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  “I’m going to have to find another job.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’ll have to see Dean there—that’s rat fink bastard to you and me—and I still have an uncontrollable urge to kill him. That won’t look good in my review, plus it’ll be hard to get another job from prison.”

  He tried to see her in the dark. “You’re not going to let him take that job from you, are you?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said with a sigh. “You should see my resumé. It’d make you dizzy.” She sighed. “Truth is, I don’t sit still for long anyway.”

  “No? What jobs have you held?”

  “Receivables, payables, payroll—you name it in accounting, I’ve done it.”

  “So you like numbers,” he said, nodding. “Makes sense. You like order.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “This whole setting makes you nervous because it’s not what was planned.”

  “You can say that again,” she said with feeling.

  “And I’ve seen your journal. Very organized. Like an accountant’s brain.”

  “I wasn’t that organized when it came to staying with one job.”

  “Nothing wrong with that, as long as moving around makes you happy.”

  Now it was her turn to come up on her elbows and peer through the dark. “You really believe that?”

  “Sure,” he said, leaning in closer for a better look, because for a second he’d have sworn that her eyes went suspiciously bright with a sheen of tears. But then it was gone. “Breanne?”

  “I’m tired,” she whispered. She turned over, curling up into a tiny ball facing away from him. “’Night.”

  “’Night.” He was confused as hell, but when it came to women, that was really nothing new. Nothing new at all.

  He was just drifting off when he heard her soft whisper. “Cooper?”

  “Still here.” Maybe she’d changed her mind about the sheet. The thought made his body twitch. Yeah, she was going to toss that damn thing aside and roll toward him. She’d wrap that hot little bod tight to his, and he’d—

  “Thank you,” Breanne said very quietly.

  He blinked. Thank you? He slid his hand down to cup himself. Still hard. Nope, he hadn’t missed anything. “What are you thanking me for?”

  “For chasing my boogeyman. For making me feel safe.” Her smile broke his heart. “For letting me sleep with you.”

  Ah, hell. “No problem.” But as he lay there, aching for reasons other than physical discomfort, reasons he couldn’t seem to put words to, it was a very long time before he followed her into slumber.

  Cooper was having the dream of his life, and he hoped he never woke up. In a bed of the softest down, surrounded by the gentle glow of dawn, she lay in his arms, the woman of his fantasies. She was scantily clad in silk that seemed to mold to her skin in an erotic, seductive way, and he couldn’t keep his hands off her.

  And because this was a dream, he didn’t have to.

  She was his. He couldn’t quite remember how or why, but in dreamland, what the hell difference did it make? Around them, the air seemed thick. Spicy. Erotic. He dragged some of it into his taxed lungs and cupped her face, trying to see her through the haze all around him, but he couldn’t quite—

  A sound escaped her, a sort of breathy, wordless plea, and he smoothed his fingers along the line of her jaw, sinking into the lovely disarray of her hair, letting it drape over his forearms as he leaned over her, lowering his mouth toward hers.

  “Mmm,” she murmured as he swallowed her sigh of acquiescence. Her body seemed to melt against his like hot wax, and her mouth—God, her mouth was soft and warm and luscious, indescribably luscious.

  She opened it to him, allowing his tongue to stroke hers, stroking his right back, both greedy and generous at the same time. His fantasy girlfriend was the best kisser he’d ever dreamed up. Not too wet, not too dry, but juuuust right. Her hand came up between them, opening flat on his chest. He took it in his, along with her other, and slowly dragged them both up over her head, palming them in one hand, using his free fingers to skim the hair from her face while he made himself at home between her thighs.

  Eyes closed, hands captured by his, she arched up into his body with a soft, needy whimper.

  In answer, he kissed her, and then again, sending shivers of heat and desire skittering to the base of his spine, pooling in his groin, where he was so hard for her he could hardly stand it.

  “Nice,” she murmured, sighing with pure, unadulterated pleasure. Her full breasts pressed to his chest. Her hips cradled his. Her shorts were so minuscule his fingertips grazed bare skin as he reached down, the sweet curve of a cheek filling each hand. When he squeezed, kneading, she moaned and arched up, spreading her legs to better accommodate his, nestling his erection perfectly into the crotch of those skimpy shorts. Skimming his hand higher, beneath the silk now, he palmed her bare ass.

  Not enough. Not nearly enough.

  Deepening the kiss, he wrapped a finger around a tiny strap on her shoulder. Tugged.

  A breast popped free.

  A glorious, pale, perfectly rounded breast with a rosy, pouting nipple. Dipping his head, he very gently rubbed his jaw over the full curve, absorbing every hungry sigh. Then again, over the very tip this time, watching as it puckered up all the more as she writhed beneath him, her breath sowing in and out of her lungs.

  Then her hands were fisting in his hair, and she was tugging his mouth back to hers. They kissed as if they’d been separated for years instead of seconds; he poured everything he had into that moist, hot, brain-cell-destroying connection, his heart and soul, because this was a dream, a glorious dream.

  Even so, far in the back of his mind came the niggling truth: she wasn’t really his. But the longer he kissed her, losing himself in the taste and feel of her, turning his head for a deeper fit, groaning with it, the easier it was to push all that out of his head.

  She made it easy to do with those breathy little pants, her hands fisted on whatever part of him they could reach, stroking down his back to his butt, squeezing, pushing as she rocked to meet him with every thrust. They kissed as if it would be the end of the world to stop, as if they’d never get another chance to do this. With a low hum that reminded him of a happy kitten purring her pleasure, she slid her hands beneath his sweats. Squeezed. Cradled him all the tighter within her thighs. He could feel both her tension and his, could feel her tremble, could hear his own loud, labored breathing.

  She whispered his name.

  Unbelievably, his toes curled, his body tightening as he barreled down that narrow road toward climax. Given her own wild, delirious state, she was right with him. He kissed his way to her jaw, then her throat. “I’m going to taste every inch of you, Breanne.”

  Beneath him she went utterly still.

  Abruptly he went from a blissful dreamland to brutal wakefulness. Lifting his head, he opened his eyes in the early morning light and stared down at her.

  “You,” Breanne said.

  Yeah, him.

  Just as in his fantasy state, he had her tucked beneath him, legs spread to accommodate his. He had one hand plumping up her bared breast for his mouth, the other gripping her butt, the very tips of his fingers dipping into heaven, his mouth wet from hers as he stared down at her.

  For her part, she’d wrapped herself around him like a pretzel. “I . . . I thought it was a dream,” she whispered.

  “It was a hell of a great one,” he said, half hoping she’d let him continue it.

  She just stared up at him, hair tousled, eyes still sleepy, cheeks pink, looking like she’d just been fucked every which way but Sunday—and had thoroughly enjoyed it.

  “I guess the sheet wasn’t enough of a barrier after all,” he said, wondering if he needed to apologize.

  “Get off.”

  When he didn’t, she shoved him off her in a sudden flurry of movement, scooting out of the bed, running into the bathroom, but not before