The sky is so startlingly blue when I wake up in the morning that I almost wonder if I’m dreaming. It’s been cloudy most of the time I’ve been in Iceland, but from the plush hotel bed, I can see out the balcony doors that the sky is a deep, rich azure without a single cloud in sight. I stare outside for a moment, taking in the gorgeous view and appreciating, not for the first time, the natural beauty of this country. I know I should probably get up and start packing, but I let myself enjoy the quiet moment for a little while longer before I have to head home.

With a sigh, I finally roll onto my back, which is when I suddenly become very aware of the man sleeping beside me in the bed. I gasp and then immediately cover my mouth with my hand, not wanting to wake him. Oh my god, Anna, how much did you drink? I silently scold myself.

The man’s chest is bare, and the blankets are haphazardly strewn over his lap in a way that reminds me that he is very much naked. I can feel the warmth radiating from his firm body. His muscular arms, strong shoulders, and tight abs are all hot and bulging. On top of how hot he looks and feels, he has a scent that is instantly intoxicating when it hits my nose—not just last night’s cologne, but also something musty and natural that ties my stomach in knots.

What I remember from last night comes back to me like disjointed scenes from a movie. The memories are out of order and foggy at best, but I can clearly picture the moment he coaxed a massive orgasm from my thoroughly willing body. Just thinking about it sends a buzz through me, and I feel a familiar sensation between my legs. We spent a wild night together, and not just in this bed. There was a moment when he had me up against the wall with my legs wrapped around his waist in a way that defied gravity. We must have picked the blankets up off the floor at some point, because I specifically remember rolling around in the bed enough to knock the sheets, blankets, and pillows to the ground.

I still can’t believe I ended up in bed with him like that. I’ve never done something like this before, and now I’m not sure what to do next. What are the rules with this sort of encounter? He’s in my room, after all, and I have to check out soon. Do I need to wake him up and ask him to leave, or am I going to have to pack my suitcase with him still asleep in my bed? I’m not sure what happens next, but I know I’m going to need some coffee.

I start to slip out from the covers, carefully sliding away from him without jostling the mattress, but he stirs in his sleep anyway, rolling onto his side toward me. The sheet that had been covering his lap slips off of his hip and exposes more of his body—enough to make my eyes pop out of my head. Oh yes—that I remember, I think to myself, still feeling the sheer girth of him inside of me. My eyes are glued shamelessly to his abs when he reaches out and drops his muscular arm across my waist.

The weight of his bicep on my belly catches me off guard, and I almost gasp again, but I manage to hold myself together. Despite trying to stay calm, my heart starts to race, and I feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment. This is ridiculous. How the hell did I get myself into this situation?

Taking a deep breath, I steal a sideways glance at him, not wanting to turn my head to face him. He’s even more attractive than I remember, which admittedly is still not all that much. Did I really drink that much? I’m having a hard time remembering anything except his impressive cock and the way he had me screaming in pleasure. All I know for sure at this point is that from the moment I met him, I felt a driving, undeniable desire that I’ve never felt for anyone before—not even Gavin.

Feeling brave, I turn my head to the side and study his face, taking in the sexy stubble on his jaw, his full lips, and his thick eyebrows. He is the perfect specimen of smoldering masculinity with not a single flaw on him.

He stirs again, taking a deep breath, and then moans softly as he releases it. For a moment, I wonder what he’s dreaming about, letting my eyes shift down between his legs to see if he’s aroused, fascinated to see that he is. Suppressing a smile, I quietly slip out from under his arm and start to gather my things, hoping he remains sleeping. I’d very much like to avoid any morning-after awkwardness as I get the hell out of here. Thank god last night was my final night in Iceland. I’ll be flying back to San Francisco today, and we will never see each other again. With my clothes clutched to my chest, I move into the bathroom to wash up.

Last night’s makeup is smudged under my eyes in unflattering black rings, making me very glad I woke up first, before he could see me looking like a complete mess. Not that I plan on seeing him again and not that I really care what he thinks about me, but I’d rather he remember me looking hot and confident rather than slinking out of bed with raccoon eyes. That is, if he remembers me at all.

I reach for my face wash and turn on the sink, letting the water warm up for a moment. I close my eyes to splash water on my face, and I’m transported back to last night and the moment he pulled me toward him, his hand firm on my back. If I could’ve snapped my fingers and had my clothes come off, I would’ve. Something about him made me almost frantic to be with him, and the idea of waiting long enough to remove my dress felt like torture.

Fortunately, it didn’t take long for him to get to the point. That’s not to say that there wasn’t foreplay, but it was so targeted, so completely aimed at bringing me pleasure, that it felt like he was inside my head, reading my mind. We were connected from the moment his eyes met mine, and, considering we’d never met before, I couldn’t believe how easily he found his way around my body. The way he used his fingers on me truly blew my mind—as if he could feel the effect he was having and knew exactly how firm and how fast to move against me.

