He was lying sprawled on his back, and he seemed perfectly comfortable, while Daisy felt more self-conscious with each passing second. She felt physically and mentally naked, and she wasn’t used to either. She’d practically attacked him. Granted there’d been sexual tension crackling between them since day one, but until this evening she’d managed to be civil about it. Until this evening she’d managed to hide her randiness, or at least to conceal it a little. Now he knew she was deprived and desperate. Or maybe he thought she was like this with everyone! She didn’t know which would be worse.

She sat up and grimaced at the tangle of clothes on the floor. “I have to go home.”

He kissed her at the base of her spine. “You could spend the night.”

“No!”

They both were surprised at how vehemently she’d said it.

“I’m sorry,” she said, wriggling into her underwear. “I didn’t mean to shout.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No. You were wonderful. You did everything right…better than right. It’s me.”

Besides being mortally embarrassed, she realized she was scared. She was feeling emotions she had no business feeling. She loved him. Good Lord, don’t even think it, she warned herself. Don’t say it out loud, don’t formulate it in your mind, and wipe that expression of adulation off your face.

She was within inches of her doctorate; she was maxed out on education loans, and she was starting to get tired. If she slowed down now, she’d never make it. And Steve Crow could slow her down big-time. He’d have her going around in hormone heaven, dreaming fairy tales about how poor psychologists grow up to marry handsome oil tycoons.

She dropped her shirt over her head and tugged her shorts over her hips. “I’m sorry to have to run off like this. You probably think I’m rude, but the truth is, I’m a little discombobulated.”

“I understand.”

“Really?”

He pulled his shorts on. “No, but it seemed like the right thing to say.”

She caught a look at herself in the hall mirror and groaned. “I look like heck.”

“I think you look great. I think you should look like this more often. Every morning, in fact. And maybe once in a while in the afternoon.”

“Every morning?”

“For the rest of your life.”

“My Lord, I’d be dead in a year.”