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Chapter 1​

"Does wine spoil?"  Jack Wayne wondered, as his vision blurred and his head ached. Squinting his eyes and willing the pain away, he tried to make sense of the question on his mind: "Does wine spoil?" Then, he was distracted by another question: "Is that her?"

The taste of rancid wine lingering on his tongue, Jack sat lazily in the deep, soft, brown, leather arm chair. He was too far out of earshot to hear what she was saying to the stranger standing just outside of Jack's line of vision, behind the third pillar, in the large luxurious room they had settled in for a nightcap. Jack could see the back of her delicious figure -- the one he knew so well, after so many long, passionate nights. But something was different about her -- something seemed off. Was it her voice? No. He could hear that same familiar voice, as she spoke to the unfamiliar gentleman on the other side of the room. It was unmistakably her voice, the same one that purred into his ear on so many sensuous nights. But her voice sounded strange to his ears. He just couldn't make out why. Was it the accent? Through further blurring vision, Jack stared at the back of her figure, trying to figure out what was off. Was it her hair? It was longer. How did it grow so long overnight? No, that wasn't it. It was wavier. Wait, no, that wasn't it. The color! It was the color. . . red. Red? Why did her hair look red? Jack wondered if it was the lighting, or his blurring vision. He considered the possibilities as he tried to make sense of his surroundings, while his head throbbed, a terrible pounding throb.

Then he wondered why his vision was blurring. Jack pondered the question through the pain, which made it even more difficult to think.

Jack Wayne calculated silently that he hadn't drank nearly enough to be suffering these side effects. "Does wine spoil?" he wondered again. Staring groggily at the glass of red wine still in his hand, Jack Wayne couldn't get the question out of his mind, despite the persistent counter thought: "How could it? It's already fermented."

"Jack Darling," he heard her say, as he looked up from his glass. She was facing him now. That face. It was her. Visions of that beautiful face rocking above him, last night, the night before, and the night before that, filled his memory. He smiled.

She walked towards him, slowly, seductively. He watched as her curvy hips swung slightly, as if moving to music only she could hear. Red stilleto heels on her feet, clunking against the marble floor, served as the perfect exclamation point at the end of those long legs. The possibility of spoiled wine forgotten, Jack watched her body move, as she approached him. "It's a wig!" he suddenly realized. "Oh that's hot!" he thought to himself. "She's role playing for me. And I like the sound of this fake new accent on her lips, too," Jack contrived, as excitement filled his veins.

"Jack Darling," repeated the seductive woman. "You forgot to sign this one."

Jack couldn't remember having signed any documents before, and he couldn't think of what he should be signing now. But the wine, the headache, the blurred vision, the confused thoughts, and the sultry image of this spectacular woman, left him unable to resist her demands.

She forced a pen into his hand and placed the document beneath it. "Sign," she demanded with one word. And he did.

She walked back over to the unknown gentleman. And just before Jack passed out, he thought he heard her say to the stranger, "Don't worry, he won't remember any of this in the morning."

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