I shrug.
“Well I was plannin’ on sellin’ you some mighty fine horses today,” I offer, shuffling my feet beneath me.
Stan sighs.
“How I wish you had shown up a coupla hours ago,” he laments with an uneasy shrug. “As it stands, though, I just agreed to buy my latest parcel of horses from good ol’ Michael here.”
Michael snorts, waving away his buyer’s words with a broad dismissive wave.
“That’s no reason for these nice young folks to hurry off, though,” he reasons, his eyes suddenly glued to Elizabeth’s face. “I’d very much like to get to know this lovely young lady.”
My eyes fly wide as Liz meets these words with a wide, charming smile.
“Why I’d love to get to know you as well, and learn all about those marvelous mounts of yours,” she purrs, tone coquettish as she steps forward to take Michael’s arm. “Why don’t we join Stan here is in his sittin’ room for a nice lil drink?”
I freeze, less than thrilled to hear this suggestion pass the lips of my lovely lady fair.
“So I’m not invited, then?” I ask, tone indignant.
Sending a meaningful look over her shoulder, Elizabeth places her free hand on Stan’s sturdy shoulder and all but shoves both of her besotted male escorts through the door of an adjoining room.
“No.”
Suddenly catching her meaning, I once again rejoice that my business partner is a heckuva lot smarter than I am and devise my own special plan of action.
Finally, I duck into a nearby linen closet and retrieve a plain white sheet; folding it under my arm as I slip silently out the front door.
Slipping around the side of the house in the direction of Stan’s barn, I soon find myself standing right square in the middle of this huge apple red structure; facing as I did five fine horses foreign to my eyes.
“I don’t recognize these animals from Stan’s stable,” I muse, adding as I throw the sheet careless over my head, “I do believe I have found my targets.”
Although I have no intention of harming the horses, I figure that a good ol’ fright will make them temporarily unsellable.
With this in mind I launch my body into motion, racing back and forth in a mad pattern as I hoot and holler in a low, sharp voice.
“Oddest damn thing I ever have done to secure a horse sale,” I sigh in my mind. “By far.”
Chapter nine
After arriving back at the manor house of our thankfully oblivious host, I see that both he and my rival horse dealer are drunk--both on vodka and the polite attentions of my captivating companion; one who has secured us an invitation to dine and stay overnight at the house.
I spend a restless, near sleepless night without my companion, tortured by the notion of this irresistible woman sleeping just across the hallway; rising early when I hear a commotion erupt in the barnyard beneath my room.
Peering out the window, I see Stan Darcy and Michael Lowell cowering in a corner of Stan’s fenced in field; watching helpless as the horses before them run with restless hooves around the yard.
“These animals are mad!” Stan bellows, clutching at his head with desperate hands as the creatures roll their eyes back in their heads and prance with nervous hooves in the hay below them.
Dressing quickly and rushing to join them in the barnyard below, I help the two men to still and soothe the horses; shushing them and stroking their coats until finally they fall silent.
“Thank you for rushing to our aid, Duke,” Stan thanks me, patting my shoulder with a relieved sigh. “And now that we’ve quieted these crazy horses, would you care to take us into the barn and show me your horses? The ones I plan to buy today?”
Nostrils flaring at this news, an enraged Michael turns on me with fists bared.
“You spooked my horses, you bastard!” he accuses, charging me with eyes ablaze. “While your little whore distracted us in there with her giggles and compliments, you frightened my animals.”
Raising my fists in kind return, I sear my rival with hateful eyes as I meet the man at the center of the yard.
“Your horses will be fine,” I bark out with a sneer. “But because you just called my lady a whore, I can’t say the same for you.”
Flying at each other with hands raised, Michael and I dance about in a circle as our gazes lock and hold. Michael strikes first, clocking my chin as his alternate hand aims straight for my stomach.
Blocking this advance with a hard, solid kick, I use my free hand to hit him square in the jaw as he stumbles backward; then watching with satisfaction as my opponent stumbles and covers his face with trembling hands.
Nodding with approval as I accept my victory in this rather pointless fight, I turn with a broad smile in the direction of a stunned Stan.
“So then,” I address my flustered host, folding my arms before me. “Care to see my horses?”
Chapter ten
Soon Duke and I ride away from the Darcy estate, our pockets filled with gold coins as we laugh and joke about our latest—and very profitable—misadventure.
“I must say it, Lady,” Duke tells me, gracing me with a beautiful white toothed grin. “You and I make a cracker jack team.” He pauses here, his tone saddening as he adds, “I only wish that we could also be a team in other, more personal ways.”
Stilling my horse at the side of the road, I pin my companion with an earnest stare as I reveal, “We are a team in all ways, Duke. As hard as I’ve tried, I simply can’t resist you. And I must say it, Duke. I’ve fallen in love with you.”
Stopping his horse dead in his tracks, Duke releases his hands from his reins and joins them with my own.
“I love you too, Elizabeth,” he whispers. “Let me show you how much.”
