And she had to admit that it had a pretty good excuse now. She’d been having sex until it hurt. It wasn’t very sensible to do that, but sex wasn’t very much use to her when it was sensible. Jane hadn’t truly appreciated sex, really, until she’d gotten into headlong sex at full tilt. Hard, clawing, yelling sex that didn’t stop until you were sweaty and chafed and sore. Sex on a nice comfy bed of rock-hard Texas dirt, with a guy in top physical condition who was a lot taller than you were and outweighed you by twenty kilos. It was like discovering a taste for really hot food. Like a taste for whiskey. Except that whiskey was a poison, and you regretted whiskey in the morning, but a really passionately physical affair had been a tonic for her, and she’d never regretted it for a moment.