by Monica Burns
“Well enough.” He grinned and put one leg in his trousers, facing her in all his male glory.
“Pagan Northmen,” she scoffed under her breath. No concerns at all about modesty and flesh.
Nor did she like how in command he was…how utterly undisturbed at being naked and alone with her. Last night he’d wanted her yet chose not to act. He was gentle, thoughtful because of her lack of sleep and what happened on the cliff.
She strolled across the beach, sand crunching between her toes. It was pure feminine pride, but she wanted him to have his way with her…to ply her with those skills he lavished on high born ladies.
Why not her?
Brand calmly belted his trousers. He ought to be as agitated as her. She stopped a hands breadth from him, her clothes a barrier between them. Sun shined on his wet chest.
One finger swiped sand off his nipple. “You missed a spot.”
His skin pebbled everywhere. Air hissed through clenched teeth.
She gloated through the veil of her lashes and kept up her delicate assault. Brand’s chin dropped to his chest. His ribs expanded and contracted under her tender torture. She dropped her clothes and raked her nails in the furrows of his ribs. With both hands, she skimmed his midline to his navel.
He grabbed her hands. “Sestra.”
A storm brewed in Brand’s tarnished silver eyes. She loved the way he said her name, his voice hoarse and needy.
“This---” He glanced at her hands folded into his. “---right now isn’t a good idea.”
“You mean last night would’ve been better? Exhausted as we were in your hudfat, a sleeping fur that barely fits you,” she argued. “Only squirrels could’ve had fun.”
Brand laughed a deep rich sound. “Last night you thought differently.”
She nipped her bottom lip. “And this morning I have my regrets.”
“Then what I have is not lacking.”
“Nothing about you is lacking.”
His mouth turned in a sweet, crooked smile. Standing this close, her heart fluttered at the joy writ all over his face. Happiness came in short supply for Brand. How good it was to bask in this moment. Rugged yet perfect. Like him.
How could she have missed this? Thought him too hard?
He studied her face, her hair, his gaze wandering lower. He let go of her hands and traced her collarbone.
“You have dried blood here,” he said gruffly. “I should’ve taken better care of you.”
“It’s nothing. You vanquished three marauders and saved my life. Just another day for you.”
Brand ignored her quip and brushed back curls loosened from her braid. “What’s this?”
His thumb caressed the scar curving around her neck. Few ever noticed it. She didn’t pull away, a flummoxing thing since the mark embarrassed her.
“From days past in the land of the Franks.”
Daylight sparkled on droplets clinging to his shoulder. He smelled of water and earth, the effect warming her better than the sun.
“What happened?”
“I was required to wear an iron collar to keep me from running away.”
He scowled at the scar. “You never told me about this.”
She tried to smile, but his thumb stroked feather light touches, sending bursts of light and pleasure through her body. Head lolling sideways, she murmured, “Now you know there was a time I desperately wanted my freedom.”
“When you were a young girl.”
She nodded, her eyelids drifting low. This piece of her past, a truth she shared, freed her.
“I wanted to run away,” she admitted. “Now I want to be free and---”
Brand’s mouth was on her skin. Caring. Sensual. His lips caressed her scar, healing soul-deep damage. Hidden places on her body melted like hot wax. Lingering kisses grazed the slope of her shoulder, his mouth in no hurry to reach hers. Ticklish whiskers scraped the high curve of her breast, and she laughed the sound frothy as sea foam. Brand’s warm mouth traveled higher, his breath hot on her flesh. Her hand cupped the back of his head, drawing him close for a true first kiss.
Brand nibbled the corner of her mouth and she shuddered all the way to her toes.
“Ohhh.” Her knees buckled, but he caught her by the waist.
The surly Viking nibbled her as if she were a tasty morsel. Safe in his arms, her head tipped back and her body yielded to his strength.
Silver eyes flashed at her. If Brand was a beast of the forest, he’d drag her to his lair and never let her go. This must be a glimpse of the warrior who spent much time alone in wild lands. She wanted him. Badly.
