What had just happened? One minute she'd been thinking about Franky Bates, which never failed to leave a heavy, unyielding lump in her stomach; the next, Franky couldn't have been further from her mind. When Jonathan touched her so tenderly, she'd been consumed by a passion unlike anything she'd ever experienced before. Was it simply the famous lure of "forbidden fruit"? What would she have done if he'd continued? If that hand that'd rested so lightly on her hip had slipped up to curve around her breast? Stifling a groan, she pulled the covers over her head. She would've shoved him away, of course. And if there was any chance she wouldn't have done that, she didn't want to know about it. She felt bad enough that she'd enjoyed the sample. Stop it. Her reaction didn't really mean anything. It was minor amidst a plethora of more critical concerns, like getting Sam home safely. Zoe wasn't herself, would never be herself again, until her daughter was safe. "Forget it," she whispered, but try as she might, she couldn't forget.
