If Taylor’s a*s had not been on the line, Sarah would’ve packed up in the dead of night and driven back to New York out of sheer embarrassment. Without the fog of l**t, she was mortified. She’d practically climbed Beckett like a tree, and if not for the harness and his own heroic restraint, she was pretty sure they’d have ended up n***d on that table in the equipment shed. That was…appalling.
She didn’t have issues with s*x. She liked s*x—or had in the dim, dark recesses of her memory when she’d last had it. But she wasn’t in the habit of going to bed—or table—with men she barely knew. Okay, she’d never been so carried away that she’d been tempted by the nearest horizontal surface. Beckett Hayes packed quite the s****l punch. And dear God, those shoulders. Damn. The fact was, s*x
