First Kiss Friday – The Immortal American by L. B. Joramo

Today’s First Kiss Friday featured guest is L. B. Joramo, author of paranormal historical romance The Immortal American.  Welcome L. B.!  Here’s the first kiss between Violet Buccleuch and Jacque Beaumont.


“Ah, chére, you are torturing me, you know?” His grip softened, but remained glued to my arms.

“No, I don’t know. I want you to tell me everything about yourself. I want to know every tiny detail, so I can carry that with me when you leave me. I haven’t asked for one thing, not even rain when I needed it, and I ask you to stay and you won’t.”

A tear slid down his cheek, as he clutched at his heart, like I had inserted a dagger through his breastbone. He shook his head and we swayed, as if the earth had forgotten how to hold onto its gravity— back and forth, hither and thither. Jacque held his breath, and when he finally inhaled his face was mere fingerbreadths from mine.

He whispered, “Forgive me . . .”

I opened my mouth, but could not offer any words, as I realized his face was lowering to mine.

“Stop me, Violet. Stop me. Please, stop me.”

I didn’t.

His lips softly landed on mine. A miraculous warm breeze shuffled all the white, pink and lavender wild blossoms around us, creating a soft vortex to shelter us in our kiss. They sky wasn’t gray; it was white and pink. All of nature surrounding us was in love— the oak’s green branches reached out to embrace us, the weeping willow ceased its crying, and the pine trees stood as sentinels for our kiss. Jacque caressed my lips with his own, softly feathering mine, until I submitted and began to move my own lips with his. We melded our lips, then our tongues. It was me that forced my tongue in his mouth. In our kiss he clutched at my waist, at my back, pulling me tighter against him, as I pushed my body to his.

Suddenly he pulled away from me, huffing on my face. “What are you doing?”

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to laugh or cry at his question, the absence of his lips on mine. “What am I doing? What are you doing?”

He looked baffled and bewildered, but he answered all the same. “I’m being selfish and taking from you and . . . I’m in love with you. I fought it as best as I could—”

“As have I,” I blurted, feeling wild and brave. So that was what a Noreastern storm might feel like. I did feel powerful for finally admitting my feelings, but I also knew what destruction I could wreak.

He blinked. His head jerked, then tilted,then jerked again. He began to shake his head as his eyebrows drew together. “Non . . .” He let go of me completely and stumbled away.

Recklessly, I followed but allowed him a couple feet’s distance. “Non . . . Serait-cevrai?”

I nodded just once. “’Tis true. I fought my . . . love as well. But, I love you, Jacque. I do.”

I touched my lips. They were raw and swollen. I looked up at him, his eyes taking in my mouth, and he must have thought about the fact that I loved him as well.

He fell to his knees. “The gods are cruel.”

I bumbled to my own knees in front of him.

He reached for my face, my cheeks between his hands, looking at me like a man who had just been told he was going to die. “I didn’t believe in love like this.”

I chuckled, despite my pain. “I didn’t either.”

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