Gentle hands roamed over his body. A hot mouth, soft and sweet, brushed over his lips, then his neck, then lower…lower...He felt her hair tickle under his chin, cool as silk, smelling sweet, like that coconut shampoo she always used. “Cassie…” Jon rolled over, swimming his way up from sleep, feeling for her warmth and finding an empty bed. With a sigh, he rolled back on his pillow and stared at the concrete ceiling and pipes above his head.

“You still dream about me?” The voice was soft.

Jon blinked and bolted upright in his bed. A beautiful blonde stood in the doorway to his bedroom, the light from the entranceway framing the voluptuous lines of her beautiful body. White-gold hair pulled back in her signature chignon, Hitchcock could have molded her into his ultimate “cool blonde,” if only she hadn’t been born several decades too late.

The erotic dream was messing with Jon’s head, and he wondered if he was really awake yet. But, then again, she hadn’t been wearing a prim, pink suit in his dream…she hadn’t been wearing anything. And, while his unconscious self was perfectly happy to do all kinds of dirty and depraved things to this woman, his waking self knew he couldn’t stand her.

He’d long ago given up the fight on keeping her out of his fantasies, but that didn’t mean he had to give up the ghost on keeping her out of his real life. “Get out.”

“Jonathan, I’m your wife.”