After washing my face, I think to turn around and look at my body in the mirror. Sure enough, there’s a faint bruise on my back from where he had me up against the wall. It didn’t hurt at the time—just the opposite. When he drove his body into mine, I felt nothing but the most intense pleasure. He didn’t treat me like some fragile flower; instead he filled my body with his, moving hard against me, pushing deeper and deeper. At times, it felt like I couldn’t breathe, which only made the moment more intense. I was disappointed at first when he turned and carried me to the bed, until he pulled me onto my hands and knees and pushed inside of me from behind.

My body throbs again, and for a moment, I consider touching myself, certain that it wouldn’t take long for me to come. I quickly talk myself out of it, though, knowing I need to get myself together and don’t have time for distractions. Instead, I brush my teeth, figuring that coffee is going to have to wait at this point.

I hadn’t planned on sleeping with anyone while on vacation—that wasn’t the point of coming here—but the attraction I felt when I first laid eyes on him was too much to resist. Before we came up to my room, I remember thinking that I was going to feel guilty about this, but surprisingly, I don’t. Gavin and I broke up; we were over before I left on this trip, and we’ll continue to be over when I get home. I can sleep with whoever I want, and I have nothing to feel guilty about.

I know that coming to Iceland was rash and reckless. I was in the middle of a final proposal to land a big client with my partner, Carrie, but I knew there was no way I’d be able to focus. So instead of being responsible and following through on my obligations, I dropped everything and risked flying because…well, because I needed to do something to get my mind off the breakup. Besides, Gavin had already bought the tickets.

That was actually one of the reasons I used to convince myself to come. I told myself that it was better to come on my own than to waste the money. But now, I can’t deny that I’m beginning to regret my decision. I wanted to escape my problems, not end up with a strange man in my bed whose name I don’t even know. I might have taken things a bit too far.

As I’m shoving all my toiletries into my bag, I hear the mattress squeak from the bedroom. Bending over to see through the old-school keyhole, I peer out from the bathroom and see that he’s still in bed, seemingly still asleep. I take in the image of him, certain that I’m not soon to forget it, even long after I return to my real life. I can’t even believe it myself. There’s no denying that he is the hottest guy I’ve ever met. But that doesn’t matter now; this isn’t my real life, and I know I can’t stay here.

Cautiously, I open the bathroom door with my toiletries bag clutched under my arm and tiptoe to the closet. I silently throw all of my clothes into my suitcase, not bothering to fold anything. With one last glance around the room to make sure I didn’t forget anything, I head for the door, opening it, but then I stop to turn and take one last look at the naked man fast asleep in my bed.

There’s no way anyone working at the front desk of the hotel would know that I’m dressed in the same clothes I was wearing last night—it seemed faster than rooting through the closet for something new to wear—but it still feels like the clerk is judging me as I check out. There’s something in his eyes that makes me feel like he knows I let a complete stranger into my room and let him ravage me until I came so hard it knocked the wind out of me. I keep my eyes down and say thank you as I sign my bill and get the hell out of the hotel.

Rolling my suitcase behind me, I head to a café down the street, taking in the neighborhood around me. I’ve been here for a week, and even now, I’m still marveling at how different the city is from what I had imagined. While Iceland conjures up images in my mind of ice-bound huts, quaint villages, and small shops, Reykjavik is far more modern than I gave it credit for.

I shiver from the cold as I walk along the sidewalk, wishing I wasn’t in last night’s dress. Not that anything I would’ve changed into would’ve been more appropriate. I’ve been cold all week—I wasn’t thinking when I packed, I just needed to get away. It was so warm back home that I wasn’t considering the change in climate at my destination.

As I walk into the cafe, I can’t help noticing the same elderly woman who I’ve seen a few times before standing near the door. I recognize her right away because I have the same thought as the other times I’ve seen her—that she always looks out of place. Her hair is a little disheveled, and the shawl around her shoulders doesn’t look thick enough to be keeping her warm. There’s also something about the woman that reminds me of my grandmother. I can’t quite figure out what it is, but there’s definitely something there.

Inside the café, I place my order and then ask the barista about the woman, pointing at her through the window. The woman barely glances over my shoulder before she shrugs indifferently and then moves to pour my coffee. When she hands it to me, I order another, thinking the woman might want something to help warm her up.

On my way out, however, I find that the woman is gone. I look up and down the block, spotting her a short distance down the street, and I hurry to catch up.

“For you,” I say, offering the hot coffee and hoping she understands my intention.

She reaches out and takes the coffee from me, but she doesn’t say a word. I know I should go and leave her alone, but I’m suddenly so curious about her, and I want to know who she is.

“I’ve seen you a few times,” I say, wondering if she speaks any English.

The woman sips the coffee, her eyes intensely and uncomfortably fixed on me, but still she says nothing. I don’t know if I’m expecting her to say thank you or tell me her story or what, but as she stares at me, I start to get a weird vibe and decide I should get going.

“Well, enjoy the coffee,” I mumble.

As I turn to leave, the woman suddenly reaches out and grabs hold of me, her fingers tight around my wrist.

“Look for me when you return,” the woman says without blinking.

Startled, I yank my wrist free, spilling some of my coffee, and then I back away while the woman continues watching me intently.