"What do we have?" he asked, as he stepped under the crime scene tape and came face-to-face with Sam.
"Over here." She led him to the body. "Caucasian female, early thirties, broken neck."
He glanced at the corpse, then turned to Sam. "Same guy as the other night?"
"Probably." She stared at the dead woman. He could tell she was imagining the crime. She wet her lips unconsciously as she stood there, lost in thought, and the action brought back that morning's dream with a vengeance. Unfortunately, she chose that moment snap out of her trance and look up at him. "You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine."
"Are you sure? You don't normally react to a body that way."
*That depends on the body.* He made a mental note to shut down his brain when she was talking from now on. "What way?"
"Like somebody hit you in the stomach."
He shrugged. "Must have been something I ate," he joked, then groaned inwardly as his words brought the dream right back to the front of his mind again.
"Okay." She didn't seem to believe him, but she didn't force the issue.
"Let's just get this over with so we can get out of here."
The first thing he noticed when he walked into his room was that there was a naked Sam in his bed. At least he assumed she was naked. She was under the covers, but she didn't seem to be wearing anything. "Sam?" She didn't answer, so he sat down on the bed and touched her shoulder, intending to shake it, but immediately realizing that touching her bare skin was a huge mistake.
"Sam?" he repeated, as he sat on his hands to keep them from going anywhere they shouldn't.
She moved this time. Her eyes opened, and she blinked sleepily. "John?"
"I can't think of anyone else who would be in my bedroom. Speaking of which, what are you doing here?"
She seemed to finally remember where she was, and she smiled. "I was waiting for you."
"In my bed." She nodded. "Naked." She nodded again. "Not that I'm complaining, but, um...why?"
Her smile grew wider. "I thought we could play Twister."
"Twister?" Now he was really confused.
"That was a joke, John." She peered into his eyes. "Have you been drinking?"
"No. Have you?" She shook her head. "Then why are you here?"
"Isn't it obvious?" He stared at her for a moment without answering, until she finally raised herself up until her lips were just inches from his. "I want you."
He blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I. Want. You."
"Oh, so you're Uncle Sam now?"
She laughed. "Not exactly." Her expression turned serious as she moved forward the last few inches and kissed him. For a moment he just sat there, still not completely understanding what was going on, and then he began to kiss her back. He eased her down until she was lying flat again, then sat up and stared at her.
"I think you're wearing too many clothes." She reached up and tugged at his tie, which he immediately ripped off. His shirt followed, and soon all of his clothes were scattered around the floor surrounding the bed. "That's better," she said as she pulled him under the covers.
He drew a sharp breath at the first contact of his bare skin against hers. "Something wrong?" she teased.
"No, I'd say everything is just about right," he said seriously. He kissed her thoroughly as he let his hands roam over her body, exploring all the places he'd fantasized about. Of course, in those fantasies he hadn't restricted his methods to his hands. With that thought in mind, he broke off the kiss and studied her for a moment, his eyes narrowed.
"What?"
"I'm just trying to decide."
"Decide?"
"What tastes best so I can save it for last."
She laughed. "I guess you'll just have to find out."
"What a shame," he said, not bothering to hide his grin. He lowered his head to her neck, nibbling his way up to her earlobe. At the same time, he resumed his exploration with his hands, while she did her own exploring. At first, her touch was teasing, but soon her hands grew more urgent, as did the sounds she made. But he refused to hurry, moving his lips down her body as if he had all day. She seemed to be enjoying the slow torture, until his hands, which had been teasing her stomach, ventured lower.
"John!"
His head snapped up. It took him a second to realize he had fallen asleep at his desk. Sam was standing over him, and considering the dream he'd just had, that was a very bad thing. He tried to keep his voice even. "What?"
"You fell asleep again. Is everything okay?"
"Fine. Everything's fine. I just remembered I have to get this thing to George." He picked up the first folder his hands landed on and jumped out of his chair.
"What thing?"
"This, uh, file," he responded, holding the folder up in front of her face.
She stopped him with a hand on his arm. He stared at her, eyes wide, waiting. "We're still on for tonight, right?" The question was barely above a whisper. He nodded, no longer trusting his voice while she was holding onto his arm. "Seven?" He nodded again. "Great. See you then," she said as she left. He waited until she disappeared around a corner before he fell back into his chair and closed his eyes.
He was never going to survive this.
On the way to pick her up, John gave himself a pep talk. "You can do this. Just forget about the dreams. They never happened." He almost had himself believing it by the time he pulled up at the firehouse. It lasted until she opened the door.
This time, she was wearing a royal blue dress. It had sleeves, which was an improvement over the night before, but they were very short, and there was no real fabric to the top of the dress, so a great deal of her neck and shoulders were exposed. The neckline of the dress plunged low, giving him one of the best views he'd ever seen. She wasn't even wearing hose under the short, swingy skirt. *Why didn't you just wear a bikini and then shoot me and get it over with?* "You look great!"
"Thanks. You look pretty good yourself."
