I was in my bed at Brandon's beach house, and I was dreaming.

In my dream, Christopher had come to rescue me. He wasn't, it turned out, mad about the whole thing where I'd told him I loved Brandon and not him.

Quite the opposite, in fact. Our reunion was joyful . . . and passionate. It was turning the ice that had been flowing in my veins back to blood . . . warm, rich blood, that was making me hot . . . shove-the-covers-down, hair-sticking-to-the-back-of-my-neck hot.

In my dream, Christopher was kissing me . . . gently at first, playful kisses on the lips, light as the down feathers in the comforter that I'd already pushed past my bare thighs.

Then, as I kissed him back, proving that it was true-I had never loved Brandon. How could I?-the kisses became longer . . . deeper . . . more passionate. My lips parted beneath his as his hands found their way into my hair-spread like a fan across my pillow-his mouth cool against mine because of the chill outside, the zipper from his leather jacket almost unbearably cold as it pressed against my warm skin as he leaned over my bed, whispering my name. . . .

I was so relieved to learn he hadn't even believed me that bitterly cold morning outside of Dr. Fong's house when I'd said I didn't love him. He'd known Brandon had been making me say it.

He just hadn't known why.

The reason he hadn't believed it was because he'd loved me-the real me-all along. Not me, Nikki, the girl who'd torn his heart out of his chest and thrown it to the ground and then squashed it underneath her Louboutins.

Me, Em. The girl in the photo he'd kept over his desk all those months.

The girl he'd thought was dead for so many months.

Except if that was true . . . if Christopher hadn't believed me . . . why hadn't he called?

Because, a voice inside my dream reminded me, Christopher doesn't love you anymore.

Wait a minute. I wasn't actually liking this dream after all.

I opened my eyes with a gasp to find a hand pressed to my mouth. This was no dream. This was really happening.

I knew who it was, of course. Who else could it have been? Who else had been trying my doorknob (unsuccessfully, since I'd been careful about locking it every night) all week? The hand over my mouth was masculine. I could tell that just by its size and heaviness, even if, in the darkness of my room, I couldn't see who owned it.

So of course I did the only thing I could: I clamped down on it with my teeth as hard as I could.

What else was I going to do? Brandon had snuck into my room in the middle of the night to do what guys like Brandon do to girls when they're asleep. How dare he try to take advantage of me when I was dreaming about someone else? Someone I actually liked. . . .

I bit down and didn't let go until I heard bones crunch.

"Ow. Jesus, Em!" the voice cried in a hoarse whisper. The hand ripped away from my face, and for a second, I heard the sound of leather rubbing on leather . . . a sleeve lifting away from the body of a jacket as someone waved his hand back and forth.

Wait. My sleep-muddled mind tried to make sense of this. Why would Brandon be wearing a leather jacket inside?

"What did you go and bite me for?" Christopher wanted to know.

My mind reeled. Christopher? In my room? Here, at Brandon's house? What was Christopher doing here? How had he gotten in? Had I not been dreaming after all? Had he really been kissing me?

I sat up so fast, I jostled Cosabella, who'd been curled against my neck.

"Christopher?" I whispered. "Is that really you? Oh, my God, did I hurt you? Are you bleeding?"

"Of course it's really me," he whispered. He sounded so annoyed, I wanted to grab his face and go back to kissing it, just like in my dream . . . if that had really been a dream, and not real. Only Christopher could sound that irritated with me. Wonderful, amazing, easily annoyed Christopher. "Who else would it be? And don't tell me Stark has been sneaking in here. Was that why the door was locked? I had to use my library card to jimmy the lock. Seriously, if he's been trying to get in here, I'll kill him-"

I forgot that I was supposed to be giving Christopher the cold shoulder, on pain of Brandon destroying everything and everyone I loved.

I forgot that I was supposed to be pretending that Brandon and I were an item now.

I was so overwhelmed at finding Christopher sitting on the side of my bed, just like in my dream, that I threw my arms around him, pulling him close and swearing to myself that I was never going to let him go. I didn't even care that the metal rivets and zipper of his leather jacket were icy cold against the parts of my bare skin that weren't covered by the matching pink tank top and sleep boxers I was wearing. Just like in my dream.