### dream-Interrupted-Kiss
Alexander Hastings was mid-kiss.
No—*dream*-mid-kiss, to be exact.
Soft lips.
A curvy waist that fit perfectly in his hands.
Skin that radiated heat like summer sun.
She looked up at him in the water with that teasing glint in her eyes, the air filled with promises and strawberries, and just as he was about to slide his hand lower—much lower—
"Dude. You still alive in here?"
A door creaked open, his best friend Damien barged in like a drunken Labrador.
"Ugh. Why is your office so depressing?"
Alexander jolted awake, breath caught halfway between lust and murder. He blinked, disoriented, lips parted as if still kissing someone not even in the room, trying to hold onto the fleeting taste of her.
Then—rage. Pure, undiluted, utterly justified rage.
He glared at Damien like he'd just kicked a puppy and stolen a a multi-billion dollar project contract.
