Feel the heat of a kiss...

Caliente… Hot damn, right? *lol* I struggled with this post a little because it’s so hard to define HOT for other people or in general terms, it’s so different for each of us. We seem to be inundated with sexuality just about everywhere we turn nowadays, when we open our books/turn on our readers, go to a movie, even open a magazine. And no two people really ever see the same thing even when they read the same words. So, I thought I’d post some of the images that I personally think are seductively hot, and see if they strike a chord with anyone else’s “hot” meter? After all, what is hotter, or more romantic than the sensual seduction of a kiss?

So, some of the most famous “kisses” in the world, how many of them are you familiar with?

Art and modern love... I bet you recognize both - Rodin's Kiss, and the scene from The Notebook.

What about this? Is there anyone who hasn't seen this and sighed?

I think most of us have seen a version of this along the way, too:

And what about this? An image that became synonymous with love and freedom the world over:

No matter what time does in terms of changing our perceptions of what’s hot and what’s not–there will never be anything that captures the imagination and stirs the heated dreams more than the beauty and romance of a kiss that conveys passion, need, love, and all of the wonderful things that go with it!

In keeping with the theme of the day, how about a look back at one of the most famous kisses I've written, the first sensuous contact between Quinn and Bella from my Ellora's Cave debut "Quickie" - HIDE AND SECRET:

September 3rd, 2010 

A storm raged all day today, which means the shop was very quiet. Except, of course, for those few customers who came in more interested in coffee than books… 

The words wake my memory, triggering recollections of Quinn and the day he walked into my life with as much ease as he walks in and out of a room. 

It had been raining all day so I’d been able to do the special orders and restock. Right up until about seven in the evening, when the door opened with a blast of cold, rain-laden air. I had a quick impression of broad shoulders covered in black leather, long legs in wet blue jeans and a shoulder-length mane of thick dark hair. The door shut with a solid slam and he turned to look around. The moment his gaze met mine I felt as if someone had electrified the air and when he smiled, I had the distinct impression he knew exactly how rattled I was by his sudden appearance… 

He strolled over to the desk and leaned on it. 

“Can I help you?” I asked. 

His smile was slow and indolent. If sin has an expression, I think his was it. 

“I’d like to have a look around,” he said, his voice deep and roughened by the weather. “I’m on my way home for the first time in a couple of years, and I’d like to get my mom a gift.” Again the killer smile, then he added, “She’s a collector, loves poetry.” 

“Anything in particular you’re searching for? I’ve got a few very rare editions, some arrived just a few days ago.” 

He nodded and I thought for a moment my knees were going to give out. 

“Is this your store?” 

“It is,” I told him. “My parents opened it, made it a success and I sort of inherited the business.” 

He looked sad for a few moments, then it was hidden behind one of his dazzling smiles. 

“The coffee smells wonderful, how about joining me for one?” 

He was hardly the first man to suggest it, but he was the first one I agreed to sit with. The place was empty, so I put the closed sign in the window, locked the door and came back to discover he’d wandered down to my little coffee bar at the rear. 

“I’m Quinton, by the way. Most people call me Quinn.” He took a seat on the leather sofa and waited for me to join him. I did, and was quickly a bundle of nerves when he twisted around so he was facing me, one long arm across the back of the sofa, the other holding the coffee balanced on his knee. “You going to tell me your name, love?” 

“Bellaria,” I replied with a shrug. “My mom liked to be creative. Most people call me Bella.” 

He grinned and I think my heart rate doubled. 

“Beautiful,” he murmured, then sipped at his coffee. 

We spent the next two hours talking and he left without looking at any of the books. What I remember most though were the last few minutes of that night, when we reached the door and he turned to look at me, eyes intent. 

It had taken only a short time to understand several things about Quinn—one of the most important being that he was a man used to having what he wanted. But his arrogance wasn’t pushy or overbearing, it was natural to him. 

“I want to see you again.” 

“You know where to find me,” I replied. 

He smiled again, but there was something dangerous in the expression this time, something that warned me if I wasn’t careful, I’d lose myself to him in ways I wasn’t sure I even understood. I reached for the door and his hand closed over mine, holding it as he turned me back to face him. 

Before I could anticipate what he was doing, he had my back pressed to the wall beside the door and my head tilted back to look up at him. I was vaguely aware of a thump when the back of my skull connected with the wall, but actual pain was a distant concept at that moment. 

“I don’t think—” I started to object. 

He leaned into me and my vision filled with his smile for a second before his lips covered mine—soft, sweet and much too persuasive. I gasped, and the moment my mouth opened, his tongue slipped inside and our kiss deepened into something more erotic than anything I’d ever experienced before. He tasted like coffee and the unique and intoxicating sweetness that was Quinn. 

“Mmmm, nice. I like the way you taste,” he murmured against my lips, not losing the contact entirely. I felt the shape of every word, drank them down as though they were tangible. I started shaking and I knew he felt it. He edged closer, his tall, powerful body towering over me. His teeth closed carefully on my bottom lip and sucked it between his lips, his tongue gliding over it, stroking slowly. When he pressed himself against me, pinning me more firmly to the wall, I knew it was only his presence that was preventing me from sliding down to the floor. The kiss he drew me into was endless, searing into my blood, making it flame inside me. I was drowning in him. 

I don’t know how long we stood there, locked in an embrace that was more intimate than some of the sex I’d had. When he finally stepped back, his chest was heaving and his eyes were blazing. 

“Remember that when you’re home in bed, Bella,” he whispered. 

A moment later, the door to the shop had opened and slammed shut. My knees wobbled once and I slid down the wall, landing on my ass with a solid thump. 

“Wow.” 

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