Heart raced, breathing grew erratic at best and Ben nearly lost any control he had left when she gave way. Want raced ahead of logic as the taste of her proved as intoxicating as a few too many drinks, and some tiny little voice in Ben's head wondered when the hell he'd picked up the association between kissing and drinking. Probably a chick flick.
But it fit, oh, how it fit. He wasn't one who enjoyed losing control of a situation, but he was nearly to that point now and he didn't mind at all. In fact, he was ready to embrace it.
But a half-second away from dragging her into his lap, Ben forced himself to dig out willpower from somewhere, God only knew where, and back off the kiss. He didn't do it abruptly, because he knew what that, but it gentled and slowed, becoming small, separate kisses before he called himself away from her lips and rested his forehead against hers.
If he'd pulled her into his lap, he knew he wouldn't have been able to stop kissing her, or even stop at just kissing. The idea thrilled him and worried him all at once. He'd come in here to comfort her, not take advantage, and even if she'd been kissing him back with just as much as he was giving, he should feel ashamed of himself, shouldn't he?