The kiss started out slow, almost hesitant.
His lips brushed mine once, twice, and I parted my mouth and he slipped inside slowly, tasting of whiskey.
The kiss was soft, softer than anything he had ever given me. And I kissed him back in the same way, afraid that if I sped things up I would scare him away.
He pulled away just enough to gaze at me. “Margaret,” he whispered, and I smiled, loving the way my name rolled out of his tongue with no resentment in it.
But then something shifted in his gaze.
His thumb stroked my cheek, slow at first, then firmer, like he couldn’t hold the gentleness for long without breaking from it. His gaze dropped to my mouth and I felt my stomach tighten.
Short, broken breaths slipped out of me while I gazed at him in anticipation. He leaned in again and
