Christmas in His Bed: Talking in Your Sleep... / Unwrapped / Kiss & Tell. Carrie Alexander

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СКАЧАТЬ were standing about a foot apart, and all she had on was her robe and underwear. From what she could tell, all he had on were those jeans, and they weren’t even zipped up all the way. She had to get him out of here before she almost swooned for crying out loud, feeling a surge of lust for him.

      “I won’t be able to get back to sleep.”

      “Why not?”

      “I have chronic insomnia, and the nightly chatter hasn’t been helping. I can’t remember the last time I actually was sleeping as soundly as I was before your scream ended that.”

      “I. Didn’t. Scream,” she ground out between her teeth. “I don’t talk all night. I don’t talk in my sleep.”

      He ran a hand though sandy hair that was cut just the right length, and the gesture made her lose her train of thought for a moment. He had perfect arms. Nicely toned, muscular but not ridiculously so. They were manly arms. She didn’t like the bodybuilder type, though she had no doubt he was strong. What on earth was she doing? She never—or rarely—ogled men like this.

      “Listen, fine. You probably don’t snore either, but—”

      “Hey! I don’t snore,” she declared stoutly. This much she knew for sure.

      “Fine. Still, on the very small, almost impossible chance that it’s you, and that you don’t realize it, could you do me a favor and close your window? Just in case.”

      The sarcasm of his tone put her off, but even if it hadn’t, she wasn’t about to change her habits for a stranger.

      “No.”

      He blinked, standing there looking luscious and confused. Images of what he’d done to her earlier in her dream ran through her head like an X-rated movie, and she had to drop her gaze.

      “No? Just like that?”

      “It’s hot.”

      “Use your AC.”

      “I don’t have AC. There’s only one small window unit in the house and it is too noisy. Why don’t you close your window?”

      “Why should I close my windows? You’re the one screaming in the middle of the night.”

      She squared her jaw, supposing there was no reason not to tell the truth on this one. “Well, I’m not closing my window either—it’s too hot.”

      “Fine.”

      “Fine.”

      She stifled a yawn, moving toward the door. “I don’t know who you’ve been hearing at night, but people are out on the streets all the time—it was probably something out there.”

      “It’s the same voice, saying the same things. In fact, it’s your voice. I’m sure of it.”

      Sending him what she thought was the coldest look she could manage, she yanked open the door. “You’re imagining things. Thanks for your concern, but I’d like to go back to bed.”

      He moved toward the door, shaking his head, and looking at her with a smile that had her knees buckling. Then she caught herself.

      “I’m Rafe by the way. Rafe Moore,” he said slowly, watching her closely as if to catch her up, and she hoped she gave nothing away.

      “Good night, Mr. Moore.”

      She didn’t offer her own name, and simply arched an eyebrow when he paused, waiting. Blowing out a breath, he nodded once, his lips tightening. She almost felt bad, but she didn’t want to give him one ounce of encouragement.

      “Call me Rafe. We’re neighbors, after all. Good night.”

      Joy sank down by the door, utterly mortified. She’d held her own, but her dreams were obviously getting out of control.

      Rafe wasn’t the only one who wouldn’t be going back to sleep tonight. In truth, she hated that she was contributing to his insomnia. He seemed nice, really, and was obviously a good guy, concerned about his neighbors, ready to help. He had a really cute accent, too….

      Shaking away thoughts of her hunky neighbor, Joy couldn’t risk going back to bed and the dreams starting up again. Not tonight. She didn’t know why she was having them—she didn’t even care for sex all that much. The few serious relationships she’d had had proved that. Of course, maybe if sex in reality was as terrific as it was in her unconscious, she’d revise her opinion, but in her experience, it hadn’t been.

      Eyeing the armchair and ottoman by the TV from her sitting position at the base of the door, she smiled. At least if she fell back into her lusty dreams no one would hear her from there.

       3

      RAFE SEARCHED THE CROWDED shelves of the garage in the corner where Warren kept his tools. He was looking for the laser level Warren had bragged about, but couldn’t find it anywhere. His pal was not a slob, exactly, but he was a pack rat. Everything from old electrical tape to plastic bags with every spare part you could think of was crammed three-deep on the narrow shelves.

      While Rafe hadn’t been able to fall back asleep, the couple hours he’d managed had given him a boost of energy. He was intent on repainting the small kitchen for Warren and his bride—Rafe’s version of a Christmas/wedding gift—but he had to put up the wainscoting first, and that required the level.

      When he yanked free a box from an upper shelf, what he found was more interesting—an older model camcorder. He recognized it in an instant—Warren had gotten it for his eighteenth birthday, and they’d had a hell of a time with it.

      They’d pestered Rafe’s sisters particularly, following them around with the camera until his eldest sister, Becky, had threatened to crush it under her car wheel if they didn’t stop. Rafe was the fourth after three sisters, and though he loved them dearly, and they all had close relationships now, back then, he had been a major pain, as younger brothers aim to be.

      Taking the camcorder out, Rafe saw there was a tape inside and for the heck of it, hit the play button, wondering if he might stumble across one of those old adventures. Within seconds, he was hitting the off button, a little shocked—Warren and his new wife had apparently been having a little fun with home movies back before they were married and had forgotten to remove the tape. Of course, they probably hadn’t expected anyone to be rummaging through their garage, either.

      His embarrassment at discovering the video of Warren in flagrante delicto was muted by the sudden brainstorm that hit him—this could be just what he needed to prove his case.

      If his neighbor, name still unknown, wouldn’t believe she was talking—and loudly—in her sleep, he could tape her and prove it. Then, she wouldn’t be able to deny it was her.

      He took the tape out. He could buy a new one and replace this one later, after he accomplished his purpose. There was a place downtown that converted old tapes to compact discs. If he went to the local hardware store now, he could buy a new tape and a level to work on the kitchen.

      However, grabbing Warren’s keys and heading out to the car—which always stayed in the driveway because the СКАЧАТЬ