When We Kiss

Emberly Warren is spicy-sweet seduction.

My biggest temptation.

My biggest regret.

I thought she’d always be waiting for me.

I was wrong.

Now I’m back in Oceanside searching for peace, hoping to escape what my life has become.

She isn’t supposed to be here,

Dark hair blowing in the ocean breeze,

Luscious curves barely hidden by thin cotton.

Memories so hot they burn my mind…

I didn’t come back for her.

But when we touch, I know I’ll do whatever it takes to make her mine…

Prologue

Ember

Where it begins…

Jackson Cane tastes like red-hot cinnamon, salt water, and sin.

When he concentrates, his long fingers twist in the back of his dark hair, right at the base of his neck, and he tugs.

Tugs…

Tugs…

I like to weave my fingers between his and pull.

Then ocean-blue eyes blink up to mine, sending electricity humming in my veins. He smiles. I smile, and it isn’t long before our lips touch. I straddle his lap as I open my mouth, and his delicious tongue finds mine, heating every part of my body.

Our kisses are languid and deep, chasing and tasting.

We sizzle like fireworks on a hot summer night.

Eventually, with a heavy sigh, I pull away, but hours later my mouth is still burning. I taste him everywhere I go.

Lying in my bed in the dark room, my heart aches, heavy and painful in my chest. Every breath is a burden. I blink slowly at the ceiling and slide my tongue against the backs of my teeth thinking about hot cinnamon, tangy salt, caramel and sugar, sunshine, and the best summer of my life.

The instant I hear it, I’m on my feet, tiptoeing to my open window. The low growl of an engine tells me he’s there in the darkness, out on the street in the shadows just past the streetlight.

The late summer humidity hangs heavy in the air. Cicadas scree from the limbs of the mighty oak tree beside the house. Their damp wings make them too heavy to fly, and the sadness in my chest is replaced with breathless anticipation.

I’m panting. I’ve never felt this way for anyone, and I’m desperate to hold onto it. Somehow I know I’ll never feel this way for anyone ever again.

Quiet as a mouse I scamper to my door and listen. The only sound is the hum of Momma’s oscillating fan pushing the warm air around her room. I can’t hear her breathing. I can’t hear anything… except the noise of Jackson’s engine on the street below, waiting.

Red-hot cinnamon.