The bar smelled of smoke and too many perfumes, a combination Piper found oddly comforting lately. She’d met Billy here, and the smell reminded her of him. She came here to think about him, to remember. He’d been the only man she’d ever picked up in a bar.

She looked at the drinks in front of her—a Cosmopolitan and a Scotch and soda. The first drinks they’d ordered that night. She sipped the Cosmopolitan but left the Scotch untouched.

Last year, on this day, she’d done the same thing.

Two years ago today, she’d sat at this bar with him for the last time.

“Excuse me?” The voice broke into her thoughts and she looked up, blinking back tears. The bartender, noticing, smiled gently as he set another drink in front of her. “From the gentleman at the end of the bar.”

“I doubt he’s a gentleman.” She pushed the drink away. “Tell him I don’t want it.”

“Okay,” he said, and took the drink, but Piper said suddenly, “Wait. What is it?”

“What’s what?”

“The drink. What is it?”

“It’s a Seven-Seven.”

Piper stared at it. The second drink from that night. Billy had bought Seven-Sevens for both of them. “Who sent this?”

The bartender pointed. Piper looked, and her breath caught in her throat.

He sat at the end of the bar, watching her. Finely drawn brows arched above his dark eyes, and his full, pretty mouth moved into a seductive smile.

“Billy.”

The bartender quirked an eyebrow. “You know this guy?”

“I did.” She stood, forgetting her drinks, and walked to the end of the bar.

He looked at her with Billy’s black eyes. “Don’t you like your drink?” he asked, and his voice was Billy’s voice.

“It’s fine. It was exactly right.”

“I thought it might be.”

It was surreal, standing there looking at him, at his black hair and eyes; his white teeth; the small triangle of moles on his cheek. She reached for him and he sat smiling as she slid her fingers into the black silk of his hair. It even felt the same.

“Do you live around here?” she asked.

“Yeah. Not far.”

“Let’s go.”

He nodded. “All right.”

* * * * *

By the time they reached his unfamiliar apartment, the dream had taken her over and all she really cared about was getting him out of his shirt, his jeans, his cotton boxer-briefs—even the underwear was right—and into the bed. Or onto the plush Oriental rug in the middle of the living area, which was actually where they ended up.

She couldn’t find anything about him that didn’t match. The taste and temperature of his flesh as she explored him, the moles and scars, the sounds he made. Tears brimmed in her eyes as her hands slid over every inch of his body.

He lay back, naked, on the soft brown-and-blue rug, and put his arms around her as her mouth greedily sought his. Her tongue pressed past his lips, hot and needy. His mouth tasted perfect. He’d been drinking whisky.

“May I—” he started, when she gave him a chance, but she put a finger against his lips.

“Do whatever you want,” she said, “but don’t talk to me.”

“I can do that.”

That counted as talking, but she decided to let it slide.

He jerked her shirt up and loosened her bra, maneuvering under her until he managed to get her breast into his mouth. His teeth scraped against her nipple. She moaned, swollen and wet between her legs, more ready for him than she’d been for a man in two years.

Burning, she went straight for his cock, cupping her hand around its long, thick shaft, but he chuckled and eased away. She tried to pull him back to her, but he would only let her press his glans between her need-soaked labia, no more.

Laughing, she let him torment her until the driving heat changed her laughter to tears of need. He withdrew then, and slid his fingers inside her, finding the hidden spot just inside and pressing hard until the pleasure was nearly unbearable. He’d gone unerringly to the right place. Only Billy had ever bothered to find that spot, much less use it.

“Is that what you like?” he murmured into her ear.

The driving intensity of her fired blood made it hard to talk, but she managed. “I thought I told you to be quiet.”

He only laughed and found her breast again with his big hand, teasing her nipple until that fire shot straight down to join the fire between her legs. She had turned to hot liquid from her heart to her feet, her mind blanked out by it, nothing else in her world but that fire and the movement of his body against hers.

She couldn’t stand it anymore—she had to have him inside her. “Now,” she said, barely aware she spoke. “It has to be now.”

When she caught hold of him next he was sheathed in sleek latex, and she wasn’t sure how or when he’d done it. Nor did she care. He was thick and long and hard and felt exactly right as he slid deep inside her.

Exactly like Billy.

She rode him hard, driving him as deeply into her as she could, taking as much of him as she could take. She watched his face, seeing the blindness of passion overtake his eyes, until she could watch no longer, until her own passion pulsed and pounded inside her, bringing her to powerful completion. His hips rose under her, lifting her from the brown and blue rug as he, too, came to the peak. She knew the breathy, urgent sound he made when he came. She’d heard it a hundred times before. There had been times when it had made her laugh. Now she wept, falling forward onto his damp chest. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close, his whisky-tinged breath warm against her ear.

Finally she rolled away from him, tears rising again as he slid out of her. It was like losing him again. She found her sweater on the floor and pulled it back on. The long, baggy garment covered most of her if she pulled her knees up under it.

He made no move to get dressed, just lay there naked on the thick rug, watching her. His erection sagged against his stomach, bobbing to the left. Just like Billy.

“I know you’re not Billy,” she said finally.

He frowned. “You’re sure?”

She regarded him levelly. “Billy died.”

He nodded. “I see.”

Closing her eyes, she pushed sweat-damp hair out of her face. When she looked again, he was still Billy, sitting there with his tousled black hair and his sin-sexy smile.

“So who are you?” she asked.

His smile faded, his black eyes regarding her soberly. “Whoever you want me to be.”

END EXCERPT