Excerpt of A Year to Remember by Shelly Bell

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?