A Kiss To Remember

Lance had been long hugged by the time Bud made it out of the car and up the steps, by which time Lance had turned his attention to Angie.

‘Don’t tell me you’re Bud’s little sister?’ he drawled, those brilliant blue eyes of his narrowing upon her in a way which did incredible things to her insides. Her previously stopped heart was suddenly racing like a quarter horse in full gallop.

‘Do I get a hug from you too?’ he asked softly, not waiting for permission but immediately taking her in his arms and squeezing her tight.

After a moment’s shock, Angie closed her eyes and let the feel of his firm embrace wash through every pore of her body. It was an experience alien to anything she had ever felt before, making her face flush and her legs go to jelly.

Fear that she might slide down his body on to the veranda in a melted heap forced her to hug him back. But when she did so, he pulled her even more tightly against him, making her fiercely aware of the physical differences between males and females. Her breasts were squashed flat against the hard expanse of his broad chest, and there was a vague assortment of lumps and bumps pressing into her lower abdomen.

‘You can let her go now,’ Bud said, tapping Lance on the shoulder. ‘And don’t go getting any funny ideas about my sister. She’s only fifteen, you know.’

Lance pulled back to hold her at arm’s length, his hands still resting lightly on her hips as he looked her over a second time.

‘She looks older,’ he said, his voice once again having dropped to that low, lazy timbre which sent little shivers running down her spine.

‘Who, Angie?’ Bud sounded sceptical. ‘Nah, she’s just tall, the lucky devil.’

‘Five foot ten in her bare feet,’ her mother piped up proudly. ‘Takes after her father. Buddy here takes after me,’ she added, tousling her son’s black curly head.

‘Mum, stop that,’ Bud objected. ‘And stop calling me Buddy. You know I hate it.’

‘You liked it well enough for your first eighteen years, me lad. Don’t go letting life in the big city give you airs and graces. You haven’t been giving him airs and graces, have you, Lance?’

Finally, Lance’s hands slipped from Angie’s hips and she gulped a steadying breath. She did her best to look composed but she just knew her cheeks were flaming.

‘Not me, Mrs Brown,’ he said, looking away from Angie’s face at long last.

‘Didn’t think so. You seem a mighty fine boy-even if you are from a filthy rich family.’

‘Mum!’ Bud groaned.

‘Well, we all know money can spoil children,’ his mother stated quite ingenuously. ‘But I can see Lance here has grown up to be a credit to his mum and dad. Where is it that your parents have gone to, Lance?’

‘Europe, I think, Mrs Brown.’

Nora was taken aback. ‘Don’t you know?’

Lance’s shrug was nonchalant. ‘They don’t like to be tied down to a schedule. They just go with the flow.’

‘It seems a strange time to go away, just before Christmas,’ Nora muttered, frowning. Angie had to agree with her. Christmas was for families.

‘Not to worry,’ her mother went on, linking arms with Lance and smiling broadly up at him. ‘You’re spending Christmas with us. We’ll look after you, won’t we, Angie?’

Vanessa gave a dry chortle. ‘I’ll bet your mother wouldn’t have made such an offer if she’d known how her guest wanted the daughter of the house to look after him. So what happened? How long before he made a pass? And how did you possibly resist him? He sounds gorgeous.’

Angie sighed, then slowed for a set of lights, stopping a little raggedly. ‘He didn’t make a pass. Not once. And he stayed with us most of the summer, right till the end of January.’

‘I don’t believe it! He was obviously attracted to you.’

‘Yes, I thought so too. And I was besotted with him. Followed him around like a puppy. Made every excuse to be wherever he was.’

‘Didn’t your brother mind that—his kid sister tagging along all the time?’

‘No. Our family has always done things together. Bud and Dad spent a lot of time that summer showing Lance how to do country-style things. They taught him how to ride, how to plough, how to shoot. By the end of his stay he could drill a beer can at one hundred yards. It was only natural for me to help. And who else would be stupid enough to stand around putting empty beer cans on fence-posts for hours?’