Riding slow and silent into a nearby copse of woods, we slip off our horses into one another’s arms; kissing passionately as he sweeps me most literally off my feet.
Carrying me to a patch of soft grass just beneath a towering oak tree, Duke falls to his knees before me and strips away my taffeta day dress; kissing the body that he reveals from head to toe and lingering over my neck, breasts, and feminine cleft.
Finally, his body covers mine as our lips engage once again; our tongues and fingers entwining sweet as he hovers lovingly over me.
The melodic song of the rainbow-patterned bunting bird seems to christen our love as Duke kisses me long and deep; growling outright as I strip off his clothes and run my fingers down the length of his flawless golden torso—his nipples coming to hard peaks beneath my loving touch before I unbuckle and peel away his skintight blue jeans.
Gathering me up into adoring arms, Duke laves the roof of my mouth with a catlike tongue as he massages my back and shoulders; settling himself between my parted thighs as I wriggle contented in his tight embrace.
My breasts crush his chest as our joined hips gyrate wild together in a frenzy of sensual passion.
Plying my lips with the most passionate affection, Duke rubs his hard, planed body temptingly against mine as our hips and thighs lock.
At long last he joins us as one, his long, stiff manhood surging deep to the core of my feminine garden; our sweat lined bodies clinging together while cooled by the breezes around us.
We writhe together until soon it becomes difficult to tell where one ends and the other begins; throwing ourselves full and hard against one another as a single radiant constant.
Finally, our cries of joy rise to unite in the majesty of a Texas sky; both of us realizing beyond a certainty that our partnership is complete.
The Writer
~Bonus Story~
A Historical Romance
“You’re in my house,” I pointed out, gritting my teeth. “And I think it is my business what you do while you’re here.”
“I paid you very handsomely to stay here, Miss Truwent.”
His use of my last name irritated me even more. He was studying me with his eyes, which were narrowed and obviously angry.
“
Fine,” I said. “But I don’t know what you’re afraid of. Seems to me like it’s pure laziness.”
His eyes flashed hot. He stood up and approached me, then knelt down in front of my chair. It was surprising that he’d get so close. It was arousing, too, the scent of him, the look on his face, both infuriated and somehow seductive.
“You don’t know anything about me,” he said through clenched teeth, his face directly in front of mine, only a few inches away. “I have done nothing wrong. I won’t be spoken to this way.”
I held my chin up defiantly, not shying away from his face. He glanced at my lips in an almost imperceptible flick of his eyes, but I noticed. I scraped my teeth over my bottom lip and held his penetrating gaze.
“And what are you going to do about it, Mr. Monroe?”
“I can think of a few things,” he said, his voice low and sultry. For a moment, I forgot we were fighting. I thought about kissing him but had never been that bold. Instead, I slapped him.
* * *
Chapter 1: Laird
I woke up, overheated though the window was open. The woman I’d gone home with the night before was clutching me in her sleep, her arms around my chest and leg slung over my hips. I very carefully extricated myself out from under her and dressed quietly in the dark, pulling up my trousers and fastening them around my hips. I looked all over for my shirt, cursing under my breath when I couldn’t find it. The woman shifted in her sleep and I held my breath as I put my shoes on, then tiptoed backward out of the room and shut the door quietly behind me. My body relaxed as I made my way through the hall of her small loft and then out the door. I walked back to my hotel and went inside, calling for the desk man to have a bath drawn in my room.
Upstairs, I settled into the warm water, trying my best not to glance at the desk which held my writing utensils, the things I had been neglecting for over a year. I hadn’t had a bit of inspiration for years and my writing was suffering. Though I was a highly successful author, I was finding it hard to produce any more work, much to the chagrin of my hard-headed publisher, Gabriel Heath. In fact, I had come to the small town of Chappingham to hide from him while I got my shit together, but I had been spending most of my time drinking and socializing, taking women home and going for long walks along the pond in the middle of town. I had promised him something months ago, insisting that my make-believe book just needed “finishing touches,” but the truth was I hadn’t even started. I’d promised him something romantic and bold that would appeal to both men and women and I just couldn’t think of anything to begin writing. It didn’t help that my romantic life had been lacking as of late—I was keeping everything casual with the women I met, only flirting and touching them, always leaving at the end of the night.
I just hoped he didn’t find me; not before I was able to make some progress. I had to find inspiration somewhere, and quick. Heath was a hard-ass to the core and had been hounding me for close to a year about producing something for him.
I sighed and sank into the water, thinking about the possibilities. My mind drew a blank and I let it, trying to relax.
I’d have a drink later and give it a go. There had to be something I could write. Anything would do.
Chapter 2: Naomi
I wiped the tears from my eyes in frustration, leaving the office of my solicitor, Lawrence Blain. I had just found out that in just a month I’d lose my property for taxes if I didn’t come up with the money to save it. There was no way I’d come up with the money in time—my little estate in the country was where I had grown up. I had never lived anywhere else and didn’t want to; it was my home, the only thing I had left of my family. My father had died two years prior, my mother years before that. I had never had any siblings and was going at it alone.
