“Don’t I have to beat up your son after dinner?”
She nodded. “Yes. But before dinner you have to help mereassure my daughter that she isn’t a geek—or worse, ababy.”
Tony winced. “Johnny said that?”
“While he was spraying his hair into place for yourdaughter.”
“I will have to beat him up,” he said. “Then I have tobeat up my daughter for letting him get away with it.”
Claire was already waving aside the protestation. “Shedidn’t know. Now then, back to the issue at hand.”
He should have looked more discomfited. More ill at ease. He should have looked as if his heart was thundering and hisknees were weak. Claire was sure that was how she looked.
This was so crazy. It was too fast. It was the most terrifying moment Claire had ever spent, and she’d spent morethan her share of time under mortar attack.
“This is silly,” she objected before he could even answer.
She tried to pull her hand away. He wouldn’t let her.
“Is it?” he asked.
“Yes! We don’t even know each other!”
“You’re right,” he said, and pulled her closer so that he had to look down at her, so she felt dwarfed by his size.
She could smell wood shavings on him, sweat and theyeasty tang of beer. She could hear the surprising rasp of hisbreathing. She couldn’t move to break away. Her skinseemed to be alive, her knees suddenly unpredictable whenshe’d never had cause to doubt them before. She couldn’tbreathe and she couldn’t stop smiling, no matter what she said.
“It is too soon. But Claire,” he said, lifting her hand andturning it over, “it’s not silly.”
He kissed her palm without ever taking his gaze from her.Chills shot up her arm from the brief caress of his lips.
“It’s not silly at all.”
Claire met his gaze with what she prayed was assurance.Surely she was going to object, to escape, to regain hercommon sense. It had gotten lost somehow, and Clairedidn’t know where to find it. She didn’t know how, especially when Tony turned those seawater eyes on her.
Not when he bent down, his arm slipping around her, histhumb at her jaw. Not when he kissed her.
His mustache tickled. It had been so long since Claire hadkissed a man with a mustache. She wanted to tell him that.She wanted to tell him that she wasn’t at all impressed withhow soft his lips were, with the way he wrapped his armsaround her so that she couldn’t get away. She wanted to tellhim that she couldn’t have cared less that something sharpand impatient lodged itself in her chest.
It was just a kiss.
It was a kiss that made Claire want to laugh again, and she couldn’t think of a thing funny about it at all.
