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Excerpt from Talking in Your Sleep...

You mentioned you're an EMT, like for the Fire Department?" she asked, taking the focus away from her. The wine was making her warm, heat overtaking her. She studied the slight sheen of perspiration on Rafe's brow, finding it sexy, and licked her lips unconsciously, the taste of wine and sauce still lingering there. She wondered if he tasted like he did in her dreams. . . .

"Yeah, in New York City, for a hospital, not the NYFD. Best city in the world, no offense," He grinned again. "But the insomnia has been dogging me for months — I finally had to take a leave of absence when I almost crashed my ambulance. So, here I am, trying to get over it. Thought a vacation somewhere new, away from the job, might help."

She groaned. "Only to find a loud-mouthed woman next door keeping you up all night. . .I'm so sorry. I wish there was something I could do about it. I keep having these dreams," she said emphatically and then remembered whom she was talking to — and exactly whom she was dreaming about — and stopped short.

"When did they start?" he prompted softly, but the air changed between them, crackling with sexual tension.

She swallowed hard. "When you moved in, right about that time, I guess. . . ."

He nodded, and her face turned even hotter, though it wasn't the wine anymore. She was incredibly embarrassed at what she was revealing — the wine was loosening her tongue a little too much, and she pushed the glass away.

"Hey, don't be embarrassed. I'm flattered, personally speaking, but on the other hand, somniloquy is a real sleep disorder."

"Som — what?"

"Somniloquy — talking in your sleep. I know what hell a sleepless night can be. Are you having any other problems, lost sleep, etc?"

She wanted to kiss him for understanding — or maybe she just wanted to kiss him, period — and nodded emphatically. "Yes, I'm exhausted. I sleep all night, or seem to, but I am dead tired in the morning."

"You're body is sleeping but your mind isn't — you're probably waking up more than you realize, and lack of sleep will catch up with you.

"You know a lot about sleep."

"That's what happens when you don't get much of it — I've been through a lot trying to solve my own disorder."

He was being so kind, and that he understood and was so sympathetic made everything far too intimate between them for some reason. She stood, taking their plates to the sink, needing to get up and put some distance between them, but it didn't work. He stood, following her with the remainder of the table's contents.

"Have you tried a sleep clinic, or taking something — pills?"

She grimaced, leaning against the sink. "I don't think pills will help me stop dreaming about you," she clapped a hand over her mouth too late, stumbling, "I mean, uh. . . ."

He chuckled, reaching past her to turn on the faucet, filling the sink with soapy water. He was way too close, she observed, inhaling his masculine scent, but she didn't move away. "I know what you mean." He said, leaning against the sink, facing her. "I guess the question is, what can you — or we — do about it?"