Goodbye, Mr. Regret

Sheila nursed her half glass of wine, sipping slowly, but somehow managed to keep Timothy company until he'd polished off the entire bottle of red.

A pleasant haze of tipsiness clouded her senses as Timothy lit a cigarette. The way he smoked—lazy, assured—cast him in an even more enigmatic and irresistible light, the pale smoke curling around his sharp features.

Sheila's heart fluttered uncontrollably. Tonight, she told herself, he would be hers.

Jessica, that mute girl—she'd managed to seduce Timothy in bed, hadn't she? Sheila refused to believe she could be any less alluring than Jessica.

After tonight, she'd make sure Timothy would never forget her.

Thinking back over the past few weeks, Sheila felt her cheeks flush. Night after night, she'd watched romantic movies, studying every move and trick, determined to be perfect when the time finally came.

She and Timothy were the same age-old enough to understand desire. Even when the longing gnawed at her, she'd always kept her distance, saving herself for the only man she truly loved.

But lately, her late-night lessons only fueled her hunger, leaving her restless and aching.

And now, the man she wanted was right in front of her.

The gnawing emptiness inside was nearly unbearable.

She wanted him-desperately.

She remembered the day he'd left Jessica with a split lip. He must be even more intense than those actors on screen.

Timothy smoked his cigarette down to the filter, but it did nothing to quell the restless heat that burned through his veins.

He always felt his needs more

now, and the pent-up frustration was close to

jacket. His voice, low and roughened by alcohol, sounded even

step, his legs nearly buckled under

much. You can't drive. Let me call a driver and help you sit down for

he'd forgotten to

but to call for

couch. "I'll make you some strong tea. It'll

"Thanks," he murmured.

a generous amount of the special herbal mixture. She'd only slipped a tiny bit into the wine earlier Timothy was used to drinking at business functions, and she couldn't risk him noticing. But

wine had a way of loosening inhibitions-a perfect

this

too, when

the strong tea, hoping it would help suppress the urge that threatened

didn't. If anything,

for a driver. Instead, she slipped away to take a shower. She'd

and

stashed in the guest

silk camisole nightgown before

eyes closed, teetering between sleep and

and gently dabbed at the