If I remember to do this every Friday, it will be a miracle, but here goes. This is one of my favorite scenes from one of the trunk novels:
“You’re not scary,” she said quietly.
He laughed softly. “I like that you think that.”
She said it again, a little more firmly this time. “You’re not scary.”
He smiled and pressed both hands to her cheeks. His eyes turned intense, darkening despite the streetlamps. For a moment, she thought he might kiss her.
He did not. “You’re cold.”
She shrugged, feeling her cheeks flare under his palms. “Just a little,” she said. “I’m all right.”
“Hmm. Just a little.” His fingers smoothed the hair back from her face, following the strands down along her neck to make her shiver. His hands slid to her shoulders, where they stopped. He gently pulled her forward, and she knew that all this tension and buildup would find some release. He was going to do it.
He did. He kissed her on the forehead, like an older brother.
The letdown socked her in the gut. She looked down, unable to meet his eyes. How silly. Of course he was only fond of her. Hadn’t he just said he wasn’t interested?
He touched her chin, tilted her face up. She tried to keep the disappointment off her face, knowing it was useless, that he probably knew, and she surely looked like a fool.
Rebecca couldn’t read his expression, but his eyes shone like they were amused. “Well,” he said, and stopped.
“What?” she whispered. She didn’t trust her voice.
Christopher smiled. His voice was soft and intimate. “Now, it will be a surprise.”
With that, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers.