She spun in his arms, gripping his shirt as she rose up to find his mouth. She might have to wait for him to reveal his surprise, but she didn’t want to go another moment without remembering the taste of him.
His hand fisted at the back of her hair, tipping her head back to allow him better access to her mouth. Smooth and hot, he deepened the kiss, dragging it out until there wasn’t an inch of space between them.
Every doubt, every fear, every single hurt, had been worth it to finally be with him. And she wasn’t letting him go. Not now or ever again. That fierce certainty made her heart thump hard as she leaned into him, meeting the bold sweep of his tongue and almost forgetting what he’d wanted to show her.
Her back came up against a tree, and something dug into her. “Ouch.”
He kissed her again, slower, then turned her around, tugging the blindfold from her eyes.
She blinked, grateful that the canopy of trees overhead kept the sunlight from blinding her. It took a moment to notice the curving stairs that wrapped around the massive tree trunk. Each step looked built into the tree, rising to the balcony above.
Walking backwards to get a better look, she shook her head. “You built this?” She couldn’t take her eyes off the elaborate tree house that looked more like a modest cottage, complete with a thatched roof, upper loft with a ladder propped against an outside window and a swing that creaked in the early evening breeze.
“Whenever Rhiannon forgot about me for a while.”
“And you built it here?” She’d recognized the tree she’d been sitting in that night, waiting for him to find her when she’d run from him.
“You remember.” His eyes glossed over, and he glanced down at the ground.
Throat tight, she didn’t wait for permission before bounding up the stairs, stopping outside the door, her hand on the handle. His fingers closed over hers and their eyes locked as they opened the door together.
She frowned. “It’s empty.”
He pressed his face into her hair. “For now.”
“You should know my talent for decorating is non-existent.”
“We have lots of time to work on your skills.”
She moved into his arms. “Is that so?”
“Luckily you already have the most important ones nailed down.” He gripped her hips, tugging her flush against him.
“I’m glad you approve.” She bit his bottom lip, pulling it into her mouth for a teasing kiss that barely touched the need unraveling inside her.
He lifted her up, setting her on the open window ledge and stepping between her legs. “I try to make sure I know what I’m getting into.”
She tipped her face up, lulled by the caress of his thumb across her cheek. “Reading my eyes again, knight?”
He nodded, smoothing her hair back from her face.
Her gaze fell to his mouth, and the swirling heat sinking into his stomach. She leaned forward, her mouth drifting across his—seducing him, loving him. “And what are they telling you now?”
His heartbreaking smile would have taken her out at the knees if she’d been standing. He drew his thumb across her lip. “That we’ll find a way. Always.”
About the Author
A born and raised Maritimer, Sydney Somers fell in love with writing when she finished her first story, Jenny and the Glowing Green Mittens. After attempting her first book in high school, she set writing aside to focus on school. While getting her degrees in psychology and education, Sydney tried her hand at journalism between part time jobs before finally returning to her love of writing.
Twenty-five novels and novellas later, Sydney is thrilled to spend her days slaying demons, running with shape-shifter packs and making the people in her head fall wildly in love. When she’s not writing or curled up with a good book, Sydney can be found chasing after her herd of kids, talking her way into a gourmet meal, exterminating rogue dust bunnies or joking about the pending zombie apocalypse. She loves hearing from readers and invites them to email her ([email protected]) or drop by her website (www.sydneysomers.com) any time.
Pendragon Gargoyles, Book 3
Emma is used to getting dragged into her twin sister’s magical messes, but this time her predicament is more than a minor annoyance. She’s chained to a cat shifter that her sister encased in a curse of stone. Worse, the unfortunate gargoyle’s waking up. And her sister’s not there to take the heat.
After a century suspended in stone, Cian would do anything to get his hands on the sorceress who put him there. Strangely, his dreams of revenge turn into an animal hunger to put his hands all over her—in every delightfully wicked way imaginable.
Never as talented as her sister, Emma doesn’t trust her own magic. But for now she must let Cian believe she’s the culprit in order to strike a bargain: to permanently lift the curse in exchange for his tracking skills to find her missing sister. The longer she is near him, though, the closer she comes to surrendering much more than her body to the brutal warrior.
As their attraction catches fire, Emma dreads what could happen when he learns the truth. If he will sacrifice her to break the spell…or fight for a love that goes beyond animal instinct.
Warning: This book contains adult language, violence, bone-melting explicit sex and a stubborn alpha male who likes his revenge served hot, wild and strong enough to bring him to his knees.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Primal Pleasure:
“You would risk your family to keep me?”
For all the practice she had at masking her fear—thanks to Elena—the gargoyle’s steel-edged conviction made it hard not to take him seriously. As worried as she’d been over her fate, some small part of her had dared to hope he might willingly release her.
The look on his face, the unwavering blue depths locked on her, told her he meant every word. He really had no intention of releasing her.
“My family can handle themselves.”
She swallowed past the momentary panic clawing at her throat. “So revenge is all that matters to you?” She certainly hadn’t gotten that vibe when she’d touched his belongings and experienced those memories.
