Thunder Canyon Homecoming / A Thunder Canyon Christmas. RaeAnne Thayne

pulled back, her stomach suddenly churning, her heart pounding. The conversation continued around her, but she didn’t hear a word of it. She couldn’t think of anything but that picture of Elise.

      “More champagne?”

      “What?”

      Corey held the bottle of champagne over her glass. Erin shook her head and set her glass on the table. “I, um, I need to get some air,” she said, and slipped away from him and toward the exit.

      She hadn’t expected that he would follow her, but she’d only just pushed through the doors and barely registered the cold November wind on her bare shoulders before they were covered.

      “You shouldn’t be out here without a coat,” Corey said, draping his tuxedo jacket around her.

      “Now you are,” she told him.

      “I’m not wearing a sleeveless dress.”

      Her lips curved, just a little, at the thought of the all-too-masculine Texan in any kind of dress, and she slipped her arms into the sleeves of his jacket.

      She could feel the heat from his body, smell the scent of his skin, and the quivering that reverberated low in her belly was almost enough to take her mind off of the kaleidoscopic thoughts swirling in her mind.

      Twenty-six years earlier, on November twentieth, she’d been born in Thunder Canyon. Elise Clifton had been born on the same day in the same town. And Elise looked a lot like Erin’s brothers—certainly more than she resembled Grant. Which made Erin wonder—was it possible that the hospital had somehow mixed up the two babies? Was it possible that the man she knew as her boss could be her biological brother?

      “Erin?” Corey frowned and touched a hand to her cheek. “Are you okay? You look a little pale.”

      “Actually, I’m not feeling all that good,” she told him. “I think I’d better call a cab and head home.”

      “I’ll give you a ride, if you’re sure you’re ready to go.”

      “I am,” she told him. “But you don’t have to—”

      “I’ll take you home,” he insisted.

      Because he’d had a couple of beers earlier in the evening and knew he would be driving, Corey had barely touched his own glass of champagne. He didn’t think Erin’s had been refilled more than once, but she was obviously feeling the effects of the bubbly, and because he’d been the one who refilled her glass, he felt responsible and was determined to ensure she got home safely.

      As they waited for the valet to bring his truck around, he noticed that some of the color had returned to her cheeks. Or maybe they were just pink from the cold. In either case, she didn’t really look intoxicated. Her words weren’t slurred and her steps weren’t unsteady, but her eyes were a little glassy and, even with his jacket on, she was shivering uncontrollably.

      He settled her in the passenger seat and immediately cranked up the heat. After a few minutes, her teeth stopped chattering but she kept her arms folded across her chest and continued to stare straight ahead out the window.

      She was quiet during the short drive to her condo on the outside boundary of the resort property, only speaking when it was necessary to tell him to turn left or right. He kept stealing cautious glances at her, hoping for some clue as to how she was feeling, but neither her posture nor her expression gave anything away.

      He’d been talking to DJ and Allaire and hadn’t really paid attention to any of the other conversations. She’d been chatting with Grant and Matt, and he wondered now if either of those men had inadvertently said something that might have upset her. If so, no one else in the group seemed to have picked up on anything that might have caused her distress. Because the more Corey thought about it, the more convinced he was that Erin wasn’t drunk—she was upset.

      But whatever was on her mind, her silence clearly indicated that she had no intention of talking about it. Not with him, anyway.

      “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