by Shayla Black
“That is where you have been?”
Nodding, Aric swept Gwenyth into his arms and pulled them both down to the cot.
Though laughing, she protested. “Aric, you must tell me what happened. He cannot be angry with you. You fought for him!”
“Indeed, he knows this and knows me to be a loyal subject as well.”
She sighed with relief. “My heart near stopped for thinking of you in the Tower, along with all the others he has branded traitor.”
“I feel fair certain we will have no more of that.”
“Good.” She nuzzled his neck with kisses—kisses that distracted him from his purpose.
“Gwenyth, Northwell?” he prompted, nearly choking on his growing desire to have her.
She feathered kisses along his cheek, toward his mouth. Aric swallowed a groan.
“What of it?”
“Naught…except ’tis ours again.”
“It is?” her voice held no more than passing interest.
“Aye, we can journey there today—”
“I am in no hurry, my lord, for I like the privacy here.”
With that, her mouth brushed softly against his own before settling over his lips for a kiss that heated his innards to a blaze.
“Privacy?” he whispered.
“Much of it,” she confirmed.
The idea held appeal for him as well. “We can wait a day or two.”
Her mouth formed an impish grin beneath his own. “Or a week or two.”
“My, you are a greedy wench,” he chided, laughing.
“Only where you are concerned, and only because I love you.”
The teasing left his face as he beheld his wife in his arms, her soft features open and welcoming. His heart expanded in his chest with happiness until he thought he might explode. Always he would remember this moment, just as he would always keep her by his side, no matter where politics led, no matter where they made their home.
“Gwenyth, my wife, I love you, too.”
He ended his whisper with a kiss that sealed their union in devotion and rapture, knowing she would forever be his lady bride.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Though we will never know for certain what exact sequence of events led to the tragic deaths of Edward V and his younger brother Richard, Duke of York, Alison Weir paints a vivid and terrible picture of the political intrigues and murders in her book The Princes in the Tower. I have borrowed Ms. Weir’s interpretation of the actions leading up to and directly following the disappearances and deaths of the two royal children. Sir Thomas More wrote some graphic accounts of the tragedy, almost entirely corroborated by physical evidence. It is from this account and others that Ms. Weir drew her theory. Any misunderstanding of these events is purely my own. My apologies to the Richard III Society, for I know you disagree with this analysis.
What we do know is the boys disappeared from public view during the late summer of 1483 and that the inhabitants of London surmised them dead by January of the next year. Although no hard evidence existed linking Richard III to the murders of his nephews, most of England believed him guilty. For this, he was an unpopular king.
The boys’ skeletons were finally recovered, buried in rocks and rubble at the base of a staircase within the Tower of London in 1674. At that time, King Charles II gave them a proper burial, befitting their station, in Westminster Abbey, where they can still be seen today.
King Richard fared no better. After his near-naked body was displayed at the friary in Leicester for two days, it was buried without ceremony. Today, the friary does not exist, thanks to Henry VIII and his dissolution of the monasteries in the 1530s. At that time, Richard’s grave was dug up and his body thrown out. According to local lore, his coffin found its way to a nearby manor, where it was used to build a horse trough and some cellar steps. Richard III was the only king since the Norman invasion of 1066 to have no burial place. In September 2012, Richard III’s body was found buried under a parking lot in the Grayfriar’s area of Leister. After some court battles, he was again buried at the cathedral in Leister in July 2014.
As for the battle that came to be known as Bosworth, history was not kind in preserving accurate information, and to this day, controversy stirs over the exact location and participants’ loyalties, including the Earl of Northumberland. In my telling, I blended several accounts and hope I have done such a momentous occasion justice.
Though no one knows the potential of England’s loss in the two princes who might have been king, the Tudor dynasty established England as the world’s supreme nation for some time. But England never stopped mourning the children cut down cruelly in youth.
I sincerely hope you enjoyed His Lady Bride.
HIS STOLEN BRIDE
Brothers in Arms, BOOK 2
By Shayla Black writing as Shelley Bradley
Coming August 18, 2014!
Click here to purchase.
Captives of Love…
Wrongly accused of murdering his father, Drake Thornton MacDougall wanted nothing more than to strike back at his guilty, duplicitous half-brother. So he made the fiend pay by abducting his bride-to-be. But as Drake carried his captive off to a windswept Scottish isle, he soon found that vengeance wasn’t the only thing on his mind. Lady Averyl Campbell proved herself no biddable maiden, but an alluring, strong-willed beauty who could tame his dark moods with her touch. When danger and treachery threatened to part them, Drake realized that only she could heal his tormented soul, for she had won his love.
NO PRINCE CHARMING
The Secrets of Stone, Book 1
By USA Today Bestseller Angel Payne and Victoria Blue
Available Now!
Click here to purchase.
Excerpt
Prologue
April
Claire
Oh my God.
