Guest blog: Aleigha Siron

What’s in a Kiss?

May 18 2016 AleighaSiron kiss_on_the_beach_from_here_to_eternity

Evidently, quite a lot, as discussed in numerous articles in Psychology Today, and Science Daily. Our primate cousins, chimps and bonobos in particular, engage in kissing though not as frequently as humans do. A diverse range of other species, from ants to elephants engages in affectionate kissing, touching, licking, etc.

According to Jennifer Verdolin, PhD, (Psychology Today, May, 2014,) “through saliva, scientists speculate, kisses help us acquire a range of information about a potential mate, including hormone levels, health, and genetic compatibility.”

Who knew? Of course, no one is consciously aware that our kisses evaluate at a chemical level.

Ms. Verdolin’s article, she goes on to say, “And once you kiss, a suite of chemical reactions in the brain and body are activated. Sparks really can fly.”

Yep, we’ve all known those sparks and every kiss after the one that first curled our toes is an exploration to experience that sensation again. Most of us remember the first kiss that created butterflies in our belly or ignited a fire in our loins. Yet, the experts still argue as to exactly why we are so inclined to kiss.

And who can forget the “kiss of death,” delivered by Michael Corleone to his brother, Fredo, when he learns of Fredo’s betrayal? Michael firmly grips Fredo by the neck with both hands, stares him in the eye, applies a hard lip smack, and delivers the infamous line, “I know it was you Fredo, you broke my heart. You broke my heart.” Bye, bye, Fredo.


Aleigha Siron, author of “Finding My Highlander”

Studies indicate women put more stock in kissing than men. For men, it’s a prelude to their primary interest, sex. That’s also true for women, but these studies go on to assert that women enjoy more kissing during the sexual act. Men, on the other hand, acquiesce to kissing during sex primarily to keep their partner involved. Unless, it’s kissing of a more sensual nature, such as licking, biting, tasting those forbidden areas. Are we surprised? No.

I don’t think people question or care why we do or do not enjoy another’s kisses. Those lip smacking, tongue-probing episodes are a means to determine whether we want to engage in further sexual exploration with a person.

Every romance story ever written plays upon the sexual tension preceding that first kiss between characters, or the second, not to mention all the kisses and touching that follows. The location of that kiss is equally important. A kiss on the top of a gloved hand is formal, and not very titillating even in the Regency era. However, a kiss to the inside of a bare wrist, to the pulse beat in the throat, to the pulse beat behind the knee, or at the top of the thigh. To touch, kiss, nip, or lick the places where blood rushes through our veins as arousal heightens—those kisses are hot.


In Chapter Six of Finding My Highlander, Andra and Kendrick share their first kiss: “She lifted her face to his in defiance, fire meeting fire; a conflagration exploded between them. She would not be cowed and stood her ground, trying desperately to conceal her trembling. Before either of them turned away his hand moved to the back of her head, his lips crushed onto hers, his tongue probed her mouth and God help her, she returned his kiss with her own ferocity as he pulled her more tightly against the hard planes of his chest.” Yep, sparks! Enjoy all those heated kisses.

There are dozens of songs about kissing: the first kiss, passionate kisses, forbidden kisses, etc. For your listening enjoyment, I’ve included a few links to popular kiss songs.

Toby Keith:



Chris Brown:

Faith Hill:



“Lass, can I help you?” His voice was softer than the others, his stance relaxed, composed, despite the dirt and blood splattered over his massive arms and clothing. He seemed to be a quiet, gentle man, though physically as imposing as the others.

