It Started At Christmas…. Janice Lynn

brows made a V. “My style?”

      “What if you met someone you wanted to take home with you?”

      “I already have met someone I want to take home with me. She keeps telling me no.”

      “I’m not talking about me.”

      “I am talking about you.”

      Exasperation filled her. She wasn’t sure if it was from his insistence that he wanted her or the fact that he hadn’t kissed her. Maybe both. “Would you please be serious?”

      His thumb slid across her cheek in a slow caress. “Make no mistake, McKenzie. I am serious when I say that I’d like to explore the chemistry between us.”

      Shivers that had nothing to do with the December weather goose-pimpled her body.

      “Why should I take you seriously?” she challenged. “We’ve been standing on my porch for five minutes and you haven’t threatened mouth-to-mouth again. Much less actually made a move. I don’t know what to think where you’re concerned.”

      That’s when he did what she’d thought he would do all along. It had taken her throwing down a gauntlet of challenge to prompt him into action. Lance bent just enough to close the gap between their mouths.

      The pressure of his lips was gentle, warm, electric and made time stand still.

      Her breath caught and yet he made her pant with want for more. She went to deepen the kiss, to search his lips for answers as to why he made her nervous, why he made her feel so alive, why he made her want to run and stay put at the same time. She closed her eyes and relaxed against the hard length of his body. He felt good. Her hands went to his shoulders, his broad shoulders that her fingers wanted to dig into.

      “Good night, McKenzie,” he whispered against her lips, making her eyes pop open.

      “Unless you text or call saying you want to see me before then, I’ll see you bright and early Monday morning. Good luck with your run tomorrow.” With that he stepped back, stared into her eyes for a few brief seconds then headed toward his car.

      “I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you,” she called from where she stood on the porch.

      He just laughed. “Thank you for my mouth-to-mouth, McKenzie. I’ve never felt more alive. Sweet dreams.”

      “You’re not welcome,” she muttered under her breath while he got into his car, then had the audacity to wave goodbye before pulling out of her driveway. Blasted man.

      McKenzie’s dreams weren’t sweet.

      They were filled with hot, sweaty, passionate kisses.

      So much so that when she woke, glanced at her phone and saw that it was only a little after midnight, she wanted to scream in protest. She’d been asleep for less than an hour. Ugh.

      She should text him to tell him to get out of her dreams and to stay out. She didn’t want him there.

      Wouldn’t he get a kick out of that?

      Instead, she closed her eyes and prayed.

      Please go back to sleep.

      Please don’t dream of Lance.

      Please no more visions of Lance kissing me and me begging for so much more instead of watching him drive away.

      Please don’t let me beg a man for anything. I don’t want to be like my mother.

      I won’t be like my mother.