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“Yes.” She frowned. “Why?”
“I want to take you downstairs and show you the gym on the seventh floor. I think you’ll like it.”
They gathered up the meal debris, and Harry stuffed it all in the metal trash can in the kitchen. “Meet me in the foyer in fifteen minutes,” he said. And then he disappeared.
Cate had to scramble. Because she possessed at least as much vanity as the next woman, she chose the brand-new black spandex pants with the turquoise-and-black cropped top she had packed for her honeymoon. The bottoms hit her just below the knee. The tank top accentuated her modest boobs.
She added lightweight sneakers that matched. Because she didn’t know how serious Harry was about this exercise/gym thing, she pulled her hair back in a ponytail.
It was the tiniest of victories to realize she beat him to the foyer. He showed up sixty seconds later, stealing all the oxygen from the room. To be honest, she had mostly only seen Prescott Harrington in suits and dress clothes in the past. In fact, she couldn’t think of a single time he had appeared in casual wear.
Now she had to hide her shock. She knew he was young and fit. Still, she’d had no notion how ripped he was. His black athletic pants accentuated his long legs. He wore sneakers with no socks. The heather-gray Emory University T-shirt strained across an impressive chest.
When he saw her, something in his eyes flickered. A spark of reaction? Her clothes were modest by any standard.
Since she had been watching her calories and working out for weeks ahead of the wedding, she knew she looked her best. Not that she wanted to impress Harry. Not at all. But if that reallywasadmiration she saw in his quickly shuttered gaze, it was a balm to her bruised pride.
“Let’s go,” he said.
When they exited the elevator on the seventh floor, neat brass placards pointed the way to the workout room. Harry’s building was top-notch all the way. She knew these huge apartments were not rentals. The residents owned their fancy digs, much like the occupants of upscale residential buildings in the heart of Manhattan.
The after-dinner hour was probably not peak time for working out. Harry and Cate had the gym to themselves. It wasn’t as large as a commercial facility, but it wasn’t small either.
“What are we doing here?” Cate asked. She saw ellipticals, treadmills, free weights and a wide assortment of fancy machines that targeted specific areas of the body.
Harry pointed to the far corner. “I’m gonna show you how to box with a punching bag.”
“Um...” Cate wrinkled her nose. “This might be a good time to tell you I’m not particularly coordinated. Back in high school, they let me be a cheerleader, but not a rifle girl. And don’t even mention marching band.”
“Letyou be a cheerleader? Come on, Cate. You were born for the job. You’re gorgeous and outgoing, and you fit the profile.”
She frowned. “Why do I feel like I’ve just been insulted?”
“Not at all,” he insisted. “Jason has told me a lot about you over the years...like the fact that you spent all your summers in Blossom Branch and were Miss Georgia Peach Blossom four years running.”
“All I had to do for that title was sit on the back of a convertible and wave. Easy peasy. Now, you’re talking about me punching a target that moves. This won’t end well.”
His grin was remarkably cheerful. “Trust me,” he said. “Some people say I’m tightly wound. The punching bag helps me loosen up and relax. And as it happens, it’s good for dealing with anger, too.”
She watched as he walked to a low cabinet, studied something inside and pulled out a pair of boxing gloves—black with pink trim.
“Oh, goody,” she said, laying the sarcasm on thick. “Why does everyone think women need to wear pink?”
“Forget about the color. You’re getting ready to beat the crap out of this bag.”
“If you say so.” She was dubious at best.
Harry stood in front of her. “Hold up your hands, palms toward you.”
When Cate did as he asked, Harry slid the first glove on her left hand and laced it up. Then he repeated the procedure with her right hand.
“I feel ridiculous,” she complained.
“You won’t soon. I think you’ll like this.”
“And are you going tosuit up?”
“Nope. It’s all about you today.”
