A scene that I love, but that needs to be cut

No worries, the blog hop runs through tomorrow, click here for a chance to win my fabulous prizes, but I'm about to cut a scene from my current work in progress, A Ghost of a Second Chance, and because I love it--I wanted to share it before it goes into oblivion. My critique partners think, and sadly I agree, this scene screams of a romance novel—the sort where the hero and heroine stop to kiss for ten pages even though villains, monsters and dogs are about to overtake them. While my novel doesn’t have any over the top villains—not even any dogs—and aren’t being chased when the kissing happens, the kiss doesn’t really make sense. So it has to go, which is just sad. Everyone likes a good kiss.

Tell me what you think.

More footsteps. Whirling, she saw a tall form emerge from the trees. She tried to run, but the wet shoes slid from her feet, slowing her. A hand on her arm stopped her.

“Lainey, it’s me!”

Ian? How had he found her?

He dragged her against his chest, his eyes looking wild. She tried to pull away, but he pinned her to him. Reaching up, she tried to slap him, but he caught her wrist and brought his mouth to hers. He kissed her hard.

She willed herself to fight. Sanity told her to step away. But she couldn’t and as the kiss deepened, she realized that she’d lost sanity a long time ago and if she didn’t do something, anything, she’d be right back where she’d been before Ian stepped out the door. No. She sank deeper into the kiss. Had it always been this way? Kissing Ian, why did such a small meeting of flesh make her knees buckle? Placing both her hands on his chest, she pushed him away.

She stumbled back, out of his embrace. Frustration marked his face and he raked his fingers through his hair. He looked at her and his gaze lingered on her legs. Puzzlement overtook the frustration and then he grinned.

“You have no right--”

Ian fought his smile, but it still lingered around his lips. “Actually, I do. I’m your husband remember? Marital rights.”

“That’s barbaric.”

Ian folded his arms across his chest. “I’m a barbarian? If I were truly a barbarian I’d carry you into that shack and strip off your clothes.”

Laine threw the cabin a worried glance and stepped away from it, which brought her one step closer to Ian. She shuffled to the side, closer to the road.

“Don’t think I haven’t thought about it. I’m considering it now.”

“How did you find me?”

“Delicious.”