The heavy rumbling of traffic woke her some time later. Shirley shifted slightly, and silk rustled against her skin, bunching near her thigh. A faint scent clung to the material, warm, musty and recognizable. She smiled, wondering how she'd come to be wearing Ethan's shirt.
Opening her eyes, she studied the room. The sun peeped brightly behind the curtained window to her left, casting pinpoints of lights across the pale blue walls. Paint peeled from the smoke-stained ceiling above her, and from the small brown dresser next to the bed. It wasn't her room, or her dresser. Her heart skipped several beats. Where was she?
A hand rested lightly on hers, enclosing her fingers in warmth. Ethan. She closed her eyes briefly and wished he'd take her in his arms, tell her that it had all been a nightmare, that everything would be all right.
But he didn't move, and maybe that was just as well. "What time is it?" she asked softly.
"Four in the afternoon."
