Her arms slipped around him and for the first time he registered that she was wearing clothes, the soft cotton of her pajamas brushing against him.
Eyes still shut tight, he frowned. Since when did his dream fantasies wear clothes? And pajamas at that. If anything, this woman ought to be wearing some silky negligee. Or better yet, nothing at all.
He tugged at the edge of the pajama top, determined to remedy this matter. Obviously his subconscious wanted to make fulfilling this fantasy more challenging.
She was kissing him now, tracing the line of his jaw with her tongue. He groaned, trying to hold back the wakefulness stealing over him. Just a little longer. At least until he got her undressed and he was inside her…
Noises disrupted his concentration—footsteps, the clang of metal, distant voices drawing nearer. He winced against a sudden flare of light against his closed eyelids and groaned. Not yet. Only a few minutes more…
The dream woman gave a small squeal and shoved away from him, even as he tried to hold her.
“Adam, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
The words jerked him awake more effectively than a bucket of ice water. He opened his eyes, squinting against the glare of bright overhead lights, and stared into the frowning face of the station manager, Carl.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Carl asked again.
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