After a couple of weeks off, I need to get back into the swing of things. So today, post any excerpt you like. If you have buy links, only one please, post those as well.
Mine is from The Seduction of Lady Phoebe which will be released in autumn.
Silence fell for a few moments, then Robert sat straight up in his chair. “Marcus, my boy, I saw the most beautiful gal I’ve ever seen in my life at the White Horse.”
Marcus lounged in his chair, lifting a brow in inquiry. Robert was known to be a favorite with the many disenchanted matrons of the ton.
“And where did you find this paragon of nature?” Marcus asked in a languid drawl. “In the tap?”
“No, no, my boy, not a game-pullet. Not at all. She was a lady.”
Marcus raised his quizzing glass and regarded his friend more closely. “Married?”
“No. Put that thing away, you know I don’t like it. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with me. She is a well-bred, unmarried lady. Beautiful, I tell you. Tiny. Has a good figure, quite a neat ankle, and the most gorgeous gold-red hair. Perfect in every way.”
Marcus’s fingers tightened around his glass. Robert’s conquests were legend, but they didn’t extend to well-bred, innocents. A terrifying thought began to fill Marcus’s mind. It couldn’t be Phoebe. She was at Cranbourne Place.
He fought to keep his face calm, his gaze focused on his friend. “Who is this lady, do you know?”
“Yes, got my groom to ask one of the ostlers. Stupid fellows, those ostlers, giving out that kind of information,” Lord Beaumont ruminated, definitely on the go. “Yes, now that I think on it, I believe I shall have a word with the landlord. The servants ought not be giving that sort of thing out.”
Marcus tapped his fingers on the table. “Her name, Robert?”
“Her name?” Marcus repeated and waved an impatient hand to encourage his friend to continue.
“Oh, yes,” Robert finally said. “Lady Phoebe Stanhope. Heard of her of course. Never seen her before. Don’t, as a rule, attend those types of events. Not much for the Grand Strut you know. Must avoid the matchmaking mamas. M’grandmother’s been after me to marry. Lady Phoebe is a devilish good looking gal. I may have to make a push.”
Marcus fumed. Lady Phoebe. His Vision. Friends or no, he would be damned if he’d let Robert anywhere near her.
Here is a bite from CONQUERED:
Pepper stomped into the bedroom, caught the door before it slammed and closed it gently. She wouldn’t sink to his level and act like a child. For a species that prided itself on control, Rafe had precious little. Apparently, control was what they wielded over others, not over themselves. She’d wondered who the real Rafe was, and now she had a good idea. “Obstinate, arrogant, insufferable alien. Growling at her like a…a…vampire.”
She trudged to the bed and placed her bag on the sage green comforter. The room was extravagant. Huge, tall ceilings with a brown and green marble fireplace imposed on one wall. “Always the best for the aliens,” she muttered, as she sat on the bed and kicked off her pumps.
He’d bound her. What else did he want? A relationship? “Huh.” Not him. The man wouldn’t answer a simple question. Why did he want to know her? If that mattered, he’d have taken the time to do it before making his claim. No, he needed to bind someone to him. She’d just happened to walk in at the wrong moment. Lucky me.
The man was hedging. She felt him trying to avoid a direct reply to her question, because he had no answer. He’d lied that he wanted to spend time with her just like the other deceptions the vampires spouted. Keep humans happy, docile. Promise them anything and then renege. Why should she expect anything different from him?
She got to her feet and peeled off her dress, leaving it on the floor. Staring at the black clump of fabric brought tears to her eyes. This was her wedding night? What a disaster. The dress was wrong, the ceremony wrong, the groom wrong and wrong again. She clenched her fists, standing on the chocolate carpet in her black lace underwear. I’m wrong.
keywords=conquered+by+sandy+l.+rowland
Great excerpt. I’m so sad for her.
This is from my contemporary western romantic suspense GAMBLING ON A SECRET. Which is on sale today at Lyrical Press for $2.50.
“Ferguson, what are you doing here?” Dylan barked.
Leon ambled toward them on the stone path. “I’m saving a young maiden from torment. What are you doing here, playing the part of the devil?”
“I’m Miss Monroe’s new manager.” The deadly edge of his voice matched the flintiness of his eyes. “If there’s anyone to save the young maiden from, it’s you.”
“Mr. Quinn, please.” She turned to Leon. “Leon, is there something I can do for you?”
He smiled, showing off perfect white teeth in a face handsome enough to belong to an actor. “I was just passing by on my way home and decided to stop. How are the boys working out?”
Dylan’s stance widened and his hands flexed at his slides. “What boys?”
“Charli and I have entered into a business arrangement.”
