Endless Heart: Heart, Book 3

by Emma Lang

  Darkness into light.

  About the Author

  Beth Williamson, who also writes as Emma Lang, is an award-winning, bestselling author of both historical and contemporary romances. Her books range from sensual to scorching hot. She is a Career Achievement Award Nominee in Erotic Romance by RT Book Reviews, in both 2009 and 2010.

  Beth has always been a dreamer, never able to escape her imagination. It led her to the craft of writing romance novels. She’s passionate about purple, books and her family. She has a weakness for shoes and purses, as well as bookstores. Her path in life has taken several right turns, but she’s been with the man of her dreams for more than twenty years.

  Beth works full-time and writes romance novels evening, weekends, early mornings and whenever there is a break in the madness. She is compassionate, funny, a bit reserved at times, tenacious and a little quirky. Her cowboys and western romances speak of a bygone era, bringing her readers to an age where men were honest, hard and packing heat. For a change of pace, she also dives into some smokin’ hot contemporaries, bringing you heat, romance and snappy dialogue.

  Life might be chaotic, as life usually is, but Beth always keeps a smile on her face, a song in her heart and a cowboy on her mind.

  To learn more about Beth Williamson, please visit www.bethwilliamson.com or send an email to Beth at beth@bethwilliamson.com.

  Look for these titles by Beth Williamson

  Now Available:

  Hell for Leather

  Marielle’s Marshal

  Branded

  Devils on Horseback

  Nate

  Jake

  Zeke

  Lee

  Gideon

  Malloy Family

  The Bounty

  The Prize

  The Reward

  The Treasure

  The Gift

  The Tribute

  The Legacy

  Private Lives

  On His Knees

  Handing over the reins is hard. Handing over his heart…damn near impossible.

  Gideon

  © 2011 Beth Williamson

  Devils on Horseback, Book 5

  Gideon Blackwood is on the run—from Tanger’s meddling matchmakers. With no intention of following the rest of the Devils down the aisle, he heads for the hills to reassess a life spent leading and caring for others…and runs smack into the business end of a shotgun. At the trigger: a curmudgeonly woman with a broken axle and a load of responsibility.

  In Chloe Ruskin’s experience, men take what they want and leave a mess of trouble behind. The safety of two orphans and her granny is at stake, and the last thing she needs is Gideon’s “help”. This time, though, she has no choice but to allow the big cowboy to fix her wagon.

  As they work into the night, grudging admiration grows into attraction—and desire. Gideon finds he can’t dig his boot heels in hard enough to avoid falling for the opinionated little female.

  When Chloe’s family disappears, her suspicion threatens to destroy any spark of love before it catches fire. Gideon finds himself making promises his pride won’t let him break—even if it costs him the love of the woman who owns the missing half of his soul.

  Warning: Beware of a strong hero with a stubborn streak a mile wide and a heroine with enough gumption to fill the entire state of Texas. Discover love, hot sex and an amazing, dangerous adventure.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Gideon:

  Gideon was furious. Not only had he allowed the stranger to keep them tied up and captive for a good portion of the day, but Chloe had changed their circumstances instead of him. It was his job to be the one doing the rescuing and planning, not hers. Yet he had hesitated to do what needed to be done because he was afraid she would get hurt.

  Now the idea made him nearly snort. She was not only fearless, she was smart and quick as hell. They’d been tied together, yet she’d managed to injure the peddler woman, maintain her balance and give him the opportunity to disarm their enemy. It was damn embarrassing, frustrating and impressive.

  After they were far enough away to be safe for now, he climbed up into the wagon and sat beside Chloe. He set the shotgun in front of them on the floor and held out his hands. She just raised one brow.

  “What makes you think I’m gonna let you drive?”

  Gideon gritted his teeth. “Because I’m the man here.”

  “I’d say we’re equal partners, Blackwood. We were a team back there, and you’re gonna have to let me hold the reins now and again.”

  It made sense, of course. Logic over emotion and all that, but he didn’t give a shit about logic. He just wanted to feel as if he was in control, even if he wasn’t.

  “For right now, just hand it over.”

  She must have seen something in his expression, because she sighed dramatically and gave him the reins. Gideon wondered if she were humoring him but didn’t want to take that thought any further. Right now he would focus on the trail ahead of them and getting back to where they had been as soon as possible. Unfortunately, the team was old and plodded along slower than he thought possible. They would need some fresh blood to pull this wagon, or they would never catch the people they chased.

  They moved along at a snail’s pace, the sound of the merchandise in the wagon behind them clanking and banging together as the wheels hit dips in the trail. It was a strange kind of music—one he did not want to get used to hearing. He planned on getting rid of the wagon as soon as they found the Ruskins. For now he would endure it and its hideous stench.

  “Do you think we can find our way back to the packs we left behind?” Chloe’s voice was surprisingly calm.

  “Maybe, but with all the shit in this wagon, we don’t need any supplies.”

  She murmured something he didn’t quite catch. Five minutes later, she apparently could not control her tongue any longer. “I want that pack back. It’s likely all we have left of our things, and I don’t want to show up on my aunt’s doorstep with nothing but dirty drawers and bugs in my hair.”

