The dream seemed real enough. It came the same time each night, just minutes after Sara switched off the bedside lamp and snuggled beneath the fluffy white comforter which graced her Queen Anne bed. And the dream was precisely why she went to bed at exactly eleven o'clock. Not a moment before and not a moment after.

"Hello, my sweet." The words blew across her skin like the faintest brush of the wind.

Scrunching her eyes tighter, Sara rolled to her back, arms spread wide. "You're back." She felt the touch of warm lips against the inside of her thigh and sighed.

"Did I not tell you I would return?" The voice carried a slight trace of a European accent, and Sara longed to see his face. But he only came to her beneath the cover of night, deep in the darkness of her dreams, allowing her only the briefest glimpses of sexy, blue eyes every now and again. Though it saddened her that she couldn't see him, she reveled in the times she could hold him in her arms.

"What are you thinking about, love?" His hair tickled her leg, and she shivered.

"That I wish I could see you."