Amelia touched the metal choker around her neck and grumbled, “This bloody thing follows me even into my dreams.” If she ever got it off, she’d make Jonathan Fitzgerald eat it.

“Amelia,” Tom’s deep voice rumbled, “this isn’t a dream.”

“What?”

“You’re not dreaming.”

She smiled and shook her head. Of course she was dreaming. What else could this be? There was water, sunshine, and trees. “I wish for you to go now.” No need for the handsome Sentinel to spoil her temporary reprieve from reality.

“I wish I could, but I’m stuck here for the foreseeable future.” Tom rose to his full height beside her and held out a hand. “Let’s get back to the cabin. You need a shower, and I need to get some sleep.”

She frowned at his long, masculine fingers. He wiggled them once in an impatient gesture that matched the tick in his square jaw. She stood up and found the top of her head barely met his chin. The heat radiating from his broad chest felt very real, so real that she pinched her thigh to test his theory. A slight pain radiated up her side, making her eyes widen. “I’m not dreaming?”

He gave her a small smile. “No, Amelia. You’re very much awake.”