He smiled. "I wasn't sure exactly what to wear. I've never been to this place before."
"You're perfect. Don't worry."
He helped her into the car and followed her directions to the restaurant she'd chosen. The second he walked inside, he had a feeling he was in big trouble. "Dancing? You didn't say anything about dancing."
"Don't worry. We don't have to dance. We can just eat dinner."
*Yeah, right.*
"I don't know why you were so worried about dancing," she said against his shoulder "You're a great dancer."
"Mmmm," was his only response. It was hard enough having to deal with Sam across a table after the dreams he'd been having. Having her in his arms, touching her skin...that was almost too much to ask of any man. He took a deep breath, but it didn't help. The one thing he never seemed to get in his dreams was the smell of her. He wasn't sure if it was her shampoo, her perfume, her soap, or a combination of any or all of them, but there was a smell that was just Sam. It was the difference between the dreams and reality, which made it that much more intoxicating.
"John?" She pulled her head back to look at him. "The music stopped."
Only then did the silence penetrate his fogged brain. "Oh."
"Are you sure you're okay?" she asked as they walked back to their table.
"I'm fine. I’m just a little tired. I've been having trouble sleeping lately." *There's an understatement.*
"Oh. Anything I can do?"
*You're doing quite enough, thanks.* "No, it's just something I have to deal with." *And soon.*
He managed to survive the rest of dinner and the drive back to the firehouse without giving himself away. He almost lost it when she kissed him goodnight and her arms slipped around his waist, but he controlled himself. Somehow he didn't think that dragging her to the car and back to his place would do either of them any good.
When he got home, he put off going to bed as long as possible, figuring if he was exhausted when he went to bed, he wouldn't have dreams. He awoke with a start the next morning to realize he was right. He hadn't dreamt about her. Of course, he'd only gotten three hours of sleep, so he was going to be useless at work, but at least he hadn't had the dreams.
"You look so tired. Are you okay?"
"I've been having trouble sleeping."
She slipped his jacket off his shoulders. "In that case, you should go right to bed and let me take care of you."
"I don't see how that would help, trust me."
She shook her head as she worked his tie out of its knot. "You have no faith. Let me show you." She made quick work of the buttons on his shirt and disposed of it, then got rid of his pants. When he was fully undressed, she maneuvered him to the bed, then knocked him over onto it. Before he could get up, she joined him, sitting on his legs so that he was stuck there.
"What are you doing?"
"Curing your insomnia."
"I see, you're like a flu shot? A dose of the illness is the cure?"
She looked at him oddly. "What did you say was causing you to lose sleep again?"
"Never mind. How are you going to cure me?"
"Well, if all else fails, you just have to get yourself so tired you can't stay awake."
He tried to get up. "I don't think this is such a good idea."
"Why not?" she asked, pinning him back down on the bed.
"I'm not sure. Something just tells me it isn't a good plan."
"Give it a minute. You'll get used to it." She leaned forward and kissed him until he stopped struggling to break free and buried his hands in her hair instead. "See?" she asked, her mouth so close to his her lips brushed his as she spoke. "Not such a bad idea after all, is it?"
He smiled. "I'm beginning to see the benefits," he said before he pulled her back down for another kiss. She allowed it for a moment, then she pulled away again, only to move her lips to his neck. Not only her lips, but her tongue, and even her teeth. Slowly, she moved down his body. When she circled his navel with her tongue, he thought to make one more protest. "We really shouldn't do this."
"Do what?"
John's eyes flew open. "What?"
"We shouldn't do what?"
*Oh, God.* Not only was he having dreams, now he was having them in her office, on her couch, and he was saying things out loud. "Uh...we shouldn't discuss this case right now. I'm really not feeling well. It may be contagious. I should go." He jumped up and hurried out the door without even hearing what question she threw at him as he left.
For the next month, they went out three or four times a week. Each time, John started out hoping this date would cure him, ended up in progressively more intense embraces with Sam, and got practically no sleep. He wasn't sure where their relationship was going, but he was beginning to think the only cure left was the one he was most afraid to try. He didn't think Sam would believe that he needed to sleep with her to cure his insomnia, although he had no doubt some guy somewhere had used that line, probably even successfully.
Assuming that he needed a line. They had been getting more physical as things progressed--and he was only following her lead. The more he got to know Sam outside of work, the more he cared about her. Which made the dreams even worse. He couldn't just relax and enjoy whatever he was feeling because those images were always there. And everything seemed to remind him of the dreams, which were getting more creative. He couldn't even look at a pair of handcuffs anymore.
It wasn't like he was even asking for the dreams. He just didn't know how to stop them. He'd tried, but they kept coming back. If they were trying to tell him something, then he wished they'd hurry up and do it, before they drove him crazy.
"Hey." He looked up and saw Sam standing over his desk. "Are we still on for tonight?"
"Of course. Eight o'clock."
"Great." He watched her walk away, then he put his head down on his desk and banged it gently a few times.
End Part Three
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