Thunder Canyon Homecoming / A Thunder Canyon Christmas: Thunder Canyon Homecoming

“Right here,” she said.

He pulled into a narrow driveway, behind a dark-green Kia, and turned off the engine.

“Thanks for the ride,” she said, reaching for the handle before Corey could come around to help her out.

“I’ll see you to your door,” he told her.

“That’s really not necessary.”

“Necessary or not,” he said, falling into step beside her, “my mama would never forgive me if I left without making sure that you were safely inside.”

“Okay, you walked me to my door,” she said, stopping under the porch light. “Now your mother can hold her head up, confident she raised her boys right, and you can go.”

“Not just yet,” he said. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

She did look better, as if the effects of the champagne had already dissipated. If the champagne had truly been the reason for her abrupt departure.

“No nausea? No dizziness?”

She shook her head. “I’m fine,” she said again. “Really. It was probably just too warm in the ballroom and once I got out into the fresh air, my head cleared.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” She smiled up at him, and though the smile didn’t quite erase the shadows in her eyes, it made him forget his concerns and remember how much he wanted to kiss her.

“Good,” he said and lowered his head to taste the sweet curve of her lips.

It was a testament to how preoccupied Erin’s thoughts were that she didn’t anticipate his kiss.

She’d been kissed plenty of times before, and she knew how to read the signs and signals that usually led to the first touch of lips on lips—and how to dodge that touch if she wanted to.

Not that she wanted to dodge Corey’s kiss. In fact, she’d spent an inordinate amount of time wondering what it would feel like to be kissed by him. She’d wondered if the same spark and sizzle she felt when he looked at her would translate through actual physical contact…or if the anticipation of his kiss would be more exciting than the actual event.

No worries there, she thought, as his lips brushed against hers again, sending tremors of longing through her body.

He kissed the way he talked—softly and smoothly, as if he had all the time in the world. And as if he intended to spend all of that time just kissing her.

His hands skimmed up her back and, even through the fabric of the jacket she still wore, she could feel the heat of his fingertips tracing the ridges of her spine. Then his hands moved across her shoulders and down her arms.

The keys that she held slipped from her fingers and crashed to the ground.

Erin didn’t even notice.

She was far too busy enjoying the slow, sensual assault on her mouth.

His tongue slid between her lips, licked lazily.

There was nothing leisurely or casual about her body’s response.

Each flick and flutter of his tongue shot flame-tipped arrows of heat and hunger spearing toward her center. Every careful and unhurried pass of his hands made her blood pulse and pound.

She moved against him, and both the tempo and intensity of the kiss changed.

He drew her closer, his arms wrapped around her tighter, he kissed her deeper.

Erin felt her own arms glide up his chest, her hands sliding over impressive pecs and broad, hard shoulders to link behind his neck. He was so big, so strong, so wholly and undeniably male.

And her response was completely and helplessly female.

She shuddered and melted against him.

Corey groaned into her mouth and delved deeper.

Yeah, she’d been kissed before. But never like this. In her experience, most men approached kissing as nothing more than a brief prelude to the main event, but not Corey Traub. His kisses were worthy of top billing. He kissed her as if she was the object of all desire and the source of all pleasure, and as if he never wanted to stop.

And Erin never wanted him to stop.

But just when Erin was about to throw all common sense and caution to the wind and drag Corey inside with her, he eased away.

“I think I should say good-night now, before I forget that my mama raised me to be a gentleman,” he said.

She should have been grateful he’d backed off. She didn’t know him nearly well enough to even kiss him the way she’d kissed him, never mind indulge in any of the other erotic fantasies her mind had conjured up while he’d been seducing her with his skillfully creative mouth and his dangerously talented hands.

He bent to scoop up the keys she’d dropped and put them in her hand, curling her fingers around them.

His other hand lifted to her face, his fingertips skimming lightly over the swollen curve of her bottom lip.

The gentle touch set off bursts of erotic tingles that warned her to put some distance between them before she urged him to forget his mother’s teachings.

“Good night,” she said softly.

He stepped back, and Erin fumbled with the keys in her hand for a moment before she found the right one for the door. She fumbled some more fitting it into the lock, but then the bolt released with a click.

Corey didn’t say anything else, but he waited on the step until she’d slipped inside and locked the door again, then he turned away.

Erin watched from the window as he walked back to his car and reminded herself that she’d done the right thing, the smart thing, in letting him go. There was too much uncertainty in her life to consider any kind of personal involvement right now.

But that knowledge didn’t stop her from wishing otherwise.

Chapter Three

It was a kiss, Corey reminded himself—for the umpteenth time—as he got dressed the next morning.

Yeah, it had been pretty spectacular as far as kisses go, but it was still just a kiss. Certainly there wasn’t any reason for him to have lain awake into the wee hours of the morning thinking about that kiss—and the woman he’d shared it with.

But the truth was, even before they’d shared that one scorching kiss, he’d been haunted by thoughts of Erin Castro.