Page 32 of Making Over Maris

He frowned. “Lip mashing?”

“Or teeth. Don’t bang teeth. Oh, and—”

“I know how to kiss,” he huffed.

“Take it slow and easy.”

“I know how to kiss.”

“Slow and—”

And dear God, he did it. Slow and easy.

And God…

His lips touched hers, merely brushed them. Back and forth. Back and forth, teasing. And then he pressed a bit more. Sucked her bottom lip, nibbled. A tad.

She moaned, maybe. Maybe a little.

It was delicious, divine, and it ended far too soon.

It left her panting.

When she sidled up against him, he didn’t back away. Probably because she had a hold of his lapel. “Do it again,” she demanded.

“Again?”

“It wasn’t quite right.”

“Not quite right?” He frowned. “What did I do wrong?”

“Just do it again.” She tugged him closer. Kissed him. Ah, yes. His mouth was firm and strong. He tasted like tiramisu and coffee and Jack. She nudged her tongue between his lips, licked him. His groan reverberated through her body. She stepped closer still, pressing herself against him from chest to—oh God.

Was that—?

It was!

She nearly chortled. One kiss and he was hard for her.

Yes. This was definitely a balm to her ego.

He was so getting laid tonight.

But then he pulled away, stormed to the other side of her postage-stamp porch. He raked his fingers through what was left of his hair. “Whoa, Sara. I think we’d better stop.”

“Stop?” Seriously? Was he rejecting her? Maybe that rigid bulge hadn’t been what she thought it was.

“I’m not…I can’t…I’m trying to…” He sputtered into silence.

“What?”

“Damn it, Sara. I’m trying to be a gentleman.”

Shit. Where had he gotten that ridiculous idea? At any rate she wasn’t ready to let him go. “Come in.”

“I don’t think I should.”

“You have to. Come on. We need to do a postmortem.”