“Not all that matters, no.” He dragged his shirt over his head and tossed it behind him.
“Whoa there, Chippendale. Let’s keep this PG rated.”
Unfazed, he moved his hand to the fly of his jeans, drawing her attention down his toned abs—and how had she missed those on the roof?
“Is there a problem?”
Hell yeah, there was a problem. She just couldn’t remember exactly what it was as the button gaped open just a fraction.
Focusing, she went with the obvious. “You just took your shirt off.”
“And yours is next.”
“In your dreams, gargoyle.” She slipped around him, finding it easier to keep a clear head when she wasn’t pinned between him and the wall.
He tugged his zipper down and circled her, pausing behind her long enough to whisper, “In my dreams the only thing covering your body is me.”
Her stomach grew hot at the image that unfolded in her mind. She shook her head to erase it as much to discourage him—as if that were possible—and preferably before the jeans riding low on his hips slid any lower.
Avalon help her, there was no way he was wearing any underwear beneath them.
She needed to stay focused on finding a way out of this mess, preferably with her clothing intact.
Given the way the corners of his mouth tipped up, as if amused by her white-knuckled grip on her shirt, the odds didn’t seem to be in her favor. That fact alone spurred her retreat.
Cian tensed like an animal about to take down its prey, but after a few feet, he still hadn’t moved. How was it that he managed to make her feel like she was being stalked when he hadn’t taken a single step in her direction?
She searched his face, finally understanding the wicked glimmer in his eyes. He was enjoying it. He wanted her to run, wanted to catch her.
Which only forced her t
o acknowledge that she wanted to be caught.
Caught. Kissed. Touched.
And it was all so damn crazy. She didn’t do one-night stands with men under normal circumstances, let alone with one who was casually eyeing the chain she dragged along the floor like it was part of the trap he couldn’t wait to spring.
“I am not some sex slave.”
When he took a step toward her, she wished she hadn’t said a damn thing.
“You’re right about that,” he drawled innocently, and she scrambled back another step, realizing too late he was herding her toward his bedroom.
“Slaves,” he continued, “need to be coerced in the beginning. You want it. Want me.”
A hint of uncertainty echoed beneath all that slick feline arrogance, surprising her. Distracting her. Otherwise she might have noticed how quickly he closed the distance between them, forcing her to tip her head back to meet his gaze. He towered over her five-foot-four frame, but she didn’t find it as intimidating as she should have given the magic-nulling handcuff locked around her wrist.
Everything about the situation left her at a disadvantage, but she refused to play the submissive female.
He stared at her throat before finally lifting his hand and tracing the soft hollow, then moving on to her collarbone. The teasing brush of his thumb was at odds with the tension she felt radiating from him.
“You didn’t deny that you want me.” His hands slid beneath her jacket and over her shoulders.
“And give you a reason to prove I was lying?”
He laughed, and the rough sound washed over her. A little dazed by his smile, she was slow to process her jacket sliding down to her arms.
Her eyes snapped open—when the hell had she closed them?—and she stumbled back. He might have been too distracted when she’d been in the shower to realize how few tracings she had, but risking it a second time was a really bad idea. It wouldn’t take him long to realize the cuff would null any ability to mask her tracings.
A tug on her wrist pulled her forward. She immediately retreated, stepping inside the dark bedroom at her back.
Could he see well enough to notice her tracings—or lack thereof—in the dark?
He stopped in the doorway, the light behind him casting his face in shadows. Maybe she’d been a little premature with the whole not-intimidated thing. She managed another step, and he countered with another tug on the chain until she was forced to meet him halfway.
“Cian.”
He stopped, only a foot away now. “Again.” He stepped forward, and her thighs connected with his.
“I don’t—”
“My name. Say it again.”
Her lips parted soundlessly.
“Please.”
Inches separated them. “Cian.”
His palm caressed her jaw, guiding her closer. “Again,” he murmured.
“Ci—”
He slanted his mouth across hers.
The Medusa Trilogy, Book 1
Ever since the original Medusa ticked off Athena by bragging about her beauty, her cursed daughters have been paying for that mistake. To this day, successive Medusas play cat and mouse with the descendants of Perseus, known as the Harvesters.
When Kallan Tassos tracks down the current Medusa, he expects to find a monster. Instead he finds a wary, beautiful woman, shielded by a complicated web of spells that foils his plans for a quick kill and retrieval of her protective amulet.
Andrea Rosakis expects the handsome Harvester to go for the kill. Instead, his attempt to take the amulet imprinted on her skin without harming her takes her completely by surprise. And ends with the two of them in a magical bind—together.
Though their attraction is combustible, her impending PMS (Pre Magical-Curse Syndrome) puts a real damper on any chance of a relationship. But Kallan isn’t the only Harvester tracking Andi, and they must cooperate to stay at least one step ahead of a ruthless killer before they can have any future, together or apart.
