“Alistair—” “She’s in my dreams,” I blurt. He goes still. “Claire?” “Always. But I wasn’t talking about her.” My heart slams against my ribs. “Miss Jones.” His eyes widen a bit. “What kind of dreams?” He taps his fingers on the table. “Sexual? Is she naked?” “Dammit, Darrel. I’m not dreaming of another woman naked while my wife is right there.” “What do you mean ‘right there’?”
