The good news was that Brenna had, surprisingly, gotten a good night’s sleep, after all. An orgasm could do that for you.

The bad news was that she woke up horrified to remember the previous night. Again, she felt relieved that she’d been by herself. But that wasn’t stopping the horror. As she scurried to the window to snatch up her panties and put them on, then made her way to the bathroom, she thought about primal needs. And she finally understood how sex could turn people crazed and desperate sometimes. She’d never quite gotten that before now. Last night, however, sex had made her do something which, a mere day before, would have seemed unthinkable.

But it’s your little secret. Your secret sin.

No one will ever know. Thank God!

She wasn’t sure whether to blame Damon Andros or this place. One minute she’d been shocked and appalled at the city’s seaminess, the next she’d been wanting to be a part of it, to somehow revel in it. Such opposing emotions made no sense to her.

Yet, again, she had to break it down and deal with the problem at hand. Which was that she had a whole week of Damon and this city ahead, so it didn’t matter which one of them was causing her erratic reactions. She had to put last night behind her and focus on the work—nothing else.

Of course, when she stepped into the shower, she discovered that her body still felt…overly sensitive. As she ran the soap over her skin—her breasts, her stomach, her thighs—she found herself also wanting to run it between her legs. The warm water beating down on her felt too good. Her own curves, as she washed, felt too lush.

Shit. This was not good. But she still had to deal, and she had to get serious about it.

So with that in mind, when she stepped out of the shower, she didn’t put on any of the new clothes she’d brought with her. In fact, she dressed as plainly as she could, in a pair of jeans and a plain pink tee she’d packed more with an eye toward sleeping in it than wearing it out. And after blow-drying her brand-new auburn hair, rather than run the flatiron through it, she instead shoved it back into a small ponytail.

She considered not wearing makeup but decided that was going too far. She wanted to be plain, not totally unattractive—although she kept it to a minimum, applying just a little powder and lipstick and brushing on a bit of mascara.

Leaving the bathroom, she cringed at the sight of the open wine cooler still sitting on the table across the room. Rushing over, she closed her fingertips gingerly around the narrowest part of the bottle, twisted the lid back on, and deposited it in the nearest wastebasket. Yuck.

Then, looking to the door, she took a deep breath. Last night’s silliness is over. Done. Past. Today is about the serious business of learning your new job. So go over to Damon’s room, but do not think of him sexually anymore. He is your trainer, your teacher, that’s all. With any luck, he wouldn’t look so good in the morning, either.

As she grabbed up the leather portfolio she’d brought for taking notes, then grabbed her room key and headed for the door, she began to murmur, “I don’t need a man. I don’t need a man. I don’t need a man.”