CHAPTER FIVE
I’LL SAY THIS FOR FARRELL—THE man knew how to kiss. That thought popped through my mind as he locked his lips on mine. It was a distant sort of thought, and academic analysis of just exactly how his lips were moving over mine, an assessment of his technique from the brush of his lips to the way his tongue tried to tease its way into my mouth.
I thinned my lips, not willing to give him the intimacy he wanted. I was willing to let him end the show with a grand gesture, but a gesture it would remain—empty of meaning and purely for show.
By the time I put my hands up on his chest and pushed him back, the people around the edges of the ring were hooting and hollering advice that was—fortunately for the children present—couched in the worst sort of Olde Medieval Speake.
“Thanks,
