Kissing her would never grow tiresome. It was rapidly becoming the only thing that occupied his thoughts—a dangerous fascination for a man supposedly devoid of emotion, remorselessly playing both sides of a war. Her top lip fit perfectly between his own, like the groove of a clock or the spoke of a gear. There was something so natural, so obvious, like gravity. He marvelled at kissing her. A snatch of an old Burns poem ran through his mind as he cupped her jaw.