The words sprinted through my head, over and over, as I prodded at my lips in assurance I wasn’t dreaming. Or hopping dimensions. Or remembering the last half hour in a really crazy way. Or had hours passed, instead? I didn’t know anymore. Time was suddenly contorted.
Oh. My. God.
What the hell had just happened?
Forget my lips. My whole mouth felt like I’d just had dental work done, tingling in all the places his lips had touched moments ago—which had been everywhere.
My mind raced, trying to match the erratic beat of my heart. “Christ,” I whispered. My voice shook like a damn teenager, so I repeated myself. Because that helped, right?
Wrong. So wrong.
It was all because of that man. That dictatorial, demanding…
Nerve-numbing, bone melting…
Man.
Who really knew how to deliver a kiss.
Hell. That kiss.
Okay, by this age, I’d been kissed before. I’d been everything before. But after what we’d just done, I’d be awake for long hours tonight. Long hours. Shaking with need…shivering with fear.
I pressed the call button for the elevator with trembling fingers. Turning back to face the door I’d just emerged from, I reconsidered pushing the buzzer next to it, instead. The black lacquer panel around the button was still smudged by the angry fingerprints I’d left when arriving here not more than thirty minutes ago¬—answering his damn summons.
Yeah. He’d “summoned” me. And like a breathless backstage groupie, I’d dropped everything and come. Why? He was my hemlock. He could be nothing else.
I was even more pissed now. At him. At me. At the thoughts that wouldn’t leave me alone now, all in answer to one tormenting question.
If Killian Stone kissed like that, what could he do to the rest of my body?
No. That kind of thinking was dangerous. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood up as if the air conditioner just kicked on at full power.
It had been a while since I’d been with a man. At least like…that.
Okay, it had been a long while.
For the last three years, career had come
before all else. After the disaster I simply called The Nick Years, Dad had fought hard to help rebuild my spirit, including the doors he finagled open for me. Wasting those opportunities in favor of relationships wasn’t an option. My focus had paid off, leading to a coveted position at Asher and Associates PR, where I’d quickly advanced to the elite field team for Andrea Asher herself. The six of us, including Andrea and her daughter, Margaux, were called corporate America’s “miracle cover stick.” We were brought in when the blemishes were too big and horrid for in-house PR specialists, hired on a project-by-project basis for our thoroughness and objectivity. That also meant the assignments were intense, ruthless, and very temporary.
The gig at Stone Global was exactly such a job. And things were going well. Better than well. People were cooperating. The press was moving on to new prey. The job was actually ahead of schedule, and thank God for it. Soon, I’d be back in my rightful place at the home office in San Diego and what just happened in Killian Stone’s penthouse would remain no more than a blip in my memory. A very secret blip.
I shook my head in defiance. What was wrong with having lived a little? At twenty-six, I was due for at least one heart-stopping kiss with a man who looked like dark sin, was built like a Navy SEAL, and kissed like a fantasy. Sweet God, what a fantasy.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I muttered. “You didn’t break any rules…technically. He consented. And you sure as hell consented. So you’re—”
Having an argument with yourself in the middle of a hallway in the Lincoln Park 2550 building, waiting on the world’s slowest damn elevator.
I leaned on the call button again.
While still trying to talk myself out of pouncing on Killian’s buzzer, too. Or perhaps back into it. If I could concoct an excuse to ring his doorbell before the elevator arrived…
No. This is dangerous, remember? He’s dangerous. You know all the sordid reasons why, his and yours.
Maybe I could just say I accidentally left my purse inside.
And that’ll fly…how? One glance down at my oversized Michael Kors clutch had me cursing the fashion trend gods, along with their penchant for large handbags.
I leaned against the wall, closing my eyes and hoping for a light bulb. I was bombarded with Killian’s smell, instead. Armani Code. The cologne was still strong in my head, its rich bergamot and lemon mingling with the spice of his shampoo and the scotch on his breath, like he’d scent-marked me through the intimacy of our skin…
My fingers roamed to my cheek, tracing the abrasion from where he’d rubbed me with his stubble. My head fell back from the impact of the recollection.
In an instant, my mind conjured an image of him again, standing in front of me. Commanding. Looming. Hot…and hard. I felt his breath on my face again as he yanked me close. The press of his wool pants against my legs. The metallic scrape of his cufflinks on the wood of his desk as he shoved everything away to make room for our bodies. Then the wild throb of my heart as he tangled his hands in my hair, lifted my face toward his, and…
Yes.
The memory was so vivid, so good. I used the flat of my palm on my face now, thinking I could save the magic if I covered it. Protecting it from the outside world. Our perfect, shared moment in the middle of all this chaos.
Whoa.
