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Thirty-Three Years Earlier
That little Mia is something else.
Jeff had been around the block more than a few times, but never had a kiss affected him like this. Mia was a temptress, a siren, wrapped up in an innocent-looking package of beautiful dark hair, flawless olive skin, and an amazing body. Clearly liked Styx, according to her T-shirt. Only the best band in the universe. And those cherry-red lips. God, had that thought really entered his head? Cherry-red? Since when did he notice the color of a woman’s lips? When they were full and sexy and begging to be kissed, that’s when.
He hadn’t meant to kiss her out of the blue, but hell, he hadn’t been able to stop. She’d looked at him with that sexy little pout and he had to have those lips on his. Simple as that.
She knew how to kiss too, had sunk into him like the siren she was.
He kissed her like he’d never kissed a woman before. He wanted to mark her as his, claim her.
God damn, he’d just met her.
His cock rose inside his jeans. He loved kissing, but it usually took a little more than a first kiss to get a rise. But this was no normal first kiss.
This was a kiss to cherish, to savor—it was a kiss he’d judge all other kisses against in his lifetime.
And at that moment, he didn’t ever want to kiss another woman in his lifetime.
Her sweet little moan sang into his mouth like a bluebird’s song. He twirled his tongue around hers, swirled it over her teeth and gums, the insides of her cheeks. He wanted to taste every last millimeter of her sweet mouth.
When his lungs required air, he forced his mouth from hers, took a breath, and then rained tiny kisses over her smooth cheeks and neck. She smelled of wild berries and sweet vanilla. God, he could live on that aroma. He could live on her kisses alone and die a happy man.
Her skin quivered under his lips.
“Oh, God,” she said softly.
His heart hammered. Her skin was like velvet beneath his fingers, his lips. Soft, warm, tan velvet. He knew nothing about her,
only that she was eighteen and delicious to kiss.
She was young and probably not that experienced. And she was into him, and into this kiss. If he were a different kind of man, he’d go for it—screw her brains out and leave without finding out anything about her. But though he scoffed at authority and rebelled against the law, he respected the fairer sex. His mama had died when he was only five, but he remembered her somewhat—soft and feminine yet protective and fierce when it came to her boys. His daddy had treated his mama like a treasure. And she had been a treasure. Angelina. Her name was Angelina.
Mia.
Just as soft and feminine of a name. He’d take care of his Mia.
His Mia?
What the hell? Though it pained him, he removed his lips from the creamy skin of her neck.
He regarded her, her eyes closed, her breaths coming in rapid puffs. God, she was the picture of beauty and innocence all rolled up into one.
“What would you like to do, Mia?”
“Kiss some more?” she said shyly.
Damn. I’d like that too. His cock strained against his jeans. “Nothing I’d like better,” he said, “but if I keep kissing you like that I might not be able to stop. Where do you live, anyway?”
“In town.” She looked down, clearing her throat. “Near the railroad tracks.”
Not a great neighborhood. Poor thing was embarrassed.
“Okay. When do you need to be home?”
“Well, Mama thinks I’m at school, so not until around three.”
“You graduating?”
