Sensing Luke’s gaze studying her, Krista was conscious of the uneven hammering of her pulse. Placing his hand on the tree trunk above her head, he leaned toward her. As he peered down at her, she could see the individual flecks in his eyes and the texture of the tanned skin that stretched across his angular features. He’d had a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of his nose when he was a young boy. She saw none now.
As he moved closer, she felt the scrape of rough denim against her bare legs below her cutoffs. His shirt tapered to fit his torso, and his body was lean, hard and infinitely male. Cupping her face between his hands, he tilted it up. Although she saw his face edging toward hers, she didn’t— couldn't—move away. Lowering his head, he placed his lips lightly against her mouth.
Horrified by her reaction to his embrace, she drew back. What on earth had come over her? She couldn’t have this—someone kissing her and her wanting to be kissed. She was practically engaged. Taking a deep breath, she commanded her heart to stop its hammering. “What was that all about?”
“It's a woman and man thing. It's called kissing.”
Krista grimaced in exasperation. “Why did you, Tarzan, kiss me, Jane?”
Luke gave her a slow, lascivious grin. “I wanted to see if you're real or an illusion.”
“And what did you discover?” She waited for his answer, the breath lodged in her throat.
“That it will take a little more research.”