The Heat of the Night. Amy Andrews

      There was a woman in a long, sheer gown. He was chasing her but she was always too far away to catch, to really see her. She was laughing, the tinkly sound echoing through his dream in time with his heartbeat. Every time he got close to her she’d disappear like mist only to reappear again in the distance.

      She was naked under the gown, glimpses of her buttocks, the bare arch of her back and the side swell of her breasts taunting him. He was conscious of his arousal as he gave chase, as his legs pumped towards her, the desire to hold her, to kiss her, drumming through his veins.

      His body ached with anticipation, his head spun with desire, his breath rasped and not just from the demands of the chase. She laughed again and he ran faster.

      * * *

      Claudia woke to a whirl of sensation spiralling deep and low inside her and sinking lower still, tingling between her legs and dragging heavy fingers down the backs of her thighs. Her eyelids fluttered open and she blinked, trying to orientate herself through eyes that were gritty, the skin around them simultaneously tight and puffy.

      Something weighed heavy across her hip and thighs. And her breast. She was aware of heat at her back and hardness nestled between the cheeks of her bottom as she looked down at the hand no longer at her waist but cupping her breast instead. She froze.

      Luke.

      His hand moved in a circular motion then, gentle and firm all at once, and her nipple responded with blatant enthusiasm, scrunching tight.

      Luke groping her.

      Claudia’s heart thundered behind her ribcage and echoed like gunshots through her ears. She was surprised he couldn’t feel it considering how closely acquainted he was becoming with that area of her body.

      How long had it been there?

      Long enough to have her belly twisted into knots!

      She raised her head and looked over her shoulder. He was sound asleep, his leg thrown carelessly over her hip, his thigh trapping hers, weighing her down. His mouth was still at her neck where she remembered it, his hips well and truly aligned with hers and about as close as was humanly possible with clothes on.

      She watched as a frown flitted across his forehead, then stared at the stubble covering his jaw, a little darker now. It was surprisingly sexy and Claudia took a slow steady breath to expel any thoughts of sexy from her brain.

      She was worried if she moved a hair, a single muscle, if she breathed too deep she would wake him and he’d find himself in this compromising position and then where would that leave them? Their relationship had become fraught enough this past year.

      But she needn’t have worried. He didn’t budge, his body remaining heavy against hers in slumber, effectively trapping her slighter frame.

      He wasn’t waking and she wasn’t going anywhere.

      She turned away from him then, slowly placing her head back on her pillow and shutting her eyes. Willing herself not to think about the press of him along the length of her. About the wild tango her hormones were performing. About the persistent tug down low morphing into something else. Something more.

      She just revelled for a moment. This was how it would feel to be with Luke. To be cherished by him. Comforted. Protected.

      Loved.

      This was what she’d fantasised about during all her teen years. Hoping he’d see her as more than the little sister he never had. Hoping he’d kiss her, look at her as if she was a woman rather than a child, take her to his bed.

      Hoping he’d stay.

      He shifted against her slightly and Claudia held her breath. She expelled it on a quiet whimper as the delicious friction between their bodies ramped up another notch. The roughness of his barely there stubble scraped at the sensitive patch of skin where shoulder met nape and sensation prickled from the point of contact right down to her nipples, tightening them.

      His hand squeezed in some kind of subconscious response because he was definitely still heavily asleep. Claudia’s eyes practically rolled back in her head as her nipple blazed with hot, fiery need. She pushed back slightly, trying to ease the ache between her legs.

      Oh, God. She swallowed. She should move—now! She should get the hell away. She should not be using his unsuspecting body as some kind of scratching pole!

      Her resort had been declared a disaster zone and Luke was only here for a week.

      But neither of those things seemed to matter right now.

      She just wanted to push back a little more. Maybe rub herself against him a little. Arch her back, slide her arm up around his neck, pull his mouth down on hers.

      Or maybe she could just roll over and press her mouth to his. Beg him for just one time in his arms.

      Once was all she needed.

      And then her mobile rang.

      * * *

      Luke could hear the chiming of a bell and the woman from his dream faded from sight altogether as his subconscious pulled him back through the layers of sleep.

      He came out slowly, groggily, completely disorientated, his brain cells still heavily mired in fatigue. The sunny room wasn’t remotely familiar, the ocean sounds weren’t familiar, the smell of salt and apple blossom weren’t familiar.

      He shifted slightly, struggling out from the steely tendrils of his dream. Where were the heavy blackout curtains, the traffic noise, the smell of percolating coffee?

      None of it was familiar.

      The weight of something warm and distinctly female filled his hand and he squeezed tentatively.

      The breast was definitely not familiar. The last time he’d woken to a woman in his bed it had been his wife and she washed her hair with expensive shampoo that smelled like designer perfume, not sweet and fresh like apples.

      He pulled away, his hand releasing the breast, his leg sliding off the woman’s thighs as it all came rushing back.

      ‘Claude?’

      Claudia lay frozen for a few seconds; her phone blaring out ‘Summer Nights’ from Grease alerted her to the fact it was Avery calling. Her friend was probably wondering where the hell she’d got to.

      Just lying on my bed letting Luke grope me in his sleep.

      Sheesh!

      Claudia didn’t answer him or even look back as she snatched up the phone and scrambled off the bed, keeping her back firmly turned on Luke.

      ‘Hi, Avery,’ she said chirpily as she picked up the call.

      Luke half sat in the bed, his eyes on her back as the memory of Claudia’s—Claude’s!—breast, her very erect nipple, burnt a hole in his palm. He might have been only semi-awake but he’d been fully aware of its arousal, and that was going to be impossible to forget. Especially with his hard-on pressing insistently against the zipper of his trousers. He wanted desperately to adjust it but there was no way he was touching himself with her right there—back turned or not.

      He slid off the bed on the opposite side, not really paying any attention to what Avery and Claude were talking about. He needed some space. Some distance.

      For adjusting.

      For thinking.

      For mental flagellation.

      Luke stalked to the open balcony door and stepped gratefully through the curtains and out into the sunshine, easing things inside his underwear as best he could. The harsh sunlight blinded him a little and he squinted against it, raising his arm to block it out.

      The ocean was still flat and listless, swishing quietly against the sand, and he took several deep breaths of salty air, filling his lungs with sand and ocean, cleansing it of London smog, wishing it were as easy to cleanse his brain. Erase the memory of Claudia all warm and soft, her nipple stiff and ready.