And she could finally breathe. Theoretically. If she breathed too deep, the tears would start again. If she held her breath, she would pass out. She compromised with short, strangled little gasps and stared at the horrendous motel art-some sort of obscenely bright-colored mallard duck. She put her hands over her eyes to block it out, and tried to pull herself together.

She had to grab onto the last, ragged, fluttering shred of her independent Will and run, far and fast. She couldn't let herself be taken Over, swept away, because he was her mate. For God's sake, the man had just fucked her practically senseless, and she still wanted...