I had been set to marry someone who would have saved my estate a few months past but it hadn’t worked out; he had cheated on me with another woman and I wasn’t the kind of girl to put up with that. Not in the least, actually, though people had told me that I should have gone through with the marriage anyway if I had really wanted to keep the land. Though I loved my home, losing my dignity wasn’t worth it. I refused to marry a man who would disrespect me in that way, so I broke off the engagement, and now I was single and living alone, trying to make ends meet. And if I didn’t do something quickly, I was going to lose the home I grew up in.
My best friend, Bess, took my hand in hers and squeezed. “It’s going to be okay, sugar.”
I squeezed back. Bess had always been able to comfort me, more so than anyone else but my father. She was lively and full of life, round and full and always up for anything. She brought sunshine to my world and for that I was infinitely grateful, but this time there was no way to cheer me up. I was stuck.
“Let’s go get something to eat,” Bess said, her unruly black curls blowing in the wind. “That’ll cheer you up. A cup of tea and a biscuit, whaddya say?”
It was typical of Bess to think that food would solve anything, would always be able to cheer a person up. I smiled despite myself and followed her down the street to a small outdoor café on the corner of an intersection. We were seated immediately, our table close to a man who was speaking quietly to three giddy, giggling women. He was obviously a lothario, by the way they were responding to them. I watched their table and saw the women blushing as he said something that I couldn’t hear. He was grinning, his handsome face smooth and bright and charming. His hair was dark and down to his shoulders, his green eyes sparkling with amusement. I looked away quickly when he caught my eye, turning my back to him. Since I’d had the bad experience with my fiancé-to-be, I had no patience for his type of man, the ones who flirted easily and with everything that moved.
I heard someone coming up from behind me and turned to see a large man, well-dressed and looking angry. He walked quickly over to the table behind me, and I peeked over my shoulder to see him leaning forward against it.
“Where’s my manuscript, Laird?” he asked, his accent heavy, maybe Scottish. “It took me forever to find you. Have you been avoiding me?”
The man at the table, Laird, cleared his throat. “Ladies,” he said, his voice deep and melodic. “Would you excuse us for a moment?”
The women got up and rustled away, going inside to get refills on their coffees. I heard the scrape of a chair as the man who had approached the table pulled it out and sat down.
“I need the book, Laird,” he said, his voice sounding tired. Laird was quiet for a moment.
“It’s almost finished,” he said in a low voice. “Some finishing touches, and—“
“Bullshit,” said the other man. “Give it to me now. Finished or unfinished. I’ve been waiting months.”
“I know, Heath” said Laird, his voice going sympathetic and full of apologetic remorse. It was fake; I could tell that he was just trying to get out of the situation. Heath sighed.
“Take me to your rooms. I just want to get the manuscript and get out of this blasted town. How’d you end up here, anyway?”
“Just passing through,” Laird said, then paused. “You look awfully tired, Heath. How’ve you been?”
Trying to change the subject. Smart.
Heath’s voice grew weary. “I am tired, I need a bath and a stiff drink.”
“Go on then,” said Laird. His voice was smooth and charming. I’d have bet he could talk his way out of anything. “I’ll get you the manuscript today, I promise. My rooms are, uh, a mess. It’s awful and I’d rather not take you there. I’ll come find you—where are you staying?”
Heath sounded suspicious but answered the question. “The Radley.”
“Perfect. I’ll meet you there. Dinner?”
The other man sighed and the chair scraped as he got up. “Dinner, Laird. Don’t be late.”
“You have my word,” said Laird. “Honest to God.”
Heath grumbled something as he started to walk away. When he was out of sight, the man turned to us, putting his hand gently on my shoulder. I swi
veled around to look at him, turning in my seat.
“Would you ladies happen to know where a man could get a room to stay?”
I shook my head, looking down from his eyes, which were holding mine. His smile was seductive and natural and made my heart do a strange twist in my chest.
“No,” I said, at the same time that Bess said “yes.” I turned to her, my mouth open, and she winked at me.
“There’s a place to stay across the village,” said Bess. I didn’t know what she was talking about—there was only one hotel in town and it was the Radley, the one the man had told Laird he’d been staying at.
“I’m at the Radley, myself,” he said in a low voice. “And trying to avoid him.”
“I figured,” said Bess. He was talking to her but looking at me, his gaze decidedly unsettling.
“By the way, I’m Laird Monroe,” he said, reaching forward to grasp my hand. He shook it, his fingers warm and soft and firm. I stared at him.
“Like the author, Laird Monroe?”
“In the flesh,” he said, grinning. “You’re a fan?”
“I’ve read everything,” I said breathlessly. Laird Monroe was one of my favorites. I devoured his every book like candy. Suddenly, I felt shy and star-struck. I looked down at my hands.
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