K Is For Kiss
A kiss can mean different things. A kiss on the forehead means I care. A kiss on the cheek puts you firmly in the friend zone. A kiss on the hand means I cherish you. Kiss the back of my neck and make me want more. Kiss my shoulder and tell me I’m perfect. Because I love you when you kiss my lips I’ll let you in.
Chances are you remember your first romantic kiss. That first close and very intimate contact with another human being. It might have happened in a flash. Or lasted awhile. Maybe with someone you’d just met. Or someone you’d crushed on forever. Perhaps it happened because of an arranged meeting. Or because of a shift from friends to lovers.
However it happened, it turns out the physical act of kissing starts with the eyes. We focus in on our partner’s lips. Then we move closer so we can use our nose to get a whiff of the other person. Which leads to contact. It’ll come as no surprise that our lips are very sensitive. When we share a kiss, we create a bond with another person. There’s a rush of info to our brains. Our heart rate increases. Our pupils dilate. And then the age old cliche of time standing still comes in play.
There are many ways that first kiss comes about in romance novels. A little snippet from my latest Aspen Lake novel, EXPOSED.
“I love it. It’s going to be perfect.” Engrossed in their discussion she’d slid closer until they were hip to hip on the two-seat sofa. She faced him, a huge grin of approval aimed right at him. He watched her, his amber eyes serious, careful. She tilted her head. He was so close. So different than anyone she’d come across. And solitary confinement had lost its appeal the minute she’d laid eyes on him.
His eyes flashed. She didn’t imagine it. Didn’t think either. She simply reacted, leaning in with the certainty he’d meet her halfway. Instead, he withdrew a fraction of an inch. Not far but undoubtedly a retreat.
“I…” She closed her eyes in horror. Or denial. But no, it was happening. She knew this because she opened her eyes and he was still there. Close enough to smell the sweat of humiliation pooling out of her pores. He was staring at her in ear shattering silence. With nowhere to go, she stood up. Wiped her hands down the side of her skirt.
Pull it together, Kate.
She refused to gasp out an apology like a fish. “I shouldn’t have done that. I crossed a line. I’m sorry.”
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Care to share a favourite kiss from a book? A movie? Your personal experience?