In any kind of story-telling involving lovers, the characters’ first kiss is a golden opportunity for the author, artist, or director and actors to engage the emotions of the readers or viewers.
And stories need emotion. Without it, they’re just fictional reports or documentaries.
Even pictures and photos are much more interesting when they engage the viewers’ emotions.
To get into the spirit, today I’m sharing the first kiss of the hero and heroine from my novella, Rosalyn’s Ring.
The hero, Lord Cathmore, and heroine, Rosalyn, are at a rowdy country inn, where the innkeeper is holding an auction to rid himself of his young wife.
A commotion at the center of the room drew everyone’s eyes. Two men had squared off, their jaws moving, their fists poised. Morgan shouted at the auctioneer, the men, and the crowd, and sent angry glares at Logan and Cathmore. His eyes landed on Rosalyn and he bellowed louder.
Rosalyn could not keep track of the bidding, but she could hear Cathmore’s rumble and the auctioneer’s, and the melodic, determined tones of Logan.
She felt dizzy, and hot, and more than a little worried. She heard Cathmore call out a bid, but she didn’t know if it was pence, or shillings, or something more. She touched his arm to get his attention. “What is the bid?”
Behind them, another melee flared. The auctioneer pounded on the wooden bar, and men shouted. A body veered and pushed her at Cathmore, who caught her close and led her quickly away from the trouble and into the private dining room.
Rosalyn struggled to breathe. His arms held her loosely, but his nearness took her breath away. No man had ever held her like this, and she had trouble finding her composure.
“The bidding!” she said, choking. “What was the b—”
His lips pressed down on hers and silenced her. A fire sparked and spread through her heart, to her loins, inciting pleasure through every part of her.
What was this tingling? This was wrong—and yet . . . Her hands crept on their own to tangle in the soft hair that overlay a neck like a pillar of muscle, and sinew, and strength. She let her lips open, let her body press to his, and let herself float, melting into him. This warmth, this reckless sweetness, made her dizzy. Pleasure bloomed in her, in every nerve, a sweet, intoxicating joy that she had never felt before.
The roar next door increased, and Cathmore stepped away to listen.
No, her body wanted to shout. But she grasped for reason, dropped her hands, and took a long deep breath. Cathmore’s head was cocked, listening, his expression serious. He had obviously left the moment. He had dropped his notice of her in a heartbeat. She was nothing to him; it was all a game.
Loud crashes and shouts erupted, and he turned back to her. “Wait here.” He kissed her forehead and ran off.
He was a terribly handsome, terribly sensuous, terrible man, and Rosalyn’s plan to save Mindy from ruin had failed. In fact, she had come close to ruin instead—had been ruined, by Cousin Abigail’s standards. Oh, why had she come here?
I would love to have included here some first kisses from books on my keeper shelf, but alas, copyright worries…
I’ll leave you with this 1910 postcard and its lovely ditty:
So he bold & bolder grew, drew her close to kiss, “Forgetting by the world forgot” in this their hour of bliss
Are there any first kisses from books or films that you just can’t forget? Please share!
All images: Wikimedia