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That he let her cry, and didn’t start lecturing her on emotional outbursts, made her want to crawl into him and never let go.
    He swayed them both, murmuring nonsense and tracing slow, soothing circles over her back. “Come on now, Princess. Tell me what’s wrong so I can help you.”
    She hiccupped into his shirt while she clung to him as though he were her life vest on a sinking ship. A great gush of air was followed by a hiccup. She blurted her very pressing and very embarrassing need. “I-I h-have to go to the b-b-bathroom.”
    The gentle sway stopped. A rumble in his chest was followed by a cough.
    He was trying not to laugh. The jerk.
    She sobbed harder: great heaping wails straight from the pit of her stomach. Now that she was on a roll, she keened pitifully, “A-and m-m-y f-feet hurt.”
    “It’s okay.” His tone was most definitely amused. “Why didn’t you go?”
    Now came the worst confession. “M-my dress i-is too b-big.”
    “Well, take it off.”
    Did he think she was an idiot?
    “I c-can’t get it off.” With a fresh batch of hysterics, her shoulders trembled as she buried her face in his T-shirt, now wet with tears. No one at the store had mentioned she’d need a crew of people to go to the bathroom, and now a stranger had to undress her. She hiccupped. They really should mention these kinds of details at the time of purchase.
    He ran his fingers down a million tiny buttons from the blades of her shoulders to the curve of her ass. “It’s okay. We can take care of this.”
    “B-but,” she cried. The thought almost unbearable. She was being tested. How was she supposed to be good when she had to disrobe in front of the most gorgeous man alive? “You’ll s-see me almost n-naked.”
    When he said nothing, fresh tears welled in her eyes. He probably thought she was propositioning him. Surely women threw themselves at him all the time.
    He rubbed her bare arms. “I’m thirty-four, Princess. I’ve seen a naked woman before.”
    “But you haven’t seen me.” No one had seen her—well, except Steve, but he hardly even counted. “I’m twenty-eight, and only one guy has seen me. And he isn’t like you. Why can’t you be someone else?”
    “Like who?” He trailed a path over her bare skin, creating a rush of tingles up and down her spine.
    She burrowed closer, some of her hysterics finally calming as his soothing but intoxicating presence worked its charm. “You’re not Mister Rogers, you know.”
    “You can trust me, Maddie. I won’t attack.”
    Ha! Not a concern. Once he saw her puny body, he’d probably wonder if she was a boy. Who knew what she’d do in her weakened emotional state with no clothes to protect her? She hadn’t been on her own since she was fifteen. What if she went crazy? She’d believed she’d been cured of her former wildness, but now she wasn’t so sure. Maybe it had only been hidden by years of emotional repression. Unable to stop the constant blurting of confessions, she cried, “But I might attack you.”
    His hands tightened at her waist as though he wanted to curl his fingers into fists.
    Embarrassed, she pressed closer, not wanting to let him go despite the growing urgency of her bladder. If she let go, she might start blubbering all over again.
    His grip loosened and he traced a path up her arm to cup her jaw. With an insistent hold, he gently forced her chin up until she met his gaze. Eyes watery from her tears, she blinked him into focus.
    He gave her an easy smile. “Princess, I’m six-three, and probably outweigh you by a good eighty pounds. I can fight you off.”
    “I’m sorry, I’m sure you get this all the time.” She sniffed. “With your unfortunate good looks.”
    “Now that’s one I’ve never heard before,” he teased.
    Her eyes welled up again. “I’m trying so hard to be good, but things aren’t going my way.”
    “I’m sure the Pope will understand,” he said, laughter threading his voice.
    A few more tears slid down