What She Wants. Lucinda Betts

even her sweet perfume of innocence failed to stop Ann. She’d run until—

      The fragrance washed through her like a deluge, the kind that rushes through Southwestern arroyos and leaves them barren.

      She knew what she had to do right now—before her job talk in the morning, before she found a safe place to spend the night.

      Ignoring the wind rippling through the tall palms, Ann looked up the beach and saw the bright lights curving along Glorietta Bay. A shell crunched beneath her boot as she began to walk toward the hazy crescent of the Coronado Bay Bridge.

      Where was he? Her mouth watered for him. Her thighs craved him. She’d do now what she should have done earlier.

      The predator had become prey.