by Monica Burns
She heard herself moan unable to control her reaction. Her arms, which had been resting on the rock between them, snaked around his neck.
One of his hands held her face as he kissed her fully and deeply and she felt an intense longing beginning to build. She found herself scooting around the rock to press her body to his.
He ended the kiss before she got there and his hands clasped hers behind his head. The hold kept her from pulling away. Their faces were only an inch apart. "Why were you really jumpy today? Why did Stew leave?"
Jessie blinked several times before she could think but a small smile touched her lips. He was good. She had better give him some version of the truth.
"I told you I am estranged from my father-in-law. I am afraid he is trying to find Liz and Stew went to check if I am being followed."
"That still does not explain your jumpiness. Has he given you some signal that he is following you?" Jessie tried to pull away to get some distance but his hands held tight. He was too good at this. She was losing. Suddenly being naked was making her feel vulnerable instead of powerful.
It was not a sensation she liked. She had played this game many times before only she was always on the other side. She used attraction for manipulation. She pulled away from him again, harder this time. She had to clear her head.
He sensed her move and used her momentum away from the rock, to swing her around the boulder and through the water.
Damn. She thought to herself until their bodies touched. He had taken off his clothes too. Then all thought left her head as he kissed her again. His chest was bare and his skin felt absolutely delicious against her own. He was warm and his muscles were rock hard. She fit against him perfectly. She rubbed her body against his and a shutter travelled through his body. A deep growl escaped his lips.
Jessie smiled under his lips. She wasn't the only one feeling the attraction.
"It has been a long time and I am not inclined to be terribly patient. Why don't you just tell me what is going on with you so we can move on with our relationship." As he said this he trailed kisses down her neck until he reached her breasts.
A groan ripped from Jessie's mouth. "Please understand. I have never felt like this before, if I could tell anyone it would be you but…"
"But what?" He kissed her chest again. She wanted to burst from the pleasure of it.
He put his hands around her waist and murmured. "So tiny."
Her eyes popped open and she pushed away from him. The last of her disguise had fallen away and she suddenly felt very vulnerable.
He reached to pull her back and caught her arms. "I have known for a while that you were hiding under that coat, but I had no idea that you were this tiny." Jake chuckled. "You were smart to keep it secret."
He pulled her closer and then linked his hands around her back. "I haven't forgotten that I came out here to talk…" He stopped his hands running up and down the many scars that crisscrossed her back. "Jesus Christ Jessie! What the hell happened to your back?"
Even in the dark she looked away. Shame rose like bile in her throat. "It’s not something I like to talk about. It is too…" She paused for the right word when a scream ripped through the night air.
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About Tammy
Tammy Andresen lives with her husband and three children just outside of Boston, Massachusetts. She grew up on the Seacoast of Maine, where she spent countless days dreaming up stories in blueberry fields and among the scrub pines that line the coast. Her mother loved to spin a yarn and Tammy filled many hours listening to her mother retell the classics. It was inevitable that at the age of 18, she headed off to Simmons College, where she studied English literature and education. She never left Massachusetts but some of her heart still resides in Maine and her family visits often.
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WARNING: A dark, seductive sheikh with a tortured past fights to control his obsession for a woman who offers him a wager he refuses to lose. What happens between them is...KISMET
Raised in a brothel at a young age, Allegra Synnford quickly learned that survival meant taking charge of her destiny. Now, a renowned courtesan skilled in the pleasures of the flesh, she chooses her lovers carefully—vowing never to be vulnerable to any one man. Until a mesmerizing Sheikh strips that control from her…
Sheikh Shaheen of the Amazigh has been hiding from his past for a long time, but not enough to forget how another courtesan he wanted as his bride made him abandon his life as the Viscount Newcastle. It’s why the yearnings this dangerous temptress ignites within him are so troubling. Worse, thoughts of Allegra pervade his every fantasy, threatening to undermine his cover. With old enemies circling, experience tells him he must resist her charms at all cost. In fact, he’s betting on controlling his obsession for Allegra. It's a risky wager when it comes to a woman of pleasure. But Allegra has her own reasons for playing games…with a man who can’t afford to lose.
Kismet
by Monica Burns
The First Kiss
With the grace of one of the Sultan’s dancers, she put several feet between them before facing him again. The moonlight draped its softness over her entire body and he was certain the move was a calculated one. Somehow she knew the pale light would only heighten the sensuality of her figure. Silently, he watched her fingers brush across the side of her neck in a slow stroke. It was the same type of caress his own hand itched to perform.
Lips parted in a small, knowing smile, she closed her eyes and allowed her hand to fondle her skin in a light caress. Mesmerized, he watched her continue the stroke downward to the base of her throat and beyond until two fingers slid into the valley between her full breasts. With a leisurely stroke, she caressed the darkened slit in an up and down movement that had his body howling for release. He dragged in air between his clenched teeth in a soft hiss, and she opened her eyes at the sound.
