What’s hotter than a sultry New Orleans night? For Lucy Ryan, not a thing. She’s having psychic erotic dreams of a man she’s never met. Then Justin Guidry saves her from a couple of killers and she recognizes him as her in dreams lover. She also dreamed the murder and tried to stop it but arrived at the scene too late. Now her life is at risk, and so is her heart.

Excerpt:

WHEN JUSTIN TURNED from the languid stream of the bayou and poled up to a floating dock, Lucy anxiously looked around.

   Part of her expected to encounter the men who’d chased her into the swamp waiting for her, guns drawn. But they were nowhere in sight. Lucy breathed a little easier.

   Justin jumped out onto the floating dock first and with a few twists of rope against a wooden post tied up the boat. Then he hooked the hull to the dock with one foot and offered her a hand and a smile.

   Heart fluttering at the way he was looking at her — like he knew, for heaven’s sake, like he could read her mind about the dreams — Lucy reluctantly took his hand. Their physical connection was immediate and more intense than she would have imagined. Her palm felt scalded and as the sensation spread up her arm, she swayed slightly.

   Justin easily pulled her right into him. The tips of her breasts brushed his chest, oh, so lightly, but her nipples immediately tightened and sent a warning to parts below. She squeezed her thighs together and awkwardly pushed past him.

    “Are you all right, chère?”

   The dock swayed under her, the motion adding to her already wonky stomach. “Yes, why?”

   “You seem a little breathless,” he said, his voice low and warm as the sunshine. “I thought maybe the wound was letting you know it was there.”

   "Yes, the wound….” She was lying, of course. She’d forgotten all about being shot. She shrugged and forced a smile. “Just a twinge. It’s fine now.”

   "Good.” Placing a light hand at the small of her back, he started for the bank. “Watch your step here.”

   Her quick jump to dry land — make that squishy land — was inspired by the touch of his hand. Being close to Justin was difficult enough. Allowing him to continue touching her would drive her nuts because the intimate contact would remind her of the hot dreams.

   And then all she would want to do is tear off his clothes and see if the sex was as good as she’d imagined.

   Nothing could be that good, she argued with herself. At least nothing in her experience had led her to believe that sex could be in the fireworks category.

   But wouldn’t she like to find out?