She wrapped both arms around him and whispered, “Please. Kiss me.”
His lips molded to hers for one long, deep kiss, soft yet hard like the man. Her heart soared and her body rubbed his. Heat burst inside her. Their legs tangled. If the beach was beneath her feet, she couldn’t feel sand anymore.
She was free.
To Find a Viking Treasure will release in May but you
can purchase the first book in the series, Norse Jewel for iBooks
§ § §
About Gina
Gina Conkle writes Viking and Georgian romance. A staunch history nerd, she loves museums and castles --- the older and moldier the better. When not investigating ancient sites, she dabbles in gardening and exercise. Gina married her favorite alpha male, Brian. The two live with their boys in Michigan.
CONNECT with GINA
Website
Facebook
Twitter
Newsletter
Marlowe runs with the Covent Garden Cubs, a gang of thieves living in the slums of London's Seven Dials. But there was a time she went by a different name and when a private investigator thinks that she may be the missing daughter of a lord and lady, she is introduced to the spectacle of Society.
Maxwell, Lord Dane, is intrigued when his brother ropes him into his investigation of the fiercely beautiful hellion who is believed to be the lost daughter of the Marquess of Lydon. He teaches her how to navigate the social morass of the ton, but Marlowe will not escape the Cubs so easily. Instead, Max is drawn into her dangerous world, where the student becomes the teacher and love is the greatest risk of all.
Earls Just Want to Have Fun
by Shana Galen
The First Kiss
“I feel a bit warm,” she said, her voice husky and breathless. Dane wanted to groan aloud. He’d known dancing with her would be a mistake.
“Perhaps we should step outside.”
“Yes,” she said with a nod. He turned her until they were near the doors to the garden, and then he took her hand and led her through one of them. A footman nodded at them and offered a tray of champagne, but Dane waved it away. They stepped into the cool night air, and it felt refreshing against his heated skin.
She wore gloves, and he could not feel her flesh, but he could feel the way her hand trembled in his. She was as affected as he was by the dance. He should lead her back inside, perhaps give her another moment to catch her breath, but that was all. The lights from the ballroom lit the garden, with aid from several lanterns, and he could see she was struggling to catch her breath.
One minute more, and he would bring her back inside.
“Shall we walk?” he asked. No, that was not what he’d meant to say. He should take it back.
“More walking?” she asked.
“Yes, but this time we won’t speak of the weather.” They wouldn’t speak at all, and that was why he should take her back inside. He should play the gentleman. He knew the rules. A gentleman did not lead a lady into the darkness, where the couple could not be observed. A gentleman did not draw a lady against him. A gentleman did not steal kisses from someone to whom he was not betrothed.
But Dane could not stop himself. He didn’t understand it. He’d never had trouble resisting such temptations before. But with Marlowe, Dane suddenly felt so bloody sick of playing the gentleman. He paused in the darkness behind
a hedge and turned to face her. In the shadows, he could see little of her, save the white of her gloves. He took a step toward her, pulling her into his arms. She didn’t resist. He wished she would. He wished someone would stop him, because he feared once he took this step, he would never be able to go back. Once he kissed her, he would never be able to resist doing so again.
But she went willingly into his arms, her body soft and supple against his. She was so delightfully warm, so petite, so lush. He wanted to ravish her and protect her all at the same time. The rush of sensations was enough to make him curse. Instead, he bent his head and did the one thing he knew would shut out everything else.
He kissed her.
The moment his lips brushed hers, everything inside him came alive. It was as though he’d been wearing a heavy cloak, one that weighed him down and muted all sensation. Now he’d shrugged it off, and he could feel again. He was so damn light that he could have run for miles and not tired. He brushed his lips against hers again, feeling the frisson course through his entire body. He was suddenly too warm and yet not warm enough. Had he ever been warm before? Nothing could compare to the heat he felt with her body pressed against his. His hand flexed on her back, and he wished he’d taken off his gloves so he could trace her skin with his bare fingers.