Warning: A hunter who’s fallen for the woman he’s bound to kill, a Medusa who must trust him with her life, and a magical curse only love can break.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Hunting Medusa:
“Time for bed.”
Her jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”
Kallan gave her a bland smile. “Time for bed.” He guided her out of the bathroom and steered her into the next doorway, flipping on the light as they went. Her bedroom.
The bed loomed large in the middle of the space, reminding him uncomfortably of being pressed up against her back in the dark kitchen.
She balked, then stumbled when he gave her arm a gentle yank. “I am not sleeping with you.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t recall asking you.” He pushed her toward the bed.
She tried to dig her feet in, but she didn’t get any traction with her boots on the hardwood and skidded into his side.
He nudged her onto the edge of the bed. “Boots.”
She stared up at him, appalled, for a long moment. “You are insane.”
One of his eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”
“I’m not sleeping with you.”
“You really don’t have a choice, Medusa.” He sat down and caught one of her knees, lifting her leg to untie the shoe and push it off.
She struggled against him, making him grunt when she elbowed one of the slash marks on his arm.
He wrestled her other shoe off and then dragged her onto the bed before stretching out beside her.
She sat up, tugging on her arm. She could go nowhere so it was a futile effort.
Kallan smiled at her. “It’s been a long night. Lie down.”
“I’ll kill you.”
He laughed. She never stopped. “I think that’s my job, my Medusa.”
“I’m not your Medusa. I’m not your anything. My name is Andi.”
He put his free hand behind his head and studied her for a long moment. “Andrea Rosakis. I know your name.”
“How did you find me?”
“I don’t think we’ll discuss that. But I suppose I should inquire as to whether there are any weapons in your nightstand I need to worry about tonight.”
Her look of disbelief made him sit up. He crawled over her, then straddled her and tried not to think about the position while he used his free hand to pull open the drawer. A flashlight, hefty enough to bash him in the head. He tossed it away so it clattered across the floor and landed near the closet. A tattered book. He flipped it over to look at the cover. A romance novel—the half-naked hero on the cover ravishing the slightly more dressed woman in his arms. The worst she could do with that was give him some paper cuts. Or another painful erection.
Kallan cleared his throat and dropped the book back into the drawer, where there were still some scattered papers, a pen—which he threw in the direction of the flashlight—a black satin sleep mask, and way in the back… He closed his fingers around something more substantial than the pen.
A vibrator, he discovered when he pulled it out of the drawer.
He shot her a quizzical glance and found her face averted, but not enough that he couldn’t see the hot color staining her cheeks. He glanced back at the toy, imagining her using it despite his best intentions. He could understand a woman like the Medusa having the same needs as other women. But why wouldn’t she indulge them with a flesh and blood man? She only suffered the effects of the curse for a few days each month. He flipped the tiny switch on the bottom of the vibrator, and the thing hummed to life.
Under him, she stiffened, turning her face further away.
He shut it off and dropped it back into the drawer. “Well, I don’t think I’d consider that a weapon,” he said lightly. He was suddenly aware of how close she was again, her breasts a scant inch from his belly, her thighs pressed tight between his knees. Her scent teased his nose—something with wildflowers and herbs. He sniffed. Basil, maybe. And sandalwood. Something else. He resisted the urge to lean nearer to find out what and climbed of
f her, ignoring his body’s protest. It had definitely been too long since he’d indulged his own needs if he couldn’t control these urges around the Medusa for even an hour.
“Lie down.”
When she didn’t immediately obey him, he gave her a gentle push until her head hit the pillow. She glared up at him, her cheeks still bright pink.
“You’re going to need your rest. We have work to do tomorrow,” he said.
She averted her gaze.
He had to find out if any of the lore talked about the amulet being embedded in the Medusa’s skin. And if so, why hadn’t he seen it before now? Why had no one mentioned it?
He stretched out beside her once more. “I hope you have something in the refrigerator for breakfast.” He hadn’t planned on spending the night, after all.
“You don’t really think I’m feeding you, do you?” Horror and anger mingled in her tone.
He didn’t look at her, though he really wanted to see her expression. “I have two good hands. I can feed myself. I’m just hoping you have breakfast food here for me to do that with.”
“Unbelievable.”
He grinned, restraining the laugh that tried to work up from his chest. His Medusa was a lot of fun. A lot more fun than anyone he’d encountered in a long, long time.
She huffed and shifted. “Unbelievable,” she repeated, under her breath this time. She inched away from him on the mattress—cautiously, slowly—then lay still for a long moment.
Andi tugged uselessly at her wrist, but his arm didn’t move from his side. “Hey, Harvester.”
The obnoxious grin slid off his face. “Stop calling me that.”
“It’s your name.”
He glared at her, then folded his arms over his chest, dragging hers along and forcing her to half roll toward him again.
She yanked away but he put his other hand over her wrist.
“Go to sleep.”
She shot him a disbelieving glance. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to sleeping in handcuffs. Or with all the lights on. And I’m not tired.” That last sounded rather childish, she admitted to herself, but the man had nerve.
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