I stumbled my way to our dressing room. Plunged into
darkness as the door closed behind me, I couldn't find the
light switch. I hit my knee against a chair and groaned
from the pain.
The door opened and someone entered the room. I assumed
it was Missy coming to rescue me once again.
"I can't find the light switch, Missy. Do you know where
it is?"
Without warning, someone yanked me tightly against his
warm, solid body. I heard his slight intake of breath and
then he kissed me.
I know I should have fought against it, but whoever he
was, he kissed sinfully well. At first, his soft lips
whispered lightly against my own, seeking permission. When
not only didn't I stop him, but made a little moan of
approval, his tongue caressed my lips until I opened my
mouth. Only then did he allow his tongue to touch mine,
first tentatively exploring the hidden depths of my mouth,
and then hard and passionately, as though he'd never get
enough of me.
He tasted like a heavenly combination of whiskey and
cake. His tongue teased mine in sweet caresses, heating my
blood to a fevered pitch.
Desperately needing to learn the identity of my mystery
man, I lifted my hand to touch his face. He grabbed it
away, nibbling on each fingertip then gently brushed his
fingers across my cheek. I licked my lips in preparation of
more kisses, but instead of kissing me, he spun me around
in circles, confusing my sense of balance. As the world
tilted on its axis and I tried to regain my bearings, he
silently left the room.
For a few minutes, I stood rooted to the spot,
attempting to recover from the encounter and craving more
from my mystery kisser. Blushing from my response to him, I
knew although I'd never seen his face, I would have made
love to him if he'd asked. Before him, no one in twenty-
nine years had made my body burn that way.
Suddenly, I remembered the room's two floor lamps. I
floundered around the room until I smacked into one. After
finding our coats, I left the synagogue with Missy.
Ending the evening of my twenty-ninth birthday with a
kiss from my mysterious suitor should have thrilled me.
Instead, I wondered why he (as drunk as I was, I was pretty
sure I would have noticed if it was a woman) didn't unmask
his identity.
Was he married?
Self-conscious?
Fifteen or eighty-five years old?
Or even worse, embarrassed to be discovered kissing me?
Tired of being alone and bringing Missy as my date, I
learned one important lesson that night. I ached for what
my brother had found with Emily. I yearned for my soul
mate.
How would I find him?