Marlowe’s hands, which had been at her side, moved now. She brought them to his chest and rested them there. He half-expected her to push him back, but she didn’t. She didn’t kiss him back, either. She simply stood, seemingly undecided. Dane wanted to crush his mouth to hers, to sate the need building every time his flesh brushed against hers. But he couldn’t forget he was a gentleman, and she—whether she was Lady Elizabeth or not—deserved his respect.
“I apologize,” he said, releasing her. “I overstepped.” She didn’t remove her hands from his coat, and he tried to discern her expression in the darkness, but her head was lowered, and he couldn’t see. “Allow me to escort you back inside. I assure you this won’t happen again.”
Now she looked up at him, and he saw the flush of her cheeks and the way her breathing was uneven and fast. “Why?”
“I beg your pardon.”
She shook her head, probably annoyed at his politeness. “Why won’t it happen again?”
“I…because I overstepped.”
She shook her head. “I don’t understand. You don’t want to kiss me?”
He stared at her. Hell, but he wanted much more than that. “I do want to kiss you.”
“Then why apologize?”
“Because this”—he indicated the dark, deserted section of the garden—“is not appropriate. I’m a gentleman and should respect—”
She slid her hand up his chest, resting her finger on his lips, effectively silencing him. “I’ve never had much use for gentlemen.” She stepped closer, so her body was flush with his again. “All of this talk—overstepped and pardon and appropriate—means nothing to me. Kiss me again.”
Now it was Dane’s turn to question. “Why?”
“Because I finally understand what Gideon meant about sparks. Kiss me.”
Who was he to deny a direct request? Her arms wrapped around his neck, and he lowered his lips, pressing them against hers. She let out a soft sigh, and he closed his arms around her body, feeling it tremble against his. He needed to take this slowly, so as not to frighten her. He had no idea what sort of experience she had—if any. His own was not extensive, but the women he’d known had never trembled in his arms. Could she be an innocent? He supposed chastity was not reserved for the upper classes. He moved his lips against hers gently, carefully, resisting the urge to delve inside and taste her.
Her fingers threaded into his hair, and she pulled him down. Dane lifted his head. “Marlowe—”
“Kiss me,” she said, her voice low and ragged.
“I don’t want to frighten you.”
“With that? I wouldn’t even call that a kiss, much less a frightening one.”
Dane raised his brows. “Is that a challenge?”
“Too much of a gentleman to take it?”
Dane pulled off his gloves. “You tell me.” Throwing restraint and his gloves to the ground, Dane yanked her against him and claimed her lips with his. This time he didn’t wait for her to accustom herself to his touch, he teased her lips open with his tongue and entered her. She let out a small gasp, but he didn’t retreat. His hand slid up her back, and there was that silky skin he’d been longing to touch. He spread his hand over the cool skin of her back, tracing it until he reached the nape of her neck. He closed his fingers protectively around her, angling her head for better access. His tongue tangled with hers as his mouth slanted over hers. She tasted of champagne, and when she tentatively stroked her tongue along his, he almost lost all control. His hand fisted in her hair, and he deepened the kiss until he was drowning in her.
Every fiber of his body was alive. He could feel the soft thickness of her hair on his fingers, the smooth satin of her gown, the whisper of the night breeze, and hear the low strains of the orchestra inside the ball. And he could feel her breaths coming short and ragged, and his own matched hers. If he allowed this to continue, he’d lose his last ounce of control, lay her down, and take her right there. Instead, he drew back, keeping one hand about her waist to steady her. He drew in a labored breath.
“That was a kiss,” she said, her voice breathy. “Do it again.”
