When she opened the door and saw him standing there, she was surprised. And when he spoke, she was even more surprised. "Mornin' sexy," is what he said and after walking towards her, he cupped both hands about her face and brought his mouth down upon hers.

Instinctively, her arms arose -- as they had the first time his lips had touched hers -- to embrace him, but instinct was then immediately overruled by the reality of the situation. This man -- this man who was kissing her -- should not be doing so. Especially not here. Not now. In front of the others.

And so her arms stopped in mid-rise and instead settled upon his wrists, her fingers gripping the black leather he always seemed to wear. When that action failed, she laid her hands against his chest, pushing ineffectively. Ineffective, because his mouth was still pressed against hers and if her knees were getting weak and if her thoughts were disoriented, and her heart was racing, she attributed it to anything other than the man -- this man -- with his lips upon her own.

He pulled away or she pushed him away or someone else did the honors, she didn't know. She only knew that it was done. It was over and as she stood at a distance staring at him, after the aftermath of that kiss took place, she was shocked. She was confused and she was angry, but there was no aversion in her reaction to him -- instead, the rosy tint of her skin was heightened, her eyes were sparkling and her lips were parted as she gazed at him.

But she denied that it was because of his kiss.