Michael Guerin caught a whiff of something fresh and tangy. The smell of the ocean. God, he loved that smell.

Yeah, but do you love it because you love the ocean? he asked himself. Or do you love it because it's the way Cameron smells?

He ignored himself. He needed to get some sleep. And thinking about Cameron Winger was like chain drinking fifty cups of coffee. It made him feel like all his nerves were vibrating.

The ocean scent grew stronger. And Michael's nerves started vibrating faster, generating an electric current that raced through his body. Cameron was here. In his room, in his bedroom. He was sure of it.

Before he could sit up, he felt her arm slip around his waist, felt her breath warm against the back of his neck. Cameron wasn't just in his bedroom. She was in his bed.

He used to fantasize about exactly this when he was lying in his cell in the Clean Slate compound, held prisoner by Sheriff Valenti. The fantasies kept him sane in there. Kept him from thinking about exactly what the Clean Slate crew planned to do with him after they learned everything they could about his powers.

But those fantasies all took place before he found out the truth about Cameron. That was before he found out that she wasn't just another prisoner in the compound. She was working for Valenti, and her job was to get Michael to give her the names of the other aliens living in Roswell.

Was he just supposed to forget that Cameron had betrayed him? Was he just supposed to what-roll over and start kissing her or something?

Yes, you big idiot! his body screamed at him. Yes! Do it. Do it now!

"Can't you even look at me?" Cameron asked softly. "You haven't actually looked at me for days."

It was true. He avoided looking at her because when he looked at her, he wanted her. And starting up something with Cameron again didn't seem like the smartest idea.