  “This is the same trail we followed west. If we keep going, we’ll end up where we were this afternoon.” He could almost feel her grinning at him. “But there’s no guarantee we’ll find the exact spot, and we can’t afford to be poking around in the woods.”

  She nodded. “I understand that, and I would probably say the same thing. But in this case, I can find the spot.”

  “How is that possible? It was a bunch of trees with no distinguishing landmarks.” Gideon thought maybe she was trying to trick him into searching for the packs. There was no chance she could find a bush in the middle of the thick woods they had left them in.

  “Distinguishing landmarks? You sure do talk fancy.” She shook her head. “I cut an X in the tree bark.”

  “You did what?”

  “You heard me. I marked the tree with my knife when you was getting captured.” Chloe sounded so damn smug, his annoyance notched up further.

  He told himself not to react, to let her have her moment of triumph. Overall, Gideon was the better soldier, even if she’d been the one who freed them from their captivity. She was a young woman, cocky and sure of herself. There was no reason for him to get riled up.

  But damned if he didn’t.

  Before he even realized what he was doing, Gideon dropped the reins and yanked her close to him for a bruising kiss. It was a clashing of lips, teeth and tongue, different from their midnight sex. This was primal, elemental and overwhelming. Perhaps it was because they had faced danger together and escaped. He knew he was lying to himself, but thinking wasn’t an option at the moment.

  In fact, he could hardly breathe.

  The salty taste of her lips gave way to the sweetness of her mouth. The hot, wet recesses beckoned him until he was so deep he couldn’t distinguish where she ended and he began. His dick hardened in an instant, pressing against his trousers, eager to find release with Chloe. To his shock, her hand started pulling on the buttons to free him. He was about
to stop her when she spoke.

  “Please, I need. Now.” It was a fractured thought but one he understood.

  He yanked at the offending buttons until the evening air hit his overheated skin. Her hand surrounded him, and he groaned into her mouth. Thank God she wore drawers with a slit. The ugly dress bunched around her hips. Chloe straddled him, never breaking the kiss, and soon he was poised at her entrance, which was already wet with arousal.

  It was wrong, it was foolhardy, it was loco. He couldn’t stop if someone put a gun to his head.

  Gideon had never been as aroused or as hard as he was at that moment. She sank onto his length, inch by inch, her tightness surrounding him, embracing him. He gripped the seat beside him until the wood almost splintered under his fingers. It was only through sheer force of will he did not come in the first five seconds. She was perfectly made for him, as if someone had engineered her tiny body to accept, welcome, enclose his.

  “Ohhhhh,” she breathed against his lips. “It’s even better than last night.”

  Damn straight it was. Gideon guided her up and down a few times, and then she took control again. Her pace increased quickly until all he could do was hang on to her hips and try not to find his release too soon. Blood raced around inside him until his heartbeat became the only thing he heard.

  The sounds of the forest around them ceased, and the air became still. The world held its breath as Gideon and Chloe moved together as one being in an ancient rhythm, hearts thumping, breath catching. Sliding against one another, their moans echoing softly into the dense forest.

  Forbidden love…

  Lakota Surrender

  © 2011 Karen Kay

  Lakota, Book 1

  As she heads west to join her cavalry officer father at his Kansas outpost, Kristina Bogard eagerly anticipates new adventures—and her first glimpse of wild Indians. She has long dreamed of flashing black eyes, skin-covered lodges and buckskin and leather.

  What she finds in Fort Leavenworth, though, is a far cry from her Indian nanny’s thrilling stories. What few natives are left are crushed, brokenhearted shadows of their proud past. Except for one, a handsome warrior who stirs up a whole new set of dreams.

  Tahiska can’t take his eyes off the green-eyed beauty whose graceful hands are fluent in his native sign language. Except he can’t afford to let anything distract him from avenging his father, who was killed by two white soldiers.

  Though anger fills his mind, Kristina steals into his heart, igniting a wildfire passion that must remain their desperate secret. For soon comes the day of reckoning, when justice will be served…or a travesty will shatter their love.

  Warning: Sensuous romance that could prompt you to send up smoke signals for the one you love.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Lakota Surrender:

  Kristina had witnessed the entire exchange all from close range. In fact, she still stood beside the Indian, only a few inches away. She had situated herself so that she had a clear view of both her father and Tahiska.

  When her father turned to speak with the colonel, she took the opportunity to study Tahiska in closer detail. He was utterly handsome, utterly compelling, and he seemed quite unaware of it. His skin was a few shades darker than her own; his hair, which fell well below his shoulders, was neatly combed; his nose was straight and slightly aquiline; his lips were full and sensuous; his eyes black and mysterious, yet always direct.

  He glanced at her now and she smiled, averting her eyes. But he would have none of that. Touching her gently under the chin, he brought her gaze back to his.

  She blushed. The Indian’s touch was gentle, yet her pulse responded as though she were running. She couldn’t control these feelings and worse, she knew they were radiated in her eyes. Though he lowered his hand, just the remembrance of his touch set her on fire, made her limbs weak, quickened her heartbeat.

