“So, uh, are you still mad at me?” “I haven’t decided.” Shrugging off his hands, she gathered up the trailing ends of her sheet and headed toward the door. “Where are you going?” he demanded, and the genuine fear in his voice gave her a certain sense of satisfaction. “Into the bathroom.I want to take a shower.” She stepped into the surprisingly spacious bathroom, turned on the water, dropped her sheet and began counting to ten. She made it to four, maybe four-and-a-half, before Mac pushed the door open and stormed inside. “I was just as much a victim in this as you were,” he said, glowering down at her. “I had no idea what was going on until this morning. Last night, I thought—hell, it felt so incredible to touch you that I didn’t think at all. Go ahead and hate me for not being able to stop making love to you, but I want you to realize, you have no right to blame this on me.” She pushed the door closed behind him, then stepped into the shower. “I know.”
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