Hot for Friday: First Kiss

For this week's Hot for Friday post, devised by the Book Boyfriends Cafe, the task was to post a snippet from the first time the hero & heroine brushed lips. I kind of loved that idea, especially since I'll be taking part in the No Kiss Blogfest come January 2nd. It's nice to get a little kissing in ahead of time, you know?

For the purposes of this post, I decided to go with Ryan & Danielle from my contemporary romance King Stud, a  novel that's out on submission and will hopefully find a home soon. Danielle's in her early 30s, with an old house to remodel, and Ryan's a carpenter, who also happens to be her best friend's younger brother.

Her much younger brother.

That's only one of the reasons they shouldn't get together, yet here they are in Ryan's kitchen after accidentally bumping into each other in the Home Depot...
Enjoy!

He took a long pull on the bottle and closed the laptop.  “I’m off work tomorrow. I could come by your grandmother’s house in the daylight and take a better look.”

The intensity in his eyes had her swallowing hard. “That’d be great.”

“Do you want to watch a movie or something? TV’s downstairs.”

“Sure.” But only if he picked something G-rated. Watching on-screen romance might just send her leaping into his lap.

“Throw Barnabas on the floor, babe. You look like you’re going to fall off that chair.”

The cat picked that moment to plant a paw on the small of Danielle’s back. One claw went through her sweater and dug into her skin. She jumped to her feet, hands flying. “What the hell?”

Ryan jumped up too, and swatted at Barnabas. “Git, cat.”

Barnabas jumped, squalled, and sprinted across the room.

Danielle and Ryan ended up facing each other about arm’s length apart.

“The cat…” she said.

“My roommate’s.” His gaze intent, focused, he touched her sleeve.

The room heated up, or possibly her blood was boiling from the friction between them. Her field of vision narrowed to the late-day scruff framing his mouth, and the full curve of his lower lip.

He lowered his hand to hers, interlacing their fingers.

She didn’t stop him. She curled her hand around his and her eyes slid half closed.

“C’mere.” Ryan tugged, and instead of backing away, she rocked forward, drawn to him by physics or hormones or old-fashioned need.

“Damned cat hates me,” she said, relishing his musky scent.

His free hand reached up strong and sure to cup her jaw. “Well, I like you,” he whispered.

His kiss was gentle, testing the water, giving her space to push away. He tasted malty and masculine, a flavor that could very well become an addiction. He moved closer, and then both his hands wrapped around her waist and she stretched full against him.

All of her reasons for stopping ran through her head on a continuous loop: Maeve and age and L.A. and Cherry, Maeve and age and L.A. and Cherry. He drew back so their lips were barely touching, and the scent of him and the warmth of his breath and the melting heat at the core of her body scattered those reasons like a flock of startled birds.

Jump HERE to see the list of all the bloggers playing the Hot for Friday game.