Timeless Kisses

by Monica Burns

  A loud knock yanked her back to the library and her insufficient senses. Luckily, Colin seemed fully aware of the scandal of which they were on the verge. Before she had even blinked, he was across the room and behind the settee as a voice called out, “Aversley, are you in there?”

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  § § §

  About Julie

  Julie Johnstone is a USA TODAY best-selling author of Regency Romance, Victorian Romance, and Scottish Medieval Romance. She is also the author of an urban fantasy/paranormal romance book. She’s been a voracious reader of books since she was a young girl. Her mother would tell you that as a child Julie had a rich fantasy life made up of many different make believe friends. As an adult, Julie is one of the lucky few who can say she is living the dream by working with her passion of creating worlds from her imagination. When Julie is not writing she is chasing her two precocious children around, cooking, reading or exercising. Julie loves to hear from her readers. You can find Julie at these places:

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  Sensual heat melts the ice in the new Disgraced Lords novel from USA Today bestselling author Bronwen Evans, as a marriage of convenience leads to delightful pleasure—and mortal danger.

  Lady Marisa Hawkestone’s nightmare is just beginning when she wakes up naked, with no memory of the night before, lying next to Maitland Spencer, the Duke of Lyttleton—a man so aloof and rational he’s nicknamed “the Cold Duke.” A scandal ensues, in which Marisa’s beloved beau deserts her. As a compromised woman, Marisa agrees to marry Maitland. But on her wedding night, Marisa discovers the one place the duke shows emotion: in the bedroom, where the man positively scorches the sheets.

  Taught from a young age to take duty seriously, Maitland cannot understand his new wife’s demands on his love and affection. Marisa’s hot-blooded spirit, however, does have its attractions—especially at night. In retrospect, it seems quite silly that he didn’t marry sooner. But being one of the Libertine Scholars requires constant vigilance, even more so when the enemy with a grudge against his closest friends targets Marisa. Now Maitland must save the woman who sets his heart aflame—or die trying.

  A Whisper of Desire

  by Bronwen Evans

  The First Kiss

  Marisa’s feet were beginning to hurt, so she looked around for a place she could sit without being observed and spied a private alcove. She moved toward it while dreaming of becoming Lord Rutherford’s wife and learning about passion. Her untutored woman’s body warmed with desire just thinking about what it would be like to share a man’s bed. To be naked with him. To let him . . . To her horror, instead, Maitland’s face flickered in her head.

  She put her hands to her heated face and turned, promptly colliding with what felt like a wall of rock. She looked up and her pleasant thoughts vanished. Maitland Spencer, the Cold Duke, gripped her waist to stop her from sliding to the floor. Her hands lay against his chest, granite beneath her fingertips.

  “My apologies, Lady Marisa. You should look where you are going.”

  She’d known His Grace since childhood, and still he referred to her as Lady Marisa, always so formal. She disliked the deep voice void of any emotion, but it still sent shivers down her spine. Why, after her improper thoughts, did it have to be Maitland, of all men? Anger spiked at the implication she was at fault.

  She looked up into features too cold to be thought handsome, yet there was something compelling about him. She studied the strands of dark copper hair cut slightly longer than acceptable—the man did not conform to any of society’s dictates. The hint of silver at his temples added to his air of remoteness, not making him look old, merely distinguished. She knew he was the same age as her brother, thirty. He was not smiling. His face in its severity was a conundrum of hard cheekbones and strong jaw, yet his eyes were almost feminine, with long, dark eyelashes highlighting eyes the color of newly cultivated grass after the snow melts. She almost lost herself in their glare.

  Suddenly conscious of her hands still resting upon his chest, she pulled back as if burned.

  His mouth tightened into a thin line, but his bottom lip hinted at a devastating smile that could change his demeanor if only he had an ounce of fun and flirtation in him. She wondered if he ever smiled. In all the years he’d been coming to see her brother, she’d never seen any joy in his features. There were certainly no “laughter lines” around his eyes.

  “Your Grace, always a pleasure.” Marisa smiled sweetly at him while wanting to kick him in the shins. “Perhaps you shouldn’t sneak up on a lady if you don’t wish to have her fall into your arms.”

  He looked at her thoughtfully, as if assessing her person. She ran a hand over her hair, checking to see if anything was out of place. He continued to gaze down at her with a peculiar look upon his face. “If a woman is as beautiful as you, I don’t mind her falling into my arms.”

  Marisa only just stopped her mouth from gaping open. Never had Maitland ever openly flirted with her; the other Libertine Scholars, her brother’s friends, of course had playfully bantered with her, but never Maitland. They were all exceedingly handsome men, and all that attention could go to a girl’s head.

  Maitland Spencer, the Duke of Lyttleton, had always simply been her older brother’s somewhat handsome yet standoffish friend. He’d never shown an ounce of interest in her, or her in him. She looked him over. “Are you ill?”

  Perfectly arched eyebrows lowered into a frown. “I’m very well, and you?”

  “I’m stunned, actually. You’re flirting with me.”

  “I wasn’t flirting. I was merely stating a fact.”