Across the small space between them, she met his gaze with a sultry smile and his heartbeat thundered in his ears. Eyes gleaming with confidence, the tip of her tongue slid out to lick her upper lip in a quick stroke, leaving it glistening in the moonlight. It wasn’t just an invitation; it was a goddamned command performance. White-hot need lashed through him and he swallowed hard. For the first time, he understood completely why her name was uttered with such fascination by other men.
Her skill at seduction was extraordinary. But she wasn’t dealing with a weak-willed Englishman she could manipulate to her own ends. He wasn’t one of her infatuated admirers she could control. The dramatic presentation she’d just shown him illustrated that she fully expected him to fall in line like every other man she’d ever been with. But for the first time, Allegra Synnford had met her match. With a nonchalance he didn’t feel, he clasped his hands behind his back and arched an eyebrow at her.
“An exceptional performance, chérie. I confess it’s quite possible I’ll be receiving the better end of the bargain.”
In a split second, her expression went flat and lifeless, but the way she held herself rigid revealed her anger. “For anything even resembling that performance, monsieur, you would need to give me your horse, not his seed, and I confess I no longer have interest in either.”
She whirled around and stalked toward the doorway leading back into the drawing room. Despite his surprise, his quick reflexes allowed him to reach her in two strides. His arm snaked around her waist and he dragged her backward into the shadows with him.
“Let me go,” she snapped with hushed fury.
“And if I gave you the horse, chérie?” He couldn’t believe he’d just offered her Abyad for a single night in her bed. He had to be mad to offer her such a proposal even if his entire body ached for a physical release. That she could stir his desire so easily infuriated him. Well, he was damned if he’d let the te
mpting witch get the best of him.
“I believe I made myself perfectly clear that I have no intention of conducting any business with you, monsieur.” She struggled against his hold, and he deftly twisted her around to face him, while holding her tight against his chest.
“Surely, you’re not afraid, Allegra.”
“Of you? Not at all,” she responded with a vehement shake of her head and glared up at him.
“You should be, ma belle.”
“And why is that, monsieur?” The sneer in her voice almost covered her trepidation, but not quite.
“Because I’m not like your other lovers,” he murmured. As her gaze locked with his, he smiled. “I’m the one man you won’t be able to control.”
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His words and the dark emotion glittering in his intense brown gaze sent fire streaking though every inch of her body. From the first moment she’d heard the seductive familiarity of his voice echoing out of the shadows she’d known exactly who he was. At the railway station, he’d been dark and dangerous, but tonight—tonight he epitomized everything male she knew to avoid.
Pinned against his chest, it was impossible not to breathe in the warm spicy scent of him. The effect he’d had on her senses earlier today was nothing compared to what she was experiencing now. Wickedly handsome in a barbaric fashion, the sheer power of his presence sent her blood flowing hot and fast through her veins.
Black, wavy hair brushed against his shoulders at a length that was almost heathenish, but she found herself wanting to lace her fingers through the silky-looking curls. The headdress he’d worn earlier in the day had hidden his strong, narrow nose and the way it emphasized the fullness of his mouth. His high forehead ended in a widow’s peak, and a thin scar crested across the browned skin of his cheek in a vivid white line. The mark gave him a rakish air that she found far too tantalizing for her own good.
He was right.
She should be afraid of him.
This man wouldn’t be satisfied until she was in his bed. And it didn’t help matters that she was sorely tempted to give in to his demand without her usual forethought. That was something she never did. She swallowed hard. She could always cry for help, but she was too stubborn to let any man get the better of her. No, she would find some other way out of the situation.
“I’m afraid, monsieur, that it’s you who doesn’t understand the rules of this game. I pick my lovers, and I never enter into a liaison on such short acquaintance.”
“And I never take no for an answer,” he murmured.
She struggled to suppress a tremor. God, but the man had a wicked voice. She immediately clenched her teeth. It irritated her that she couldn’t control her reaction to him. Over the years, there had been many men who had arrogantly declared they intended to become her lover, and they’d all failed. But this man’s confidence unnerved her. She believed him when he said he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
The worst of it was she knew a liaison with him could have devastating consequences. Just the way her body responded to his told her it would not be a simple dalliance. He would bend her to his will, and not since Arthur had rescued her from Madame Eugenie’s had she allowed any man to do that.
“It would seem we are at an impasse,” she said, trying desperately to keep her voice steady.
“Are we? Then one of us must yield.”
Something about the determined glint in his eye kindled a firestorm of panic inside her. He narrowed his gaze at her, his mouth curved in a seductive smile. As his hand captured her chin, her trepidation vanished in a wave of heat and she barely suppressed her whimper of desire when his thumb stroked her lower lip. Dear God, what was wrong with her? She needed to end this madness now, before she really did surrender to him
“I shall be happy to have you yield to me, monsieur,” she said in a breathless rush.
“Doing so is not in my nature. But for a kiss I might be persuaded otherwise.” The amusement in his voice made her stiffen.
