My stomach was swoop, swoop, swooping when we met in the middle, especially when Wit half grinned and began gently tracing my face with his fingertips. My eyebrows, my eyelids, my nose, my cheekbones—he saved my lips for last. “I kind of want to kiss you, too,” he murmured. “Would that be all right?” “Yes,” I murmured back. “Definitely all right, and preferably soon.” “Hey.” He held up his hands. “I’m being chivalrous.” I sighed. “Preferably now, Wit.” “Okay, no need to beg—”
