Page 81 of The Runaway Bride of Blossom Branch

“Self-conscious about what?” He frowned.

“I don’t have experience with a partner other than Jason.”

“We aren’t comparing score cards. Period.”

“Okay.” Cate didn’t want to know about his other women.

“To be clear, though,” he said. “I shouldn’t kiss you right now? Because I might lose control and take you here on the floor?”

Cate glanced down at the sleekly modern foyer rug, then back at Harry. Her eyes widened. “You’re kidding, right?” The idea of him being so spontaneous and crazy and carried away by passion rattled her.

“Not even a little bit.” He shook his head slowly. “But if you want to do this step by step, I agree to your terms. No emotional throwing of caution to the wind. No communal showers. Meet in my room in half an hour.”

Oh, gosh. This was going to happen.

Her knees went weak. She could have sworn that only happened in books.

She swallowed. “Are you sure about this?”

“Dead sure.”

“Then I guess I’ll see you shortly.”

Harry stepped back for Cate to pass him. But he pressed a kiss to the top of her shoulder as she moved. “I’ll be waiting.”

Twenty-One

Cate stared in the bathroom mirror, dazed. She had to wipe condensation from the glass. But that really didn’t help. The source of her hazy vision was inward.

She had showered and shaved her legs already. Selecting what to wear had been tricky. Everything fancy in her suitcase was supposed to have been worn on her honeymoon. She decided the lingerie with the tags still attached had nothing to do with Jason.

Truthfully, all Cate could think about was Harry. What did he like? Virginal white? Probably not. Sin red? Not her style. Baby blue seemed too innocent for what they were about to do.

Cate chose black. Naughty black. A lacy cami with matching thong. She didn’t have the confidence to stroll down the hall like that. Fortunately, the thigh-length black satin robe gave her a layer of defensive armor.

Her big speech about mature, unemotional choices yielded to flat-out panic. The woman in the mirror was no help at all.

Cate was neither vain, nor self-conscious about her body. Her blond hair, blue eyes and pale skin didn’t seem exceptional—though she knew many men responded to hertype. She didn’t want to be atype. All she cared about in this moment was pleasing Harry and pleasing herself.

She had used up twenty-two of her thirty minutes. Perhaps she should arrive early. Throw Harry off his game. That was laughable. The man had no weaknesses at all.

When she opened the door into the hall, she gasped. Harry stood there, leaning against the wall.

His gaze widened appreciatively. “Wow.”

“Wow, yourself.” Harry was mostly naked except for a pair of snug black boxer-briefs and a navy terry robe. His olive skin was tanned all over, lightly dusted with dark hair. His chest was a thing of beauty. “What are you doing?” she asked.

He smiled. “I thought you might get nervous about the walk down the hall. So here I am.”

“Harry...” She squeaked as he scooped her up into his arms. “Your knee!”

“It’s fine,” he said. But he limped as he carried her from the guest room to his suite.

Though his strong arms held her comfortably, she suspected the romantic gesture pained him more than he was letting on. “Put me down,” she insisted as they stopped in the doorway.

Finally, he gave in and lowered her gently to her feet. His wince was involuntary, but impossible to miss.

Cate propped her hands on her hips. “Do I need to get an ice pack?”

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