The first time I saw Thomas Morgan he was marching through the Mohave desert wearing a pair of thousand dollar Italian loafers and a pair of pinstriped black wool pants. He wasn't crazy, just a rich boy who got stupid and lost. He was irrepressible, though, hitting on me even as I let him ride behind on my horse back to the cabin where I'd been working. He was a cocky playboy and I... I was a nerdy girl who was stuck in the desert monitoring ground faults. How he persuaded me out of my clothes and into my bed is beyond me. Why I didn't panic when he tired me up is even harder to explain. But oh what he could do with his hands... and lips! How could I refuse to drive him to Las Vegas - once my eyes cleared? And in Vegas he introduced me to even more nastier things, things I'd hardly even heard of, things that made my face burn almost as much as my bottom! But it didn't matter. He was the wildest thing that had ever come into my otherwise dull life, and the desert heat was no match for him and me together!
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