Blake stood outside the door to her room for a whole minute before he worked up the guts to knock. When he’d rapped his knuckles against the door, he waited some more. He’d tossed and turned all night thinking about that kiss. No matter how much he’d enjoyed it—no matter how long he’d been dreaming of doing just that—he owed her an apology. Since she still hadn’t answered his knock, she was probably hoping he’d go away. She’d been through enough. She didn’t need him satisfying his own selfish desires at her expense. Giving himself grace, he’d thought he saw the same longing in her eyes. Had he misread her? The door opened and whatever thought he might have had next vanished. She’d braided her long blond hair, making her look even younger and incredibly innocent. Instinctively, he shoved his hands into his pockets to prevent touching her. Standing here, looking at her, he was damned sure of one thing: he could not trust himself where this woman was concerned.
