Stern. Brenda Jackson

into his mouth and devouring it. Never had she been kissed this way. To be honest, she’d never really been kissed at all. That sloppy, wet kiss Mitch Smith had planted on her lips right before Stern had clobbered him, when they’d been in the tenth grade, was nothing compared to this. In fact, it was crap compared to this.

      This was the kind of kiss that romance novel authors wrote about—the kind that rendered you senseless and boneless at the same time. She couldn’t help wondering if this was a test. Stern knew about her inexperience when it came to men, yet she had boldly set her sights on a man. Was he kissing her merely to show her what to expect? To see how good—or awful—she was?

      That wasn’t a bad idea, she thought. Then he could give her pointers so she wouldn’t mess things up with Walter. Yes, that had to be it. That had to be the reason he was kissing her like this. He was kissing her to give her suggestions afterward. In that case...