  Of course he was. Literal was his middle name. “Then perhaps you can unhand me, sir,” she said, looking pointedly at his large hands still firmly holding her waist, “unless you do have intentions of flirting with me.”

  To her dismay, he did not take his hands from her; instead, they tightened and pulled her close, and he gently moved her into an alcove, away from prying eyes.

  “What if I decided I did want to flirt with you? Perhaps even declare my suit? Don’t look surprised, you are one of the most sought-after debutantes this season.”

  “Has Sebastian put you up to this? There is no need for him to pester me. I know who I will marry, I’m simply waiting for him to ask.”

  Maitland’s eyes roamed her face, stopping at her lips. “A beauty such as you should not have to wait. I would decline him on principle. What would you do if I got down on bended knee here and now?”

  Heat flared over her skin. Flustered, she didn’t know how to reply. What had come over His Grace tonight?

  “I suspect I would think you in your cups, Your Grace. In all the years I have known you, you’ve never looked at me twice.”

  He pressed closer. “That’s not true, little one. It would have been inappropriate for me to notice you until I knew my mind. I find that tonight I know exactly what I want.”

  His eyes flared with something she’d swear was heat. Perhaps their dance earlier had affected him as much as it had affected her.

  “I’m not for the wanting, so you can stop this silly flirtation.”

  “I have no need to flirt, little one. When I want a woman she is left in no doubt as to my intentions.” His mouth trailed up her neck until he reached her ear. He softly added, “And they rarely deny me.”

  This wasn’t the Maitland she knew and usually ignored. Normally they traded—actually nothing—he was not one to engage in banter, nor tender touches and breathless entreaties. However, this Maitland, this man who held her captive with his presence, was all fire and ice and had her undivided attention.

  His seductive words, coupled with the hard body she found herself pressed against, twisted something in her stomach. Her body heated and her p
ulse raced like a feather tossed by a hurricane. She licked her lips. For one crazy second she wanted to press closer, wanted those velvet lips on hers.

  Then sanity returned. She hated how he referred to her as “little one.” He’d called her that since her fifteenth birthday. She’d grown tall, taller than most men. She hated her height, and that was why Rutherford was so perfect: He was taller by several inches. She noted His Grace was taller still. Why did that thought enter her head?

  Goodness, if Rutherford found her like this, if anyone found her like this . . .

  “Maitland”—she must be flustered; she never referred to His Grace by his first name—“Maitland,” she repeated more firmly, “stop this game at once. You are toying with me and I won’t have it. What would Sebastian think?”

  He drew back and she looked into his eyes, and another shiver passed over her at what she saw there. Heat and fire flared, nothing like the iceberg she thought him to be.

  “That’s what I am trying to tell you. I’m not toying.” He stroked the upper swell of her breasts with his finger and she gasped. “You are very beautiful. You are a woman fit to become my duchess.”

  She slapped his hand away while her body betrayed her—her nipples hardened against the silk of her chemise. His touch ignited a yearning she knew well. A yearning she normally associated with Rutherford. What was wrong with her? Why was the stuffy Maitland having this effect on her tonight, of all nights? “I cannot believe you just did that. My brother would skin alive any man who touched me so inappropriately.” She leaned forward to smell his breath. “If I didn’t know better, as I said before, I’d say you were in your cups, yet I cannot smell any liquor on your breath.”

  One of his long, elegant fingers touched her peaked nipple through her dress. “The woman does protest too much. Your body recognizes how it could be between us.” He pressed her against the pillar at her back. One hand stroked down her neck while the other continued to hold her waist. “Have you ever been kissed to the point you lose all sense of right and wrong and you can barely stand?”

  What a question! Rutherford had kissed her, but she suspected his kisses were tame in comparison to what Maitland was suggesting. Her knees had never buckled from Rutherford’s kisses. He respected her too much to push for more, unfortunately.

  “Of course I have been kissed,” she brazened.

  He leaned his inviting lips so close they were almost upon hers. “Liar.”

  “I do not lie. If I were a man I’d call you out.”

  “But you’re not a man, Marisa. You are very much a woman.”

  With that he ran the tip of his tongue over her bottom lip. She drew in a deep breath, surprised at her body’s sudden, feminine reaction to his words. Her stomach clenched into a tight, silken fist. Never before had the sound of her name from Maitland’s lips evoked such overwhelming sensations. Her body hummed with desire. Maybe it was just the way his voice seemed to caress, deepening to a low, dark pitch that was almost dangerous. Maybe it was the sudden glint of need she caught in his eyes that made her wonder how a man with obvious fire in his soul could let the world think he was cold and aloof. How had this powerful man’s upbringing shaped his life, and why did she suddenly care?

  It was as if a strong ocean tide was pulling at her—she knew she wanted to swim, but she was scared she’d drown in the undertow.

  Her mistake was to look into his clear green eyes, for they trapped her with pure heat. Unable to resist, she leaned in and her tongue slipped out to touch his. At the small sigh that unintentionally escaped from her, the normally cool and contained duke disappeared, and with a groan so filled with longing he pulled her deep into an embrace and his lips firmly but gently took hers in a kiss that was—oh, goodness—so much more than anything she’d ever experienced in her life. It thrilled and frightened her. Frightened her because she was consumed with want and need and hunger . . . and this was Maitland Spencer, the Cold Duke.

