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“Spend an afternoon with me," he urged. "Tomorrow." "No, Mr. Rutledge. I'm-" "Harry." "Harry, I can't-" "An hour?" he whispered. He bent to her again and she turned her face away in confusion. He sought her neck instead, his lips brushing the vulnerable flesh with half-open kisses. No one had ever done such a thing, even Michael. Who would have thought it would feel so delicious? Dazed, Poppy let her head fall back, her body accepting the steady support of his arms. He searched her throat with devastating care, touching his tongue to her pulse. His hand cradled her nape, the pad of his thumb tracing the satiny edge of her hairline. As her balance faltered, she reached around his neck. He was so gentle, teasing color to the surface of her skin, chasing little shivers with his mouth. Blindly she followed, wanting the taste of him. As she angled her head toward his, her lips grazed the close-shaven surface of his jaw. His breath caught. "You should never cry over a man," he said against her cheek. His voice was soft, dark, like smoked honey. "No one is worth your tears." Before she could answer, he caught her mouth in a full, open kiss. Poppy went weak, melting against him as he kissed her slowly. The tip of his tongue entered, playing gently, and the feel of it was so strange and intimate and tantalizing that a wild tremor ran through her. His mouth lifted at once. "I'm sorry. Did I frighten you?" Poppy couldn't seem to think of an answer. It wasn't that he had frightened her, more that he had given her a glimpse of a vast erotic territory she had never encountered before. Even in her inexperience, she comprehended that this man had the power to turn her inside out with pleasure. And that was not something she had ever considered or bargained for.” — Lisa Kleypas