This Kiss. Teresa Southwick

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      “Help me out here, Hannah. Kiss me, and help me show my son that it’s not enough to make you stay in Destiny.”

      The sheer masculinity of Dev stole the breath from her lungs.

      Part of her wanted to know what it would feel like to kiss the guy all the girls had wanted. If the experience was horrible, she could stop wondering about it. But if, as she suspected, the sensation was akin to a religious experience, the memory might be worthwhile. On some dark, cold, lonely night, she could pull out the recollection and wrap it warmly around herself….

      by Teresa Southwick

      Crazy for Lovin’ You

      This Kiss

      If You Don’t Know by Now

      What If We Fall in Love

      This Kiss

      Teresa Southwick

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      To Sandra Ferguson, Sherry Davis, Judi McCoy and Mary Karlik. I’m thankful that y’all kept my “Texas voice” under control. And my profound gratitude for taking this Southern California refugee (I’m still not sure if we decided that makes me a Yankee carpetbagger) under your wing.

      TERESA SOUTHWICK

      is a native Californian who has moved to Texas. Living with her husband of twenty-five years and two handsome sons, she is surrounded by heroes. Reading has been her passion since she was a girl. She couldn’t be more delighted that her dream of writing full-time has come true. Her favorite things include: holding a baby, the fragrance of jasmine, walks on the beach, the patter of rain on the roof and, above all, happy endings.

      Teresa has also written historical romance novels under the same name.

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter One

      She’d forgotten how good trouble looked in worn denim, scuffed boots and a black Stetson.

      Hannah Morgan stood on the bottom slat of the white, split-rail fence and watched Dev Hart’s tall imposing presence dominate the corral where he supervised cutting horse training. With his back to her, she was still safe from his notice. Yet she had an unobstructed view of his assets—muscles, wide shoulders and a spectacular cowboy butt.

      She hadn’t seen him since high school. So why would she think of him as trouble?

      Maybe it had something to do with the way those soft jeans clung to his lean hips and muscular thighs. Or that intriguing indentation in his chin. She couldn’t see it from where she stood, but ten years worth of remembering produced an instant visual. His brown eyes, too. She recalled they were dark and smoldering. A woman was at risk of going up in flames from just a single glance.

      Not her, of course. She was a doctor now, and practically the same skinny blonde he had never acknowledged outside of their physics tutoring sessions.

      He turned around and she knew the moment he spotted her. His laserlike gaze scanned the enclosure, passed her by for just an instant, then swung back, settling the full force of his male observation on her. A small smile turned up the corners of his mouth, sending a shiver from the base of her neck to the tips of her toes.

      Over his shoulder he said to the other cowboy, “That’s enough for today, Wade. Feed and water him, then turn him into the corral.”

      Hannah’s heart beat a little faster as Dev ambled toward her. Was there a sexier, more masculine sight than a Texas cowboy ambling? If so, she’d never seen it. He let himself out of the fenced enclosure and came to stand in front of her. Quickly she updated her decade-old memory. He was taller, broader, filled out—and most important—not that teenage boy any longer.

      Dev Hart was a man.

      If the butterflies in her stomach were anything to go by, she was still the same awkward sixteen-year-old girl she’d been the last time she’d seen him. But she held her ground, or rather her rung on the fence. She might have grown up in a trailer and worn cast-off clothes from the thrift store, but she wouldn’t give him any reason to look down on her. Even though his six-foot-two-inch height would allow him to stare his fill at the top of her head.

      “Hannah?” His tone held surprise that was just this side of shock. “If I hadn’t known you were coming, I don’t think I would have recognized you.”

      “Hi, Dev. Have I changed that much?”

      “Yeah. How long has it been?”

      “I haven’t been back in about six years,” she said. “But I think it’s been longer since we last saw each other.”

      She knew for a fact she hadn’t seen him since high school graduation ten years before.

      “The blond hair and blue eyes are the same, but everything else is a whole lot more grown up,” he said, touching the brim of his hat politely. “Polly said you wouldn’t be here until tonight.”

      Her mother managed his household. After her father had walked out on them, Polly Morgan had cleaned houses, including Dev’s parents’, to support herself and six-year-old Hannah. A year before, Dev had hired her as a full-time housekeeper.

      All through college and medical school, Hannah had dreamed of giving her mother a better life. She blamed herself for the fact that Polly had had to work so hard and vowed to make her mother a lady of leisure. She was on the brink of doing it, too, if she got the job in Los Angeles that she wanted, with the prestigious pediatric group.

      “I got an earlier flight and rented a car at the airport. Where’s Mom? There wasn’t anyone up at the house.”

      “She took Ben to story hour at the library in town.” He shifted his boots in the red dirt, then folded his arms over his chest.

      Her mind raced, searching for something to say to fill the silence. This was her first trip home since her mom had taken over his household. Hannah had known she would see Dev, but she hadn’t expected to have to make conversation with him, alone, right off the bat. Polly was supposed to be here to run interference.

      “How old is your son now?” she finally asked.

      “Almost four. Next week as a matter of fact.” His wonderfully shaped mouth turned up at the corners. “He’s an active little son of a gun. I don’t know what I’d do without your mother. She’s pretty special.”

      “You won’t get any argument about that from me,” Hannah agreed.

      She knew he and his wife had split up, but not the details. When she’d heard, her first thought had been that golden boys have problems just like scholastically gifted geeky girls who grew up on the wrong side of the tracks. Her second, that it would be hard on his little boy. She knew from firsthand experience what it was like when a parent turned their back on a child.

      He shoved his hat up with a knuckle and she noticed that the glow of fatherly pride lingered in his eyes. She couldn’t help wondering what kind of parent he was. Memories of her own father were memories she tried to