She was so tired.
Somehow the panic of packing and the stress of rushing to the station, coupled with meeting after meeting at work and a run of nights where she never seemed to get enough sleep... had led her close to an exhausted collapse.

She sat now at a window seat on the train, mindlessly contemplating the stream of images through the glass, and allowed herself to close her eyes.

She felt a delicious, almost liquid sense of relaxation start to take control of her body, she felt the muscles on her face lose their tension, and in her dozing she felt herself thinking of the evening before.

Briefly, very briefly he had stood behind her while she typed. A hint of a fingertip on her shoulder for the tiniest of moments was again a symbol that in fact they couldn’t, wouldn’t, allow themselves to touch...

But here, safe on the train, away from colleagues and pressures, in the sanctuary of her imagination, she turned to face him.

And they kissed.

She ****** awake; she felt flushed, aroused. And she was suddenly very aware that she wanted him very much.

Sleep? ****.
**** sleep.
She wanted to sleep with him.