Leaning against him, she put her head on his broad shoulder and gazed at his profile. He lowered his head. Their lips were a mere two inches apart, if that much. This was known as the defining moment. But she didn't want it, didn't want him to kiss her. Not now, maybe never.

           She pulled away and skipped ahead, hurtling down the steep, stone-carved stairs. Stopping, she waited for him on the walk in front of the exclusive hotel La Maision. When he joined her, she offered her hand.

           He grasped it, and she fought the feelings coursing through her. She tried to ignore the touch of his rough, male flesh against hers, tried to disregard the pull of his masculine appeal. Her feminine needs, long suppressed, clamored like a Hydra monster, threatening to gobble her up.

           She struggled to sort out her confused feelings and reversed her earlier decision. She wanted to kiss him, because she needed to know what this crazy attraction was about. Too much tequila, maybe?

           Reaching up, she curled her arm around his neck and forced his mouth down to hers. At first, he seemed startled by her blatant approach. He hesitated and his lips merely grazed hers.

           But then he warmed to the task.

           His mouth moved over hers, warm and supple, molding to her lips. His hands came up, cradling her head. His mouth was like hot velvet against hers, his lips firm and moist, searing her senses and heating her blood.

           Moving with infinite care, he made a song of their lips pressed together. With each fraction of a second, she expected the questing thrust of his tongue, demanding access, suggesting intimacies she didn't care to share. But he surprised her, his tongue slid over her lips, worshipping their contours but not demanding to get in.

           It was a full kiss, a kiss of heated and moist flesh, of wonder and awe, of reverence and carefully controlled passion. It was a kiss that was hot and tender and cherishing, all at the same time. It was a kiss she would never forget because she'd never experienced anything like it before.

           This was her first kiss . . . Her first real kiss, she realized with a sense of awe. Not that she hadn't been kissed before. She'd been kissed many times, too many times. But the kisses had been meaningless, a predictable prelude to seduction.

           When they were both breathless, they parted and gazed deep into each other's eyes. Taking each other's measure again, a new awareness suffused them, along with a grudging respect.

           He circled his arm around her waist again. She followed suit. "Let's walk," he echoed her earlier request. "Finish telling me how you started modeling."

           And weak fool that she was, grateful for a kiss that hadn't been a prelude to anything other than the simple pleasure it gave, she did as he asked.