I saw the Sunday Snog meme while reading Six Sentence Sunday posts. I love the word “snog” a UK/AUS/NZ term for kiss. As a lover of romance novels, I adore a good kissing scene, not as much the mechanics of it, but the lead in, the anticipatory tension. It’s hard to get that in a snippet but I’ll try.
My snogging scene is lifted from my “dormant” novel, The PURE (Previously Undetected Recruiting Error), a romantic suspense novel set in the high stakes world of CPAs. Don’t laugh. They make good (and bad) criminals. They can also be pretty sexy in the right circumstances.
In this scene, co-workers Gayle and Jon are at a command performance party thrown by one of their firm’s partners. The guests include clients, partners and their wives and the worker bee types like Gayle and Jon.
I exchanged a few ‘poor me’ looks with Jon but only when Nicky–who all but cuddled up next to him–paused to take a breath, which wasn’t very often. A Texas gentleman, Jon would never intentionally be rude to a woman, one of the reasons I admired him.
So, my primary dinner companion–my wine glass–and I got to know each other a bit too well.
By the evening’s end, I adored Libby Jameson but could have lived without either of the Petroviches. Both Marilyn and Jayna made early, pre-dinner escapes. The other Anderson Blakely partners and their wives were warm and polite as was Arthur Jameson, but I didn’t spend much time with any of them. Bob’s wife, Leslie, hogged the attention and the gossip.
Nicky tried her predatory best to cut Jon out of the herd but I headed her off nearly every time. The last time I intervened, however, she’d isolated him and begun prepping for her Jon feast. Her main course shrugged as I pulled him away with the excuse that I needed to speak with him privately. Nicky huffed loudly and narrowed her eyes.
I meant only to get him away from her but I kept going, kept leading him by the hand. He complied without a word. I stopped after we entered Bob’s home office and Jon shut the door behind us, but by then I’d forgotten what I wanted to say.
“Thanks, Gayle,” he said as he sat on the edge of Bob’s desk. “I never thought she’d be so persistent.”
My head spun a little thanks to the second and third glasses of wine during dinner.
“You’re weckum,” I heard myself say, then blinked a few times and tried again. “Well-come”. I ambled over to him and snickered at how I’d botched such a simple word.
“Gayle, how much have you had to drink?”
“Nosso mush.” I held three fingers out in front of me, swayed slightly, then changed my finger positions to pantomime holding a thimble-sized object.
He stood and grabbed me by the elbows. “I think I should take you home.”
I looked up at his handsome face. Oo-la-la, he was gorgeous. I had to kiss him. I couldn’t stop myself. A distant voice in my head warned, ‘No, no, think chica, think! Remember where you’re at,’ but a much louder one urged, ‘Do it! Kiss him, here, now! Do it!’
“You, Jon Cripps, are looking very…kissy…kiss-bull right now.”
My traitorous arms slid up his chest and locked around his neck. His back stiffened slightly but I wouldn’t be denied. I pressed my body against his and he relaxed but didn’t touch me. He didn’t step back either. I pulled his head to mine and kissed his lips, parted mine beneath his. He parted his too and the tips of our tongues touched.
As if I’d been stung or electrocuted, I recoiled and released him. A faint pink stain marched across his cheeks. I’m sure mine must have been green because a wave of nausea passed over me.