Kissingfest Day (or whatever it's called)

So, I guess today is a some kind of blogosphere kissing holiday or something. I've been very much enjoying reading all of posts. Will I come out of my blog darkness for kissing? Uh-yeah I will. :)

Here's a scene from my novel Searcher It' actually just an almost kiss, but those are the best kind, am I right?:


Stifling laughter, we duck back along the outer rim of the camp. After sneaking the long way around, we draw closer to my tent. I feel a pang of regret. I don’t want this moment to end.

“That’s yours over there?” Owen asks.

“Yeah. Guess I’ll see you in the morning.”

“I’d better walk you all the way to your door,” he says, making a serious expression. “You never know what might happen to a kid like you.”

I elbow him in the side, but laugh. When we reach the door to my tent, I turn to face him.

“Thanks for protecting me.”

“My pleasure.”

It’s quiet for a moment—only the sound of crickets and Hector’s sleepy guitar. I cast my eyes around, wanting to prolong the conversation, but unsure of what say. Owen lingers, at a lack for words as well. A gust of wind sweeps past us, and I pull my jacket closer.

“You should go in,” he says. “It’s starting to get cold out here.” He reaches out and brushes his hands down the length of my arms. “Are you cold?”

I’m shivering, but not from the wind. I look up to him, trembling inwardly. He keeps his hands wrapped around my arms. This close, I can see every detail of his face, the line of his dark brow, the strong angles of his cheek bones. His large, amber eyes gaze down at me with an intense, but unreadable expression.

“Jetta . . .” He pulls me closer. It’s like a surge of hot sparks have burst in my chest and spread over my skin. Breath catches in my throat. Owen’s hands move up my arms again, and then he grips my shoulders. His face moves closer. I can feel his warm breath on my cheek. The world around us has frozen.

And suddenly he pulls back. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment.

“I—I’m sorry.” He lets out a frustrated breath. “I had a few drinks tonight, I didn’t . . . I didn’t mean to . . .”

I shake my head. “But—”

“Goodnight Jetta.” He turns abruptly on his heel and is gone in a few strides.

I stay at the door to the tent for a moment, my insides reeling with a thousand emotions. I can still feel the warmth of Owen’s hands on my skin, a burning imprint.