  “Open, little one,” he commanded in a voice laden with desire, and she did. His tongue swept into her mouth and each relentless stroke was like heaven. She’d never tasted a man before. He tasted of brandy and cheroots, everything addictive to a woman who craved more.

  His hands were wrapped tightly in her hair, holding her head exactly right for his invasion. His body pressed her back against the pillar, and she welcomed the cold marble to combat the heat he generated. She felt something hard and long pressing against her stomach; she knew she should be appalled, but his mouth was creating such amazing sensations that she simply pressed closer, wrapping her arms around his neck and whimpering for more.

  He gave her more. His tongue thrust deep into her mouth in a dance that demanded she follow. She dueled for dominance, her tongue entering his mouth like a queen at the head of her army. He welcomed the invasion, and another groan echoed deep in his throat as he ground his hardness against her.

  This was heaven. She never wanted the kiss to end, and, blast it all to Hades, he was right, for when his clever fingers found her hardened nipple, her knees gave out and she sagged in his arms.

  Only then did he break the kiss. There was no gloating in his gaze or upon his features, merely heat, want, and need, surely matching her own.

  Purchase A Whisper of Desire for iBooks

  § § §

  About Bronwen

  USA Today bestselling author, Bronwen Evans grew up loving books. She writes both historical and contemporary sexy romances for the modern woman who likes intelligent, spirited heroines, and compassionate alpha heroes. Evans is a three-time winner of the RomCon Readers’ Crown and has been nominated for an RT Reviewers’ Choice Award. She lives in Hawkes Bay, New Zealand with her dogs Brandy and Duke.

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  Jessie Walsh is desperate…

  A bad marriage has left her in ruins and running for her life. She answers an ad for a Texas cook and nanny. Donning a disguise to hide her identity, Jessie can only pray that she has run far enough. 

  Jake Tate doesn’t need another problem… 

  He has his hands full with a daughter, a ranch, cowboys, Indians and cattle. But the longer Jessie stays, the more intrigued he becomes. What is this tough woman hiding underneath her large coat and square spectacles? 

  As passion ignites between them, the real question becomes, how long do they have until Jessie’s past threatens to destroy their future?

  Midnight Magic

  by Tammy Andresen

  The magic of the first kiss

  Later that evening, Jessie floated in the river her mind desperately seeking the right choice. Her mouth ached to let her secrets tumble from them but her brain held it closed. Jake cared for her but she was certain that he would not once he knew the truth about her past.

  She should run. It would keep everyone safe. But for the first time, another choice presented itself. She could fight. She could help Ed Tate put her father-in-law in jail. She had already passed some information to Jake’s brother. There was so much more she could share that would be the key to her freedom.

  How could she possibly explain all of this to Jake? It would ruin their blossoming feelings. But so would running. She sighed to herself.

  At least if she ran he wouldn’t know the truth.

  A rustle nearby caught her attention and she dipped lower in the water suddenly alert. A shadowy figure caught her attention and she held her breath, trying to be unseen. She thanked the waning moon for not shedding very much light. She let the water carry her behind some rocks.

  "Jessie?" Jake's voice whispered nearby in the darkness.

  "What are you doing?" she hissed back. Heat immediately began to rise in her body but he couldn’t see her without her clothes. Her secret would be out. Not that he di
dn’t suspect already, but that was different from knowing. Thank goodness she was behind the rocks.

  She heard his deep chuckle and her body automatically responded to his baritone. She clenched her teeth and cursed herself.

  "I know you come out to swim and I needed to talk to you. I’d say it’s about time you let me know what’s going on." Jake's voice was not angry but it carried the air of authority that came naturally to him. It let her know he would not accept no for an answer. She heard clothes rustling but she focused on what she would say.

  She had her own tools of conversation, however, and she would not reveal more than she should. The sexual tension between them brought out the old Jessie who knew how to deal with a man.

  She smiled to herself. Apparently being naked in this conversation was an asset. She felt beautiful and she would use those feelings to her advantage. "I am sorry if I worried you." Her husky voice purred.

  She heard Jake's slight intake of breath and her smiled broadened. "I'm fine honestly." Her voice cajoled and simpered. "Thank you for concern. It's just…" An artful intake of breath let Jake know that she was about to confide in him. She could actually feel him moving closer.

  "It was a year ago that we found out my husband was ill and…" She stopped. Lying to Jake made her insides twist and she suddenly hated what she was doing. She never wanted to lie again. But the truth was just too hard.

  She hadn't realized how close Jake had gotten until his face was directly in front of hers, a large boulder was the only thing separating their bodies.

  "What was his name again?" Jake's voice did not hold the sympathy that is should have and a small frown creased her brow.

  "Edward." Her voice was level but she was sensing danger.

  "Yes. Edward Walsh." His lips moved closer as he leaned over the rock and he gently placed them on hers. It was a small light kiss but it sent shock waves through her body. He pulled away from her ever so slightly and then kissed her again with more pressure. Several times his lips touched her own, each time with more force until he slanted her mouth open and his tongue gently touched her own.