Purchase Earls Just Want To Have Fun for iBooks
§ § §
About Shana
Shana Galen is the bestselling author of passionate and adventurous historical romances, including the RT Reviewers' Choice The Making of a Gentleman. Kirkus says of her books, "The road to happily-ever-after is intense, conflicted, suspenseful and fun," and RT Bookreviews calls her books “lighthearted yet poignant, humorous yet touching." She taught English at the middle and high school level off and on for eleven years. Most of those years were spent working in Houston's inner city. Now she writes full time. She's happily married and has a daughter who is most definitely a romance heroine in the making.
CONNECT with SHANA
Website
Facebook
Twitter
Pinterest
Goodreads
Blog
At sixteen, Alasdair Gilbride, heir to a Scottish earldom, fled the Highlands and an arranged betrothal. Ten years later, Alasdair must travel home to face his responsibilities. It’s a task that would be much easier without the distracting presence of the most enticing woman he’s ever met…
After one escapade too many, Eden Whitney has been snubbed by the ton. The solution: rusticating in the Scottish wilderness, miles from all temptation. Except, of course, for brawny, charming Alasdair. The man is so exasperating she’d likely kill him before they reach the border—if someone else weren’t trying to do just that. Now Eden and Alasdair are plunging into a scandalous affair with his life and her reputation at stake—and their hearts already irreparably lost…
How to Marry a Royal Highlander
by Vanessa Kelly
The First Kiss
He sighed. “I’m sorry, Edie. I didn’t think you’d mind engaging in a mild flirtation with me. After all, you have legions of suitors in London, and you never seemed to mind keeping all of them dangling after you.”
She stared up at him. “You did not just say that.”
“Why? What did I say?” he asked, looking puzzled.
She had to bite back an oath. God save her from thick-headed Scotsmen. “You just accused me of being a flirt.”
He looked startled. “No, I didn’t. I implied that you like to flirt. There’s a difference, you know.”
She eyed him in disbelief. “I suppose I should ask you to explain that difference, but you would just confuse us both. What I really want to know is why you were flirting with me in the first place, and doing it in such an outrageous fashion in front of your entire family and your betrothed. And,” she said, starting to get wou
nd up again, “did you really think I was going to flirt back with you in those circumstances?”
He winced slightly. “I suppose I hadn’t really thought that far ahead.”
She shook her head in disgust. “And you call yourself a spy. I can only imagine the fixes you got yourself into if last night is any indication of your talents.”
“I never had to deal with a fiancée on any of my missions,” he said. “Only Frenchmen trying to kill me.”
“I suspect that almost everyone at the table wanted to kill you last night.” Edie paused, remembering the different reactions she’d seen. “Except for Miss Haddon. She didn’t seem to mind at all.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, waiting quietly while she thought it through. And piece by piece it was finally becoming clear. “Oh, good God,” Edie exclaimed. “You’re trying to make her angry enough to break off your engagement, is that it?”
He smiled at her, as if she’d just done something splendid. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to spell it out for you. It is rather an awkward situation, you must admit.”
“Awkward, indelicate, and insanely stupid,” she said, coming to her feet.
Edie was so furious she could barely see straight. She was tempted to box his ears, but she’d probably damage her hand on his thick skull. She settled for jabbing her finger at his chest instead.
“How dare you manipulate me like that?” she raged. “And how dare you treat your fiancée in so shabby a fashion? What in God’s name must she think of me? Of all the stupid . . .”
She tried to push past him, blinking her eyes against a sudden rush of tears. After everything she’d gone through, this was the final humiliation. And the fact that it had come from him, the only man for whom she’d ever developed real feelings, made her want to hide in the nearest dark corner.
He stepped in front of her. She tried to slip past him, but he was just too blasted big. Clenching her teeth, she refused to look at him as she tried to will away the tears.
“Edie, let me explain,” he said. “I swear it’s not as bad as it sounds.”
His hands came up to her shoulders. Then one slipped behind, gently cradling her neck. The other moved to her chin, nudging it up and forcing her to look at him. His handsome face, looking as unhappy as she felt, swam at the edges, blurred by tears.