She lost the battle with the urge to wrap her arms around herself. As much as she appreciated Leon’s kindness, respected him, and was even a little attracted to him, something about him didn’t sit right with her. He represented her peers in the community. According to Mrs. Pratt, besides the Cartwrights, she and Leon were undoubtedly the wealthiest residents in the county. No one in Colton could learn about her past. It would ruin her, and Leon, no doubt, had the means to dig up the dirt.
“Really?” Dylan stepped closer to her in a protective manner. Whiskey tainted his breath as the warmth of the exhalations tickled her cheek. “What kind of business arrangement?”
She could protect herself. Dylan Quinn wasn’t any safer than Leon Ferguson. Stepping away from him, she forced her arms to her sides. “Mr. Quinn, I can handle this.”
She faced Leon. “I’m amazed by how much the men got done since starting on Monday. The foreman told me last evening they’d be reseeding another fifty acres for hay this morning. And they have the corrals fixed and started on the fencing in the north pasture.”
“Good, good.” He glanced at Dylan. “I’ll be going, unless you need a more reliable exterminator. I couldn’t help but overhear about your snake infestation. I can give you the name of the company that has gotten rid of the snakes in our lakes over on Oak Springs for years.”
Although he presented the perfect solution, she didn’t the like way Leon had looked at Dylan as he said the word exterminator. “No, Mr. Quinn is quite capable of getting rid of the snake.”
“Oh, I’m sure he is.” Leon tipped his hat. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you, Charli.” Dylan’s jaw tightened as his uncle glanced at him. “It’s good to see you up among the living again.”
Leon headed back to his Porsche. With no pretense of lowering his voice, Dylan said, “Now, there’s a snake no one wants in their garden.”
Upon hearing the jibe, Leon’s shoulders jerked in mid-stride.
Rattled by Leon’s attention and the snake fiasco, she turned on Dylan. “You aren’t off the hook. I want those snakes gone.”
“We’ll see.”
“I hate snakes.” She shuddered and put her hands on her hips. “Maybe I should have asked him who the exterminator is.”
http://www.lyricalpress.com/store/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=3_25&products_id=574
Wonderful excerpt, Sara. Good luck with your sales.
Thank you, Ella, for this opportunity. This is an excerpt from my new release, The Abolitionist’s Secret, which is available through Crimson Romance at http://www.amazon.com/The-Abolitionists-Secret-Cotillion-ebook/dp/B00AB3TB2E/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1357568595&sr=8-2&keywords=becky+lower
The matching white dresses were sewn and hung in their armoires to be
unveiled at the Cotillion ball, still one day away. But the satin slippers that the handsome French cobbler created for them needed to be broken in, or the girls would risk having sore feet halfway through the evening. So today they were prancing around the house in their fine slippers. After practicing gliding down the staircase, executing perfect curtsies and walking through every room in the house, they were taking a well-deserved break.
Heather sat in the most comfortable chair in the room, one hand holding a book while the other hand played with one of her brunette ringlets. She dangled her feet over the side of the chair and swung them back and forth as she read, peering at the toes of her new slippers each time she swung her feet out.
Jasmine glanced over at Heather’s swinging feet. “You know our ball slippers are different, don’t you, Heather?”
Heather closed the book and looked up. “Yes, I know that. Mine don’t have slobber all over them from Monsieur Louboutin.”
“Ah, Philippe.” Jasmine tapped her heart with her hand. “He is so infatuated with me.” She smiled over at Heather.
“I found his actions from the other day deplorable, and I’m glad we have no need to return to him again this year. He was taking far too many liberties with you.”
“I don’t think it can be called a liberty if I welcomed his advances. Did I tell you we kissed?”
Heather stared at her sister in astonishment. “Jasmine, tell me you are joking.”
“No, I’m quite serious. It was delightful. And he gave me magic shoes, so I’ll be able to attract even more men at the ball.”
“Magic shoes? How can you possibly think your shoes are magic?”
“Just look at them. They are different from yours. He painted the soles of my shoes red, see?”
Heather moved from her chair to the floor, where she grabbed one of Jasmine’s feet and pulled it up to eye level. Sure enough, Jasmine’s slippers were constructed with red soles. Heather released Jasmine’s leg just as Charlotte came bustling into the room.
“I can’t wait for you to meet both of my girls, Lieutenant,” she said over her shoulder as she led the gentleman into the parlor.
In unison, the twins gazed up at the tall man trailing their mother into the room.
Heather looked into his deep blue eyes, and had the unsteady impression of falling, even though she was already on the floor. This was the officer from the restaurant who had so unsettled her. The one she’d been waiting for days to see again. Once more, a current ran around the room as he stepped into the space. For a moment, she couldn’t move, she could only stare as her heart did a tap dance in her rib cage. Then, as if coming out of a
trance, she shook her head and jumped to her feet as Jasmine rose from her chair.
Very nice, Becky. Good luck with your sales.
Hi Ella, thanks for the opportunity.
