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words came with more conviction. She was not afraid of Mark Moore. When she thought of him, even during those minutes when he’d pinned her against the wall in the waterfall grotto, it wasn’t fear that filled her. God help her, not fear.
    It was something beyond that. Something that centered around one word. More . She’d wanted more of his grip on her wrists. More of his tongue in her mouth. More of his body against hers, his voice in her ear, his strength taking over her. More of the snap in her mind that came free as he’d overwhelmed her body. It had been…amazing. Freeing. Like she’d been living her life in a cage and he was a trainer with a whip, ordering her out, commanding her to leap and fly for him. Yes, for him . Because every height she gained was the key to his pleasure too. She’d felt it in every flexed muscle of his body, every coiled inch of his control, every rough note in his voice. He’d become an animal too: primal, passionate, everything she’d been fantasizing about from him, and more.
    And there it was again. More.
    “You’re not—”
    She stopped as she opened the door to her room. The setting sun blazed into her eyes as the truth burned across her mind.
    She forced herself to say it aloud.
    “You’re afraid of what you are when you’re with him.”
    She started her run, skipping a warm-up in favor of a pace designed to ditch the demons in her head. But the monsters wouldn’t shake off. Her confession gave them the perfect fissures to dig in at her psyche.
    You’re afraid of what you are when you’re with him…
    And what was that?
    All the things she couldn’t allow herself to be. Soft. Moist. Pure feeling. Pure need.
    Oh God…especially need.
    She bumped up her pace. If she couldn’t fry the thoughts away by force of will, she’d drown them in sweat and pain. That seemed a good plan until a cramp clawed her calf. Luckily, she approached the path that veered toward the fitness center. She’d stop in there and grab several swigs of water while stretching out the cramp.
    The resort’s gym was spacious, well stocked, and empty. That didn’t surprise her. It was the middle of happy hour, and everyone was likely in the cantina downing twofers of the resort’s watered-down special of the day. She headed for the cooler in the corner that held chilled water bottles. As she got one out, then dipped into a low stretch, somebody emerged from one of the locker/spa areas on the opposite side of the room. At the same second, her calf decided misery was company, and her hamstring seized too. She collapsed to the seat of a weight machine, grimacing hard.
    “Mother of a shitfaced bastard!”
    With her eyes closed, she only felt, rather than saw, the approach of the room’s other occupant. But the agony in her leg took precedence over putting on a friendly face for them. They’d get the idea fast enough. Woman writhing here, buddy. Just a friendly attack of cramps. Nothing to see. Move along, move along.
    “I must admit, you redefine the world of swear words, honey.”
    His voice, rough and a little humored, was a pull cord on her gaze. She only hoped she controlled her reaction to appear like mild surprise instead of the awareness flooding her body. She looked up first, for that was where his statement had come from. There was only empty air. A touch behind her knee pulled her sights back down. There was Senator Mark Moore, down on one knee, assessing her with a focus that seemed purely medical. There was just one major exception. No doctor ever cranked her bloodstream from simmer to boil with a single touch.
    No. She couldn’t let herself turn into that woman again. The one that terrified her. The unthinking, incoherent, utterly stupid one. Time to activate the prevention plan. Black humor was a good first step.
    “Yeah. That’s me. Miss Memorable. I’m a walking USB stick.”
    “All right.” His eyes warmed, not that she noticed. “If you say so.” He ran his hand farther up,