“You could bring me my bag.”
He moved his hand from behind him and cautiously extended her mother’s old carpetbag. “Do I need to check it for weapons?” A slight crinkle lifted the corner of his mouth. A piece of leather cord tied wavy, light-brown hair at the nape of his neck and tight braids spilled alongside sharp, scruffy cheeks. His eyes were dark and shadowed.
“Thank you…it’s Rabbie, correct?”
“Aye,” he nodded.
Andra granted him a guarded smile. “I’ll pull no further weapons if you promise to be kind.” The slight attempt at humor from both of them eased the tension coiled in her gut.
He swept an arm gracefully in front of him and bowed, “Always, m’lady, as I learned at me mother’s knee.” Then he left her to tend the horses.
She searched her bag for the washcloth, hand towel, and first aid kit she always carried when traveling. The washcloth came to hand first. She dipped it into the cold water and wiped the dried and clotted blood from her face and hair. Then she dunked her head in the pool several more times.
“I seem to be awake,” she whispered, just for the comfort on her own voice. “My surroundings feel solid enough,” she pounded her fist on the dirt, “so it must be real. Accept it, Andra, and decide what to do next.”
She could hear the men speaking Gaelic, hushed yet clearly distraught about the condition of their clansman. They gathered near another pool of water several yards from where she knelt. She watched them over her shoulder for a few minutes struggling to fit the scene into her new reality. A million questions rose in her throat.
“Not now. Patience and observation are what’s required. All will be revealed in time.” What a stupid cliché.
Should she offer her help with their friend; would they accept it? She could not sit here and do nothing when one of them was seriously injured. Besides, anxiety always spurred her to take action. Her father had always said, “Move, keep busy, and don’t let dust gather under your feet.” With her father’s words ringing in her ears, she approached the men cautiously, keeping her eye on the mean one, Struan.
“May I be of assistance?” She stood with her feet firmly planted on the hard-packed, dirt floor, her head held high, one hand pressed flat against her side, the other rested on the cross dangling on her chest. It took an extreme effort to control her trembling body. Her palms moistened with sweat. She steadied her focus on Kendrick. His strong hands moved carefully over his brother’s body. The mean one harrumphed and growled.
A growl? Really?
Kendrick looked up, concern etched on his face. His dark, probing eyes bore through her. “Are you a healer, then?” he asked.
“Not a healer exactly, but I have cared for ill and injured persons and have some training in first aid. I wish to help if you’ll permit me.”
“I dinnae ken your meaning. What’s the first aid of which you speak? As you can see, we give him aid, but if you can do anything to help save my brother’s life, I will gladly accept your offer.”
The mean one growled again. “Don’t trust her, she’s the enemy and will just as soon slit his throat.”
Ignoring the slur, she continued, “Have you determined the extent of his injuries?”
“Aye, his shoulder is dislocated, several fingers broken, which we have straightened and bound as best we’re able. We need to stitch multiple, deep wounds, and he’s lost a lot of blood, though blood no longer flows freely.”
The injured man lay on a plaid, stripped completely naked, his kilt torn away from his battered body. Mud, blood, and all manner of vile debris caked the hard planes of his bronzed chest. Andra couldn’t identify the severity or location of all his injuries. He moaned but appeared unconscious, or so she assumed, since he hadn’t opened his eyes. Clumps of dried blood crusted over wounds on one leg and foot. Dark, matted refuse covered the entire other leg.
His manhood lay flaccid against his thigh, and none of the men seemed concerned about his state of undress in front of a strange female. She stood quietly, waiting for several breaths.

On a windswept cliff above San Francisco Bay in 2013, 27 year-old Andra Cameron, the last member of her family, prepares to scatter her family’s ashes to the wind. An earthquake catapults her to the Scottish Highlands in 1705. She wakes, aching and bloody, to the sound of horses thundering through the trees. Terrified and with no other options, Andra accompanies these rugged warriors. She can’t deny the undeniable attraction that ignites between herself and the handsome but gruff Kendrick. Will she trust him to provide protection in the harsh reality of 18th century Scotland and with her secret, or will she find a way to return home to the 21st century?
Laird Kendrick MacLean and his men, escaping a recent skirmish with their worst nemeses, clan Cameron and their Sassenach allies, are shocked to find an injured, unprotected female in their path. How could she not know her kin and how had she landed in the middle of the wilderness alone? His men suspect she’s a spy or a witch. Still, Kendrick will not abandon an injured woman, even if she speaks unusually accented English, and her name is Cameron. Will he ransom her to others or will their closed hearts open to each other? Although he questions her every utterance, this feisty, outspoken woman inflames his desire like no other.

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Author Bio and Media Links
After more than twenty years writing and delivering management and other training programs for modest-sized to Fortune Five Hundred companies, and ten years developing community crisis-intervention training programs, Aleigha turned her writing efforts to her first loves, fiction, and poetry. Her poetry has appeared in numerous anthologies and university presses over the past few decades. Following a difficult period in her life, she discovered solace in romance novels that inspired her to write in this genre. As she says, “who doesn’t desire a guaranteed happy-ever-after scenario?” Always interested in the concept of time-travel, she knew her first few stories would follow that theme.

When not writing, her trusty four-legged companion/helper, Strider, accompanies her on sunset walks along the shore. During these quiet walks under an expansive sky, with the whoosh of waves across the sand and her gaze drifting over the rolling sea, her best glimmers of inspiration come to mind. Following the recent discovery of distant Scottish ancestors, she embarked on a trip to the Highlands. Although she had already developed the characters for Finding My Highlander, her trip to the Highlands enriched the characters and enhanced the story direction. This is her first full-length romance novel. Aleigha is working on a prequel to Finding My Highlander, and another time-travel novel set in a later period.
WWW (Aleigha’s WebPage)

Aleigha Siron’s Book page at Tirgearr Publishing

Tirgearr Publishing Home Page



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