Scott opened his eyes to bleary sunshine, meandering through the cobwebs of a dream that seemed too pleasant to let go of—until he rolled over on to his back, scrubbing his eyes with the heels of his hand, and felt the wet, cold stain between him and the mattress.
“Seriously?” Scott flung the sheets aside and stared, shaking his head. Well, go figure. He scratched his head. Whatever had been in his scotch must have been damned good. He’d not had a dream that was vivid enough to get him off since he was a teenager. But there were certainly worse reasons to have to change the sheets. At least they’d be all rainforest-spring-waterfall-whatever-fresh when he climbed into them again.
As he stripped the sheets off, tossed the linen into the hamper, and remade the bed, the dream kept creeping i