“Get a grip.” I dropped my hand along with the furious whisper. It was one kiss. Incredible, yes, but I guaranteed he wasn’t still thinking about it like this. Behind that majestic door, Killian Stone moved again in his world, already focused on the next of his hundred priorities, none of them bearing my name. And he expected me to get back to mine: cushioning his company from that big, bad outside world I’d just been brooding over. You’ve been hired to help clean up the Stone family’s mess, not add to it.
The elevator finally dinged.
At the same time, Killian’s condo door opened behind me.
I locked a smile on my face, trying to look like I had been patiently waiting for the elevator the entire time.
“Miss Montgomery?”
Not Killian. I didn’t know whether to curse or laugh.
“Yes?” I managed a Girl Scout-sweet reply.
A kind face was waiting when I turned around. The man wore such a warm expression, I was tempted to call him Fred. Not Alfred. Just Fred. The man was too handsome for a full “Alfred.”
Fred handed me a small ivory envelope, then stepped over into the elevator. He held the doors open while I got into the car with him. We rode in silence down to the lobby. I squirmed while Fred smiled as if it were Saturday in the park. Did he know what his boss had just done with me?
I winced toward the wall. Technically, Killian was my boss right now, too.
Mr. Stone. Mr. Stone. Mr. Stone.
He can never be “Killian” again.
The sooner you remember that, the better.
I was dying to open that little envelope, but carefully slipped it into my queen-size clutch for when I was alone again in the cab on my way back to the hotel.
“I’ll call the car ‘round for you.” Like his employer, Fred made it obvious the subject wasn’t up for debate, so I forced a smile and followed him across the gleaming lobby to the building’s front awning. In less than a minute, the black town car with the Stone Global logo on its doors appeared. I climbed in, all the while yearning for the anonymity of a city cab instead.
Chicago was a great city, but the traffic was insane, even as evening officially blended into nighttime. Nevertheless, Killian’s building was swiftly swallowed by the lush trees of the neighborhood. I was on my way back to the hotel. Back to real life—and all the dangers that waited if anyone on the team ever learned where I’d just been.
For just a few more seconds, I yearned to remember the fantasy, instead. Perhaps the treasure in my purse would help.
I pulled it out, running reverent fingers over it again. Nothing was written on the outside. Killian—Mr. Stone—had simply expected it would be delivered straight to me.
The elegant handwriting inside, dedicated to just one sentence, dried out my throat upon impact.
I must see you again.
He left no signature. No phone number. Not even an email address. But the strangest part about it all? I wasn’t surprised. He was Killian Jamison Stone. And he kissed like that. Things—and people—came to him, not the other way around.
But did I have the strength to be one of those people, knowing I’d never see him again after three months?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Shayla Black (aka Shelley Bradley) is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of over forty sizzling contemporary, erotic, paranormal, and historical romances produced via traditional, small press, independent, and audio publishing. She lives in Texas with her husband, munchkin, and one very spoiled cat. In her “free” time, she enjoys reality TV, reading and listening to an eclectic blend of music.
Shayla’s books have been translated in about a dozen languages. She has been nominated for career achievement in erotic romance by RT Bookclub, as well as twice nominated for Best Erotic Romance of the year. Additionally, she’s either won or been nominated for the Passionate Plume, the Holt Medallion, Colorado Romance Writers Award of Excellence, and the National Reader’s Choice Awards.
A writing risk-taker, Shayla enjoys tackling writing challenges with every new book.
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LINKS TO MY OTHER BOOKS
Click to purchase.
EROTIC ROMANCE
THE WICKED LOVERS
Wicked Ties
Decadent
Delicious
Surrender To Me
Belong To Me
“Wicked to Love” (e-novella)
Mine To Hold
“Wicked All The Way” (e-novella)
Ours To Love
Wicked and Dangerous
Forever Wicked
Theirs To Cherish
Coming Soon:
His to Take (March 2015)
SEXY CAPERS
Bound And Determined
Strip Search
“Arresting Desire” – Hot In Handcuffs Anthology
MASTERS OF MÉNAGE (by Shayla Black and Lexi Blake)
Their Virgin Captive
Their Virgin’s Secret
Their Virgin Concubine
Their Virgin Princess
Their Virgin Hostage
Their Virgin Secretary
Coming Soon:
Their Virgin Mistress (April 2015)
DOMS OF HER LIFE (by Shayla Black, Jenna Jacob, and Isabella LaPearl)
One Dom To Love
The Young And The Submissive
Coming Soon:
The Bold and The Dominant (Late 2014/early 2015)
STAND ALONE TITLES
Naughty Little Secret (Shayla Black writing as Shelley Bradley)
“Watch Me” – Sneak Peek Anthology (as Shelley Bradley)
Dangerous Boys And Their Toy
“Her Fantasy Men” – Four Play Anthology
PARANORMAL ROMANCE
THE DOOMSDAY BRETHREN
Tempt Me With Darkness