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Of course it was inevitable thatthismoment would happen.

They were only human, after all. She couldn’t pretend she hadn’t considered the possibility over and over again. Obviously she should have prepared better.

Vera pushed the thoughts away. This whole business with the Messenger and seeing Eric again had made her vulnerable. Yes, she decided, it was the volatile combination of events from the past coming together in an explosion of unexpected emotions. Otherwise, she would surely have told Bent to go home when he showed up wanting to mark his territory.

Anger sparked inside her. Seven months they had been working together, and not once had he made so much as an overture toward going down that path. Not one single word or touch that suggested he felt anything more for her.

They were friends ... colleagues. Old acquaintances.

Nothing more. For goodness’ sake, he had women like Renae who grew her own hothouse tomatoes and brought him meals. What did he need with Vera Mae Boyett?

She turned off the dryer, unplugged it, and placed it on the counter. Under no circumstances would she ever—ever—allow him to see how tonight had affected her. She tugged on a clean sweatshirt that had beenhanging on the back of the bathroom door. Sans a bra, since she’d have to go back into her room if she wanted a bra. Not happening.

Pretending to be unaffected would not be easy. Obviously he’d been in the room when she was losing her mind with multiple orgasms. Damn it. But he didn’t have to know how touching him, smelling his skin—her respiration quickened even now—had made her feel. How his hands moving over her body and ...

Okay.Enough of that. She dragged on a pair of jeans she’d pulled from the hamper. He likely recognized desperation when he saw it. But just because he had pushed all the right buttons and driven her over the edge physically didn’t mean he had to know how he had moved her emotionally. He couldn’t possibly understand how being with him had felt more right than sex with any other man. How she had missed him so desperately and had spent her whole life comparing every other lover to him.

Damn it all to hell.

She smoothed her sweatshirt and squared her shoulders. She would never share those thoughts with him. He already had her at a distinct disadvantage. The face that stared back at her from the mirror warned there was just one big problem with her plan.

How did she keep him believing she was unaffected and at the same time make sure this happened again?

She groaned. If she was completely honest with herself, she could not recall when she had felt so alive ... so satisfied.

“Pathetic, Vee,” she grumbled.

Since she couldn’t stay holed up in this bathroom forever, she slung her towel over the shower-curtain rod. Made sure the Bon Jovi tee and her underwear were in the hamper. Then she drew in a big breath and exited the room that felt more like a sauna. She’d stayed in here entirely too long.

A quick peek in her bedroom revealed no sign of Bent. He must have gone downstairs. The rumpled sheets made her cringe. The urge torip the sheets from the mattress and rush them to the washing machine was a vibrating need.

No way. She’d just washed the scent of him off her skin. She wasn’t touching those damned sheets.

Where was her phone? She’d taken it downstairs when he called to say he was at her door.

The distinct memory of hearing it clatter to the floor told her where she’d left it.

Braced to deal with the reality of the past hour, she descended the stairs. Her phone was no longer on the floor. It was on the hall side table. He must have picked it up when he came downstairs. His hat sat next to her phone. He’d picked that up too.

She pocketed her phone. Where the hell was he?

Moving as silently as possible, she wandered through the downstairs until she reached the kitchen. He stood at the back door, staring out into the darkness.

His shirttails hanging untucked was the only readily visible indication of what they’d done. Dear God, she’d been such an idiot.

As if he’d sensed her presence, he turned around.

His hair was a little tousled, and a day’s beard growth shadowed his jaw. His shirt front was held together by only two or three buttons. For an instant he looked almost vulnerable. Like the twenty-one-year-old guy who had stolen her heart all those years ago, who’d rarely allowed anyone to see this side of him.

“I was just thinking.” His voice was low, deep ... sexy as hell.

Holy hell, she was in trouble here.

She folded her arms over her chest. “That you succeeded in marking your territory,” she snarked.

Holding her gaze, he started toward her. “Is that how you see it? If so, I’m surprised you didn’t send me packing before we climbed the stairs.”

He always had an answer for everything. Damn him. “I considered it, but ...” She shrugged. “We all have needs.”