“I know, so please hear me out. What if we didn’t detail out the night and just do what feels right . . . or what comes naturally?”

My eyelids bolt open. There’s no denying I’m horny for the man, but letting things come naturally means giving up all control. “I struggle with the unknown.”

Leaning back, he brings my chin up, and says, “No, you don’t.” His tone is soft as if he knows exactly what I need to hear right now.

“I don’t?”

“No, you believe in destiny and romance, like in the movies. That all falls under living in the moment, aka the unknown.” My eyes water, and I hate feeling weak when his eyes are on me.

His brow furrows. With the back of his finger, he swoops in to catch a tear. “Why are you crying, Lark?”

“I think you know me better than I know myself.”

“Well that’s nothing to cry about. That’s a good thing.”

“It’s happy tears.”

He reaches over and pulls more from the toilet roll and dabs under my eyes. “You’re making it hard to seduce you when you’re crying. You have me torn between throwing you on the mattress or asking if you need to talk.”

Pushing off him, I stretch out my arm and point my finger at him. “I knew it! I knew you were trying to seduce me.” Circling my finger in front of his face, I say, “With those eyes—”

“Those are my eyes.”

I shake my head. “But they were extra seductive tonight.”

“So were you, if we’re being so honest.”

My head jerks back, and I plant my hands on my hips. “Me?” Feeling the fabric under my fingers, I realize I’m wearing the dress—the one that reveals everything I absolutely wanted him to see in hopes of seducing him. “Scratch that.” Raising my hands in surrender, I claim, “You busted me all right.”

I walk out of the bathroom with my chin held high and a sexy thrill running through my . . . attitude. I add, “And you’re right.” With my back to my bedroom door, I turn around to face him. “All great—” I stop myself before I throw the word love into the mix. That’s probably jumping ahead too many spaces at this juncture—the juncture between me crying over him, understanding what makes me swoon, and my bedroom, that is. “All great movies start with the main character being spontaneous. When Harry Met Sally, Serendipity, Pride and Prejudice. The list goes on, but you get the idea.”

Harbor’s leaning against said juncture with his arms crossed over his chest and a smirk on his face when he replies, “I do.”

“We should be spontaneous and do what feels right,” I say more for myself than him and shrug as if this is what acting casual looks like.

“Sounds like a plan.”

Wrinkling my forehead, I hold up a finger. “But it’s not a plan. It’s living in the moment.”