He never knew what made him do it. Whether an impulse of the heart or lack of judgment or moment of courage or sheer idiocy, he stepped off the edge of himself, stepped over a line they’d never discussed, let alone ventured near, stepped into her space and laid his hand on the side of her neck. She laid her hand on top of his wrist and they stood there, in a room suddenly devoid of oxygen, both pulling in breath after labored breath.
“I want to kiss you badly,” he confessed in a shaking whisper.
Her eyes closed, she wrinkled her delicate brows, appearing to be working something out. “No,” she finally said, “You want to kiss me well, you just want it very badly.” Her eyes still closed, she turned her head in the direction of his palm and glided her chin softly against his wrist.