Taking a step closer, I sidle up to him until our toes touch. Slowly, I bring my hands to his face, cupping his jaw, the slight rasp of his facial hair tickling my fingertips. I shut my eyes, feeling with my sculptor’s hands the angles and planes of his face. Then, while I have a sliver of courage still guiding my touch, I stretch up on tiptoes and press a kiss to his cheek. To his jaw. To the corner of his mouth. Jamie’s breath stills in his chest, tension coiling his body. And just as I begin to doubt what I’ve done, wonder if I’ve taken it too far, his hands slip around my waist, steadying
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