“His hand closed on the bare flesh of my upper arm, below the sleeve of my dress. His grip was gentle, but strong enough to be warm and firm. My arms wanted to lift up and go around his neck. I stopped them. Because, unlike what I had told him about playing Mark Twain as a younger man, what we were doing now was not a good idea. Mark must have sensed the tension that sprang up in me, because he let go of my arm and pulled his head back. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I don’t know what came over me. I kn...ow we just met earlier today—” “No, it’s all right,” I told him. I didn’t want him beating himself up over something as nice as that kiss had been. “I’m just tired, that’s all, and upset about what happened to Mr. Webster.” “Of course you are. I’m an idiot.” “Not hardly. I enjoyed it. Maybe your timing could’ve been a mite better, that’s all. How about a rain check?” He grinned in relief. “Sure. That’s better than a slap in the face any day.” We went back to talking about Mark Twain and finished up the food.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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