by Anne Hope
“No,” she answered with more conviction than he’d expected. “It feels like family.”
Vulnerability sparkled in her eyes, more potent than her glistening skin, her clingy swimsuit, the small towel wrapped around her breasts and hips. Zach lost the battle and extended his hand to cup her face. Her skin was soft, an odd blend of velvet and satin. It tickled his palm as a strange current traveled up his arm and thrummed along his flesh.
He never should have allowed himself to touch her. Now the need to kiss her blinded him. It was a physical ache, sharp and insistent. She turned her cheek into his palm, moved closer…
“Becca—” Her name tore from his throat, both a desperate plea and a growl. In the same heartbeat, his mouth crushed hers. Fire shot through his veins, sent his resolve straight to hell. Need raged through him, and every minute he’d spent without her only seemed to stoke the blaze.
Her lips parted to receive him. He wasn’t sure whether the sound she made was a gasp or a sigh, and to be honest he didn’t give a damn. He just wanted to taste her. Her mouth was moist, inviting, as he slid his tongue in to mate with hers. She brought her palms to his abdomen, let them glide across his ribs and around his back, and he knew she wouldn’t put up a fight. A part of him was hoping she would because, right about now, he wasn’t exactly thinking with his head. Not the one on his shoulders, anyway.
She had no intention of making this easy for him—the way the movements of her lips matched his, the way she edged in closer and flattened her breasts against his chest.
She had no idea what she was doing to him. Or maybe she did. He couldn’t be sure. He tasted boldness on her tongue. Boldness and a trace of desperation.
All of a sudden he wanted more. He wanted to feel every inch of her, to recapture what he’d lost, to once again anchor himself to the one woman who could keep him rooted. She was his purpose. A man had to have purpose or he drifted, got swept away by the tide.
Decisively, he stood and pulled her to her feet so the length of her damp body pressed against his. He felt every hot curve, every sea-scented curl, the wild tempo of her heart as it galloped in perfect beat with his own.
There was no more room for doubt. With a groan, he clumsily pushed open the door, and they stumbled into the house. He tugged at the straps of her swimsuit, his mouth traveling down her neck and over her shoulder as the unrelenting agony in his groin sharpened. The towel slid to the ground. His hand found her breast, yanked it free. She moaned and dug her hips into his until he thought he’d explode. He wanted to tell her to take it easy, but he couldn’t find his voice. All he managed was a grunt.
Then he was lifting her off her feet and carrying her to the bedroom, with nothing but the moon and stars to light his path.
Steal the salt. Bind the grimoire. Escape the male.
Eversworn
© 2012 Hailey Edwards
Daughters of Askara, Book 3
When an exchange of stolen goods in the Feriana marketplace turns sour, Isabeau stumbles from the encounter bruised and laden with new orders to complete an even larger heist. With her child’s life at stake, there’s no room for error—or allies.
Armed with a lethal book of spells, she strikes a dangerous bargain with Roland Bernhard. Steal a shipment of salt from the Feriana colony, and she’ll have her freedom—and her daughter. It’s all she’s ever wanted. At least it was…until she runs into Dillon Preston.
Dillon is out of commission after a mine explosion, and itching for a distraction. He gets it when the female who saved his leg arrives at the colony with nothing but flimsy excuses and even flimsier attire. She’s after something, but is it him—or the salt?
Trapped in a desperate bid to gain true freedom, Isabeau is willing to sacrifice her life for her daughter’s, but Dillon has other plans. He wants a package deal, and he’s not willing to lose either female, even if it means the future king of Sere’s head will roll.
Warning: This title contains a heroine desperate to save her daughter and a hero determined to make them a family. It also includes wings, horns and other assorted appendages.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Eversworn:
“Don’t play with me. I promise you won’t like the outcome.” Fisting the front of my shirt, he dragged me precious inches nearer. “Answer me.” His voice lowered. “What kind of male lets his female take all the risks and then leaves her alone in the desert?” He was careful of me. Not gentle, not rough, either. He took pains not to hurt me. Yet. He snarled, “Where is your mate?”
I shoved at him. “I don’t have one.”
His lips parted, and I waited for his next accusation.
None came. His grip tightened as he dragged me closer. “Damn you.” His head lowered, and his mouth covered mine. His lips were hard, his kiss angry. One arm circled my back and flattened me to him while his other hand tangled his fingers in my hair. Most of it had fallen loose, and he wound the thick strands around his fist and tore our mouths apart. Panting hard, he scowled down at me as if this were all somehow my fault. He was tense, and his fury vibrated along his skin. I pushed at his chest in an effort to put space between us, but he wasn’t having any of it. He molded me to him until his heartbeat pounded on my chest. His eyes were mirror-bright and full silver. It was a small crack in his glamour, his second today. What did that mean?
“Let me go, please.” I shoved at him again. “I’ll answer what questions I can, I promise.”
“I don’t think I can.” Burying his face in my neck, he inhaled. His tongue slipped out to lick the sweat from my skin, and my lungs deflated on a sigh that coaxed a pained groan from Dillon.
He shivered in my arms, and I held him, stroking across his shoulder and down his back as my mind churned with possibilities. “How are you feeling?” The cut to his neck might explain his fevered skin and racing heart. I had a theory that his time on Earth had lowered his resistance to bacteria native to Askara. Exposure to a new strain could make his old ailments flair, I thought.
