"Theresa..." he whispered, and her name sounded like both a warning and a prayer. A final appeal to a reason that was rapidly fading."Hector..." she replied, and it was not a request to stop. It was an invitation. A silent, powerful consent.It was the cue his flesh, not his mind, had been waiting for. Hector leaned in. Slowly, giving her, and himself, every chance to pull back. But Theresa did not pull back. On the contrary, she leaned in to meet him, her eyes closing in anticipation.Their lips were a hair's breadth from touching. The external world, the jazz, the scent of the candles, the city outside, disappeared. Everything shrank to that minuscule space between their mouths, to the shared heat, to the ragged breath mingling. He could almost taste her, the sweet flavor of wine and something that was intrinsically her.And then, at the exact moment their lips were finally about to meet, Hector's mind, treacherous and loyal, projected a sharp, painful image. It wasn't the smiling
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