So she let her hand drift up to the back of his neck and caress the skin there before exerting a gentle pressure to bring his head down to hers. Even though she’d given him at least a minute’s warning of her intentions, he still seemed surprised when her mouth met his, kissing her softly—far too softly. But then she let herself fall into it, this kiss that was all about the caress of lip against lip; he hadn’t even stepped closer to her, but had instead let the fact that only their mouths were touching create a kind of intensity, an expectation of what it would be like if she moved toward him, letting her body meet his.

After a long and exquisite time during which she was torn between opening her mouth and kissing him the way she wanted to and just staying in the moment of what was, she had to admit, the most romantic kiss she’d ever had, she felt him at last give way. His hands reached up to cup her jaw, drawing her in more deeply to meet the first touch of his tongue against hers. Then, finally, the oh so sensual feel of his mouth opening, letting her in, of her body shifting into his, of her hands running up his back an inch at a time, feeling every single lovely muscle beneath her palms.

She broke off just long enough to say, “My room or yours?” and was left momentarily speechless when he stepped back and shook his head.

“Since when does a kiss mean we go straight to a bedroom?” he demanded.

“Well, it was a pretty good kiss,” she said, aiming for jocular but he grimaced.

“Sorry,” she continued, “for a minute there, I mistook you for somebody attracted to me, not my grandmother.”

This time, he smiled a little and she was, she had to admit, relieved. It didn’t bother her if he wasn’t interested. But he didn’t have to be a dick about it.

“It’s just…” He paused and studied her as if he was deciding whether or not to say what was on his mind.

“Out with it,” she said. There was nothing worse than tiptoeing around a moment of amorousness as if it had never happened, like teenagers did. Much better to be honest and then move on. “I can tell you want to say something. I have bad breath. You don’t like women who can handle a saw better than you can. You’re practicing celibacy. Which one?”

“None of the above. I kissed you because I wanted to kiss you, not because I want to have sex with you. Haven’t you ever found that something is a million times better when you don’t have it straight away?”

She frowned. “Actually, no. The dorade would be off in a week. The terrine too. Okay, maybe this dress was worth waiting forty-five years for but I generally find that knowing more about a person doesn’t necessarily make the sex any better.”