He dozed off standing up in the elevator, awakening when his head bobbed forward with a sudden jerk as the car halted at the third floor and the doors slid open. Squinting his tired eyes against the bright light illuminating the hallway, he made his way down the leaf-patterned carpet to room 312.

After slipping the key card into the slot, he turned the brass handle when the green light flashed. He gratefully entered the room, closing the door behind him, and welcomed the soothing darkness after the irritatingly bright hallway light.

Bed, bed, bed his exhausted cells chanted. He plopped his overnight bag on the floor, then quickly removed his overcoat. Eyelids drooping, he toed off his dress shoes, then undressed with clumsy haste, tossing his clothing haphazardly over his bag, vowing to hang up everything in the morning when he could think straight. Stripped down to his boxer briefs, he stumbled in the dark toward the bed. With the small part of his brain that was still barely functioning, he noted the lumpy disarray of the covers on the far side of the bed. Humph. This might be a swanky resort, but the housekeeping left a lot to be desired. But who the hell cared? There was a pillow with his name on it only seconds away.

A long, satisfied sigh escaped him as he eased beneath the covers, and let his groggy head settle against the cushy pillow. The limp relaxation brought on by utter exhaustion closed in on him. Floating in a hazy state that bordered on just dropping off to sleep, he turned onto his side, and stretched out his arm.

His hand landed on something delightfully warm and silky. Satin sheets. A low hum of appreciation rumbled in his throat. Nice. His hand cruised upward, some deep recess of his fried brain vaguely appreciating the smooth texture. Soft. Smooth and curvy. Like a woman's breast.