“A ki—you arrogant beast. I have no intention of—”
The scents of cedar and anise drifted across her senses just before his mouth silenced her. The outrage holding her rigid evaporated in an instant, replaced by a sharply pitched desire.
Up until this moment, pleasure had been a simple, uncomplicated experience for her. But this was something altogether foreign. It was raw. Primitive. Completely out of control.
His tongue laced across her lip until she willingly parted her mouth for him. He tasted hot and savage, just like the desert. She’d always enjoyed kissing, but this was a hedonistic assault. He didn’t take—he cajoled.
Every stroke of his tongue was a dance of seduction that heightened each of her senses until what little control she had left spiraled away into oblivion. A rush of heat made the insides of her thighs slick, and she gasped as his mouth skimmed across her jaw and down the side of her neck.
His touch demonstrated just how precarious her position was where he was concerned. For the first time in memory, she wasn’t the one doing the seducing, and it made her feel powerless. The realization set off alarm bells in her head and she wrenched herself free of his embrace.
The harsh sound of her breathing echoed loudly in her ears as she stared up at his features, visible in the light spilling out from the palace drawing room. He appeared completely unaffected by the kiss. Not even a hint of desire darkened his expression. Horrified, she pressed her hand to the base of her throat. She was always the one who seduced. The one in control. Men succumbed to her not the other way around. She flinched at the small smile slowly curving his mouth.
“It would seem we have resolved the question of who will yield,” he murmured.
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About Monica
Monica Burns is a bestselling author of spicy historical and paranormal romance. She penned her first romance at the age of nine when she selected the pseudonym she uses today. Her historical book awards include the 2011 RT BookReviews Reviewers Choice Award and the 2012 Gayle Wilson Heart of Excellence Award for Pleasure Me.
She is also the recipient of the prestigious paranormal romance award, the 2011 PRISM Best of the Best award for Assassin’s Heart. From the days when she hid her stories from her sisters to her first completed full-length manuscript, she always believed in her dream despite rejections and setbacks. A workaholic wife and mother, Monica is a survivor who believes every hero and heroine deserves a HEA (Happily Ever After), especially if she’s writing the story.
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A thrall since birth…
Sestra’s lived by her wits, but she wants security, the kind found with a strong lord who leaves her alone. Uppsala’s in turmoil and a buried treasure means life or death for many. The red haired slave unwittingly holds the key, and for the first time she hears whispers of freedom.
A rough-hewn Viking…
Brand wants to sail away. His plans don’t include saving anyone, especially the lushly curved, sharp-tongued thrall. Yet, he vows to protect Sestra and recover the stolen hoard. The two have always traded barbs; now they must share trust.
On the hunt, secrets come to light, unearthing riches brighter than gold.
To Find a Viking Treasure
by Gina Conkle
The First Kiss
She scrambled out of the shelter and spun around, her gaze darting everywhere. Trees encroached. The forest floor chilled her feet. Brand’s clothes were gone, but hers hung from the same low branch he’d put them on last night.
Shivering, she yanked on her underdress and snatched h
er tunic to her chest. Her boots, the small knife, she bent to grab them, when her ear caught a sound.
Whistling. From the beach.
Tunic and boots clasped to her bosom, her bare feet trod a careful path toward the music. When she came to the edge of the grass, her heart lurched.
A perfect male form rose from the water.
Jaw dropping, she inhaled sharply. Brand. He hadn’t deserted her. He stood waist deep in the channel, his big hands rubbing sand everywhere.
She ducked behind a tree and breathed a prayer. “Bless the Vikings for their need of cleanliness.”
Sand made a natural cleanser for tables and cooking pots. Why not enticing male?
She could go back to the shelter. Wait for him. But water splashed, and his whistling drew her like a lodestone for another peek. This time Brand rinsed himself. Morning light glinted on water beads meandering down his body. She’d linger too, if she were a droplet.
Ink black hair sprinkled his chest. A natural crease split his torso down the middle, separating muscle born of hard labor. She followed the crease to its end in water and pressed full, sensitive breasts into the tree. This wasn’t fair.
Brand faced the shore, revealing a nasty, apple-sized bruise on his waist. She covered her mouth. Yesterday. The other Viking’s hammer had struck him. Brand had protected her. She searched him from her hiding place behind the tree. Plenty of scars marked his body, tell-tale signs of his brutal, warrior’s life. A big white scar slashed his ribs. Another one snaked over his shoulder.
He dunked in the channel and emerged again, wiping water from his eyes. Hair slicked back, he waded toward the beach. Water swirled around him. Carved hips gave way to long, sinuous thighs, and between his legs, black hair and his---
“Morning, Sestra,” he drawled.
Heat crept up her neck and face. He caught her staring.
Brand pulled his trousers off a rock, his ever-present weapons gleaming in the sand. “Slept well?”
“Very well. And you?” Skin tingling she came out from behind the tree.