Paper Kisses

By Anita Clenney

You know, until I read Mary Margret's blog, I couldn't remember my first kiss. I recall it now, just a quick peck, nothing spectacular. Now the kisses that stick in my head are the paper kisses. Ah...Donny Osmond. I fell in love with him at age nine and the love lasted for many years. Of course, I can't imagine what I was thinking now, but I adored him and gave his posters lots of kisses. I could almost feel his lips kissing me back, his arms pulling me close. Now my daughter is crazy about Justin Bieber, and he looks a lot like Donny did back then. Must be genetic.

Awaken the Highland Warrior is the first book in my Highland warrior series. Here is Faelan and Bree's first kiss. Not quite what she expected.

She started from the kitchen, when a crash sounded from her bedroom. Gripping the tray, she ran down the hall, coming to a halt in the doorway.

He was naked, sprawled face down on the bed, bare as the day he was born. The lamp was overturned, his clothes piled on the floor next to his dagger and boots. He’d tried to turn the covers back, but now they were trapped underneath him.

He wasn’t the first naked man she’d seen, but he might as well have been. Taut skin covered muscle so defined it made her want to weep at the raw beauty. Bree set the tray on the table beside the bed and moved closer. Several faint lines ran across his back and shoulders and a couple along the side of his hip. Scars. She gave one lingering look from thick, dark hair to sexy feet, then averted her gaze and poked his shoulder with her fingertip. “Faelan, wake up.”

He didn’t move. She took one more look, leaned down, and shook him again. He grunted and flipped over, pulling her flat against him. He rolled again, and the air whooshed from her lungs as he slammed her into the mattress, his forearm braced against her windpipe.

“Druan,” he said, looking through her, “stop the war.”

She lay still, trying not to panic. “Faelan. Let me go,” she wheezed. When he didn’t, she tried to put her knee into his groin, but with her legs pinned under his it proved as ineffective as it had in the crypt. He groaned and moved his arm from her throat. She was so busy sucking in air she didn’t notice his fingers threading through her hair until she calmed enough to realize he was still on top of her, stomach to stomach, where her shirt had ridden up. Her legs, bared by shorts, were tangled with his. His skin felt hotter. He had a fever. And that wasn’t his dagger rubbing against her thigh.

His head lowered, damp hair brushing her cheek as he whispered strange words that made every cell in her body sizzle. Gaelic? His look was more alarming than before, as if she were water to his thirst. This was a look she could die in, a look that made her want to trash logic for a slim chance at bliss. His lips touched hers.

She was too stunned to stop the kiss and too captivated by the feel of his mouth on hers to pull away. The soft nibble, a mere testing of flesh against flesh, deepened to lips parting and a flick of his tongue. Just when she thought she’d lift off into space, he raised his head and blinked at her, then rolled off so fast she grabbed fistfuls of the quilt to keep from falling off the bed. She sat up, too dazed to move, and tried not to gape.

She’d thought the back view was good…

So spill it girls, what was your MOST kiss? Most unexpected, most unusual, most awful, or simply the best?

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