“Palm to palm,” she whispered, and he heard the barely-there teasing in the words. The reference to their earlier discussion of Romeo and Juliet. He should let her go. He meant to. He didn’t mean to say, “The only part of the play that’s worth anything.” He didn’t mean to look at her, to find her too close and still infernally far away. He willed himself to move. To sit back. To release her. And then she whispered, “Let lips do as hands do.” “Fucking Shakespeare,” he cursed, tightening his grip and pulling her to him, his other hand, still gloved, capturing her, sliding over her jaw, his long
...more
