Lucas was sitting in the armchair when she reentered the room, his elbows braced on his knees. His gaze flickered over her, and she realized he must be eager to change.

“Anna should be here soon with your things.”

He nodded.

“Sorry she couldn’t get them over sooner.”

He nodded again.

Well, don’t go getting all chatty on me.

Giving up, Kate began hanging up her clothing, one item at a time, trying to ignore the fact Lucas was probably staring at her backside. They steadfastly held on to their silence until a few minutes later when a tap sounded on the door. Kate practically leapt across the room to let Anna in.

“Is everything okay?” Anna whispered with a hug.

“Sure.” Kate summoned up one last smile. She would’ve offered more, but Lucas was hovering, obviously wanting to change.

“Here you go,” Anna said to him.

He took a paper bag and a noisy cluster of keys from her.

“I couldn’t find a suitcase or duffel bag.”

“That’s okay. Thanks for going to the trouble.”

Anna looked at Kate. “Well . . .”

“Well . . .” Kate’s brain raced, trying to think of a reason for Anna to stay. Perhaps she’ll notice the slightly manic look in my eyes and take pity. But with a wave and a quirk of her eyebrows, Anna was gone.

Traitor.

Rather than run screaming after her assistant, Kate continued unpacking, stashing her socks and underclothes in one of the armoire drawers while Lucas disappeared into the bathroom. He returned in record time.

Wearing only a pair of shorts.

Oh, boy. Kate’s gaze skittered away. As if things weren’t awkward enough already.

She was acutely aware of his appraisal as he sat in the armchair. What was he thinking? More specifically, what did he expect from this marriage? If it were Bryan, she’d ask—or likely, she’d already know. How many conversations she and Bryan had had about their expectations. They’d been as prepared as an engaged couple could be.

Feeling him watching her, knowing she was procrastinating, Kate placed her alarm clock and Day-Timer on the nightstand, then stowed her suitcase in the closet. When she could delay no longer, she returned to the bed and pulled the covers down, glancing at the pillow on the other side.

Just what does Lucas expect tonight?

Does he think . . . ?

She sat on the edge of the bed, facing the wall and a framed print of a lighthouse, back rigid, heart racing. She wasn’t naive. Men expected sex on the honeymoon.

She and Lucas were married now, and, technically, it was his right to expect it. But . . . it seemed wrong. Theirs wasn’t the typical marriage. There was nothing typical about this honeymoon. And there was no way she was offering her body like some . . . some ancient temple priestess.

Still, this was a conversation they should’ve had before the wedding.