The second Nakos's lips met Amy's, he knew he was in trouble. The deep kind that drown a person where they stood and left no recourse for salvation. He'd cupped her face, dipped his head, and planted one right on her never-shut-up, poutier-than-hell mouth.

And blew logic right out of the water.

They barely touched, were suspended in a shocked-immobile pause in time, but moving wouldn't have mattered. He felt the feather-light press of her lips in every molecule of his ...