“Just…give me…a minute.” Heavy panting dampened my neck, but his grip loosened and he managed to pull back and glare down at me. “Don’t move.” He stumbled from me. “I need air.” He pointed to the bench. “Sit your ass down.” He cupped the back of his neck as he turned.
“Wait.” I ran forward and touched his elbow. “Let me help you.”
“I don’t need your help.” His growl froze me in my tracks. “Don’t touch me.”
I would have said he was the one having trouble keeping his hands to himself, but I could use the reprieve. He could get his air and clear his head while I used his absence to clear mine. I watched him stalk to the mouth of the cave. If I so much as took a step, he would hear me. Even with his leg still on the mend, he wasn’t a male I wanted to cross. I wasn’t going to go anywhere.
Time for a new plan. I sat on the bench and rested my head against the wall of the mine. He had brought me down here rather than turn me in for a reason. Whether it was his sickness or something else, I couldn’t say. Tucking my locket into my top, I brushed skin instead of pointed edges or salt cubes. My breasts were nicked and scratched. I readjusted the fabric to cover them.
Across the tunnel, I spied a battered crate near where I’d awakened. Leaning forward as far as I dared, I made out several cubes of salt stacked neatly inside. Balanced on the topmost square sat the broken horse carving I’d stolen from Dillon’s tent. Balled in the bottom was the handkerchief stained with his blood. I knew I should snatch my prize, but after what I’d done to Mason…I had lost my appetite. While Dillon’s back was turned, I crept toward the box and snitched the horse.
Why the attachment? I supposed I wanted something of his to hold on to once this ended.
Rock crunched under a heavy boot. I froze, then rushed back to my seat. When no reprimand came, I glanced his way. He shifted his weight and massaged his neck as he stared at the desert.
His fever-addled mind was dangerous, but it might also prove my best hope for esca
pe.
The healer in me longed to examine him, but I doubted he would trust me near him now. He knew I’d hurt Mason and the legionnaire whose horse I’d stolen. That blasted horse. I had to catch her. If I told Dillon his salt was strapped to her back, he would mount a recovery effort. Bringing me along would be foolhardy. Why give a dangerous prisoner freedom? No. He’d leave me behind. It made the most sense. Perhaps if I were lucky my new jailer would be less attentive.
Break free, await Dillon’s return, steal the salt and then…hope I made it farther this time.
Air at the edge of the mine was stifling, but Dillon would rather face the midday sun than the demoness waiting for his return. So much for asking the hard questions. Her accomplice, and she must have one, remained a mystery. Now that his mind was clearing, he noticed she hadn’t said the father of her child wasn’t involved. Father of her child. A growl pumped through his chest. He didn’t like that idea. Not one bit. So she had a daughter but not a mate. Or had she lied again?
Frowning, he massaged his nape while gathering his wits about him.
Isabeau as a mother… He admitted it wasn’t a far stretch to imagine her in the role. Even her lack of a mate was easily explained. Slaves birthed their owners’ bastards all the time. Most were sold once they reached a self-sufficient age. The girl in the portrait had the same roundness in her cheeks that Galvin had had until this last year. Based on that, he’d peg her at four or five years old. Old enough she must belong to Isabeau’s former master, whoever the bastard was. His hands balled.
Focus. The past can’t be changed. Accept it, deal with it and move on.
Accept it. She had a child. Between females aided by the freeborn legion and the consulate, so did one out of every four rescued, and his estimation wasn’t generous. Accepting she might be protecting the girl’s father was harder. It hinted at a relationship she had denied. Deal with it. She wasn’t his, and he didn’t want a mate. Move on. Claiming meant surrendering freedom he had fought too hard and lost too much achieving. No female deserved that level of control over him.
With his resolve fortified, he turned and made his way back to his prisoner.
Soul Bound
Anne Hope
The one man she wants is the one man destined to destroy her.
Dark Souls, Book 1
Sooner or later we all end up dead. Jace Cutler doesn’t have the luxury of staying that way. After receiving a fatal stab wound, he awakens in a hospital room in Portland, Oregon, with no memory and a big hole where his soul used to be. Worst of all is the glow. Everyone is surrounded by a strange white aura he hungers to possess, none more compelling than the one enveloping Dr. Lia Benson.
Lia has always been ruled by reason, refusing to put stock in such nebulous things as destiny. Until Jace dies in her arms, then miraculously comes back to life. Whenever he’s near, her soul responds and her body burns. And she’s consumed by odd dreams she’s convinced are Jace’s lost memories.
When Lia is kidnapped, Jace tracks her and discovers a shocking explanation for who—and what—he is. Something no longer human, a dark legacy that until now has lain dormant within him. Something that could destroy the one woman he’d sacrifice everything to protect.
Warning: Contains bone-melting sexual tension, scary battle scenes, heartrending emotion guaranteed to keep you turning the pages well into the night, and a positively divine hero who may just steal your soul.
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
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Soul Bound
Copyright © 2012 by Anne Hope
ISBN: 978-1-60928-948-5
Edited by Jennifer Miller
Cover by Scott Carpenter
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First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: June 2012
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