It was like that brief kiss on the cruise ship. It had wiped her brain and left her standing there, helpless to stop something so good. Is that what a kiss was supposed to feel like? Warm, tender, questioning? She was far more used to demanding, manipulative, and coldly calculating.
She gave in to his gentle tug on her wrist, but held on to at least a shred of her common sense. Without breaking the kiss, she managed to sit back in her chair rather than in his lap. It was a good choice. One, these chairs were questionable for one person—if she sat in Duane’s lap, twice the weight was sure to dump them to the decking. Two, if this small contact with Duane was affecting her so much, curling up in his lap into a melting girl puddle generated an unacceptable risk factor.
The low chair arms we
