A week passed a week of stolen glances across the lawn, of late-night text messages that were more explicit than any porn script, of a constant, throbbing ache between her legs that only he could soothe. She was addicted. Completely and utterly addicted to him, to the danger, to the raw, primal pleasure he gave her.

She was in her garden, trying to focus on weeding the flowerbeds, but her mind was a million miles away. She was thinking about him, about the last time they were together, about ...