  What was happening to her? Why did her vision come with a touch that stirred her very soul? Surely she was not attracted to him. He was Indian. There was a gulf between them, between their two cultures, that would be almost impossible to bridge. And yet, hadn’t she jumped at the chance to visit their country, knowing there was something out there for her? But she hadn’t actually envisioned staying in Indian country, and she had surely never anticipated these feelings of…

  Covertly she glanced up at him. Her stomach dropped and, despite herself, despite the other company in the room, she wanted him to kiss her so badly she felt almost faint from it. She gazed at his lips. A mistake. For when she raised her eyes back to his, she knew he easily read the desire in them.

  Kristina squeezed her eyes shut and breathed deeply. Who was she trying to fool? She was very attracted to him.

  “Will you show us the trading post?” He spoke to her, and when she, at last, opened her eyes, he made the signs in front of her face. Never once did he relinquish eye contact.

  “Yes. You—your friends, come with me.”

  She swung away and faced the two men at the opposite side of the room, who were still arguing. “Father,” she interrupted, “I’m escorting the Indians to the trading post. Then I’ll prepare for the Fourth of July celebration.”

  “Yes,” her father answered, glancing over his shoulder at her. “Go on, Kristina. I’ll join you later.”

  Nodding, she pivoted to find three Indians patiently waiting. But only one stared at her, and in his expression was a knowledge of her she wished he didn’t have.

  Kristina felt desperate to fly out the door and scramble to the trading post as quickly as possible. However, all of her Bostonian social training came to the fore and Kristina stepped through the door as demurely as possible. Once outside, she glanced back to ensure the Indians were not far behind.

  She stopped short.

  No one was there.

  Picking up her skirts, she backtracked to the colonel’s office. As she peeked around the door, she saw them, still standing in the same place and glaring at her.

  She gazed at her father and Colonel Wheeling. They were locked in argument and were unaware that anything untoward was occurring.

  Stealing back into the room, she addressed Tahiska in sign. “I will show you the way to the trading post. Please follow me.” She twirled around.

  “Hiya!”

  She peered back over her shoulder. The Indians hadn’t budged. Kristina didn’t understand what Tahiska had said, but she knew noncompliance when she saw it. Hadn’t she read his signs correctly? Didn’t he want to see the trading center?

  Again she turned toward them. She smiled, then signed, “If you will follow me, I will show you the trading post. Did you not wish to see it?”

  “I will follow no woman!” Tahiska’s gestures were rapid, his expression grim. “I would not insult my friends by insisting they be led by a mere girl.”

  “But I mean you no insult,” she spoke in sign. “How else can I lead you to the post if you do not follow? I cannot point it out from here.”

  “Then we will stay here until you discover a way.”

  Kristina stared at Tahiska as though he had suddenly grown another two eyes. “You don’t honestly expect me to…” She halted her speech, switching to sign. “It is our custom that a woman precedes a man into and out of a room. There is no insult meant. It is only custom.”

  “It is not ours!”

  Kristina expelled one long breath, realizing belatedly that being interpreter for these Indians would be no easy task. “Then tell me,” she said, standing directly before Tahiska. “What is your custom?”

  “You must discover this yourself, for I cannot speak it to you.”

  Kristina took a moment to try to clear her thoughts. She was to show them the trading center, yet they would not follow her to it, for it was not customary to lag behind a woman, nor would they enlighten her as to exactly what was the custom.

  Kristina caught Tahiska’s scrutiny and smiled.

  “Perhaps,” she gestured, “if you lead the way, I will show you the tra
ding post.”

  Tahiska nodded and brushed past her, the other two Indians adhering to his lead.

  Stunned, Kristina gazed after them. This was the oddest way she’d ever seen of escorting guests.

  She shook her head and, picking up her skirts, tagged along behind.

  Now and again one or the other of the Indians would glance back at her to discover which way to turn. Kristina would motion to them in sign and though slow, the quartet eventually found their way across the fort to the trading center.

  They had stopped just short of the building and all three Indians stared at the sign affixed to the top of the building.

  Kristina glanced at it, wondering what it was about the sign that had captured their attention. It clearly read “Trading Center,” the letters carved into the wooden log, and at each end of the post hung a huge bouquet of flowers, probably, thought Kristina, the feminine touch of the trader’s wife.

  Tahiska scowled over his shoulder at Kristina and motioned her forward.

  “What is the meaning of the flowers?” he wanted to know. “Must we also trade with women? Is the white man so cowardly that only his women are here to meet strangers, to face possible danger?”

  Kristina gasped. She had never heard anyone speak so disparagingly about her race and so condescendingly about her own gender. While she tried to think quickly of a defense, she was reminded that to the Indian eye, her presence here, without a soldier escort, could make the white male appear fainthearted.

  “It’s only a sign that says to others that this is the trading center,” she finally responded. “The trader’s wife has most likely hung the flowers upon this post to create beauty.” Kristina motioned toward the beadwork on the Indian’s own clothing. “Even the shirt that you wear boasts of beauty. It was obviously made by one who cares for you. The flowers you see there are meant as ornamentation only. Come inside, you’ll see. It’s not a place where many women dwell.”