…taking her hand, he turned it over and pressed his lips into the palm. Something vital, electric, leaped from him to her at the touch of his warm mouth, something that caresses her whole body thrillingly. His lips traveled to her wrist and she knew he must feel the leap of her pulse as her heart quickened and she tried to draw back her hand. She had not bargained on this– this treacherous warm tide of feeling that made her want to run her hands through his hair, to feel his lips upon her mouth. Margaret Mitchell (1900-1949)
