Beth dried the wineglass and put it back in the cabinet. She wanted all traces of what had happened to be gone when Mark came back downstairs. And time would do its job, killing the anxiety and easing her guilt.
It had always worked in the past. There were so many times she watched her guilt fade day by day, like a wound healing, healthy flesh erasing and healing, until there was no longer even a trace of the trauma, the guilt.
And she could start over. Not like in the past, when the guilt abated, to be replaced by her hunger…a desperate need to be appreciated, to fill the void, both physical and mental that only a handsome stranger could manage.
But with this scare—and Beth realized it was a good thing, now—she could start over. It wouldn’t be so hard; it would just take a little self-
