him. The thought of his kisses trailing down her body made her want to jump ecstatically from her seat and yell at the top of her lungs. No! She had to stop with these thoughts. They were ruining her. She never acted like this, and it was time for her to get on with her work. But he was so damn unforgettable. He had not stopped floating around her head since she had woken up this morning and saw his muscular body sprawled out against the bedsheets. Then the guilt came along to crush her. The unbelievable heavy thumps pounding at every inch of her being made her want to throw up, and her head ached with the pain. The loud, echoing sound of the phone ringing knocked her out of her trance. "Hello," she answered, her voice trembling. "Good morning, Jessica. I have a call for you on line two." The young receptionist, named Sophie, sang through the phone. Why was it that everyone sounded so chirpy this morning? First, there was the teenage girl in the coffee shop; there to make some money for her weekly cinema trips with her fellow giggling teeny boppers. She just stood there patiently, like a robot, a never-ending pearly white smile beaming over the counter. And she was still grinning, in her own little world when numerous people continued to change their orders, asking for unbelievably detailed coffee. For the love of all that was holy, coffee was coffee. How hard could it be? And now, there was Sophie, the pretty, redhead receptionist that sounded as if she were on top of the world. "Jessica?" Sophie's voice repeated, waiting for a more educated reply than silence. She could feel her heart pound in double speed, making her pulse race and her palms sweat. "Oh, yes of course. Put them through." She pressed the number, anxiously waiting to hear the voice she dreaded on the other line. But did she really dread that voice? No, and she hated that she could admit that to herself. She dreaded what that voice would say, what it could do to her senses. That voice could take over her whole body if it wanted to, just as it did last night. It could take her to new heights. But those heights were usually three feet off the floor, on a bed with silk sheets, and his hot, male flesh hovering above her. Sweet lord above, get a grip on yourself. "Hello?" a low hum came through the speaker of the phone. The husky voice sounded almost lost. "Thank God," Jessica let out. That voice may have sounded lost, but she would have known it anywhere. It was her friend, Sharon. Any other time of the day she might have tried to avoid their long conversations because she knew her friend would be complaining about something. But right now, she embraced the fact that Sharon was calling. She even embraced her complaining like a warm, fuzzy teddy-bear. "Is that you?" Sharon spoke. "Yes, it's me," she confirmed, not fighting away the smile on her face from the sheer relief. "What the hell are you doing? I tried to ring your mobile. Where is it?" Jessica's eyes narrowed, confused. "It's in my bag. You know me, I probably have it on silent," she explained, lifting her black leather handbag from the floor next to her chair.