Harbor isn’t like other guys. I mean, he probably wants to get me in bed, but not more than I’m willing to jump right onto that mattress with him.

Sure, he’s drop-dead gorgeous, but he’s also intelligent and thoughtful. We talk all the time, but there’s comfort in the silent moments with him.

Oh Lordy, I’m already in way over my head, and I’ve only known him a week. Everything with us is moving so fast, but it doesn’t bother me. It actually feels right.

Just like that body of his. So right. My boyfriend is built like a Greek god. And I’m feeling enough confidence in this dress to be his Aphrodite for the night. Yep. I feel great. He could have any woman, but he chose me not just for the night but to be his girlfriend.

I’m someone’s girlfriend. The shock of that causes my jaw to slack and toothpaste to dribble down my chin. I bounce around, trying to scavenge toilet paper to wipe my face. “Holy wow! That burns like a mother.”

He laughs. “Isn’t it usually motherfucker?”

Tapping the paste away with a square of toilet paper, I reply, “Usually, but it wasn’t my father who left. It was the woman who gave me life.” I clamp my hand over my mouth, realizing a second too late that I’ve said too much.

Harbor’s staring at me again but with concern this time. “Your mom left you?”

I sigh and rest back on the counter with the paper stuck to the little bastard of a wound. “I have a suspicion that talk of a parent leaving their kid when they were not even two years old isn’t the aphrodisiac we were hoping for.”

Gently pinching my chin, he runs the pad of his thumb over the almost-healed cut. “It’s not, but that doesn’t make it less important.” He leans down and kisses my chin. “Is it painful like a paper cut?”

“Worse,” I reply with a slight pout to my tone, basically hoping he puts his healing lips on me again.

Harbor’s expression is as steady as he is while he studies the wound. He kisses it again and then smiles. “Yep. You’re still going to live.”

“Barely,” I bemoan, tossing the paper in the trash.

Cupping my face, he presses his lips to mine, and whispers, “You think you’ll survive the night?”

My heart kicks in my chest, and my breath staggers. I close my eyes and breathe him in. Desperately trying to hold on to my better senses while wanting to toss reasoning in the wind, I slink my body against his. I kiss under his jaw and place two on his neck before leaning my head on his chest. “Depends on what happens next.”

Everything is hard under my hands . . . and parts they’re not touching. I smile, doing a mental victory lap.

He wraps his arms around me and kisses the top of my head. “What if—”

“What-ifs make me nervous.”