Here’s an excerpt from my Regency Time Travel, LADY OF THE STARS. Amazon buy link here: http://www.amazon.com/Lady-of-the-Stars-ebook/dp/B0054R5J64/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1317401943&sr=1-1
Caroline followed him into the room she knew was the kitchen and he stepped up to the banked fire.
Fire? Where were the stove and refrigerator? And all the chrome and stainless steel of the ultramodern kitchen she had seen only this morning? This kitchen contained a scarred wood trestle table with several chairs pushed under it. Pots and pans hung on wall racks and reflected the dim firelight. A cupboard stood against the far wall, next to a sink with a pump. A pump?
With shaking hands, she set the lantern on the table and pulled out one of the chairs. She was in trouble, very deep trouble.
As she sank into the chair, she turned her stunned attention to her host.
Unaware of her gaze, he busied himself at the fireplace. His back to her, he placed the candelabrum on the mantle above the hearth, then drew the fire screen to the side of the grate. Dropping onto his haunches, he pulled several logs from the nearby basket, then arranged the wood in a neat pile on the smoldering embers. Almost at once, the flames blazed to full roaring life.
Silhouetted against the light, he straightened, replaced the screen, then removed his hat and tossed it on the table.
Her jaw dropped. Good heavens, the aggravating man was gorgeous. Tall and slim, his broad shoulders tapered to narrow hips and long legs. But where had he found that outlandish outfit? He wore a top hat, out here in the middle of nowhere. His shirt collar was turned up and he wore a huge white tie. And his waist-length, double-breasted jacket had tails, like the one an orchestra conductor wore. Muddy black boots with the tops turned down came up to his knees. Skintight trousers, or were those breeches–of all things?–emphasized every well-formed muscle.
Now if his face matched his form . . .
What was she thinking? She hadn’t felt anything for any man in a long time. Not since . . .
He turned, and for the first time that night she fully took in his face. She gasped. Had she seen a ghost through the gazebo’s back door? “Richard?”
Puzzlement spread over those chiseled features she now saw only in her memories. “How do you know my name?”
Ooooh, great excerpt. Thanks for commenting.
What a sad excerpt – 😦 , but I loved it. Full of identifiable emotion.
I’m offering up a tame one – from my twisted fairy tale – Sexy Red Hood – she just fell asleep on a deck chair on a cruise ship
A water droplet landed on her cheek and startled her. She wiped it and opened her eyes. “Welcome back sleepy head.” Chopper wiped his hand on his shorts and placed the glass of water on the table.
“Have I been out long?” She looked at her watch and wondered what time she’d fallen asleep.
“I’ve been here about five minutes.” He jumped up. “OK, now that you’re awake, I just have to tell you. This song popped into my head and it’s driving me crazy.”
Red dropped her e-reader into her beach bag and waited for him to continue.
“It’s the Red Riding Hood song. I think Sam the Sham and the Prophets sang it. It’s from like the mid-sixties.”
She shook her head. “Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs. And it took you long enough to get there. Most people start cracking jokes within minutes of hearing my name.”
“I wasn’t focused yesterday. But today, I’m Michael Jackson!” He stepped right and left and snapped his fingers.
“Little Red Riding Hood.
You sure are looking good.
You’re everything that a big, bad wolf could want.”
He spun around and posed, one arm at his crotch and flung the other up in the air. “Owooooooo!”
Trying to keep a straight face, Red asked, “You aren’t going to send in an application for American Idol, are you? Oh, and maybe not for that dance show thing, either.”
“What, you don’t like my dancin’?” He shook his knees in and out and flapped his arms like a chicken, then made two-handed stirring motions, like he was in front of a large cauldron. “Why are you laughing? I’m just getting started.” He leaned forward and jerked up his right hand. “It’s called the lawn mower. But, if you do it this way…” He straightened and repeated the pulling motion. “Then it’s called the chain saw. Oh. Oh. And now for the big finale. The Moonwalk.”
He slid his right foot back and popped his left heel, then slid that foot back. Red had to admit he did a good version of Michael’s famous move – until he backed into the waiter and knocked a tray of drinks onto the passengers seated near her.
That’s a fun excerpt, Daryl. Thanks for sharing.
Thank you, Ella.
This excerpt is from my new historical romance, Lost Honor.
Shoved by powerful hands, she fell to her knees before booted feet. “Found her in the hold, Cap’n. Thought she was a boy at first, her wearin’
pants and a cap, but she has tits.”
“I can see that, Jurgens.”
Arianna followed the shiny boots up to tight-fitting, brown breeches hugging muscular thighs, and slim hips. A loose, white shirt covering broad shoulders next met her gaze, then a corded neck, square jaw, stern lips, crooked nose, and cold, dark eyes that stared down at her. “Where’s my brother? Who are you?”
“I will be asking the questions. Who are you, and why are you on my ship?” The deep voice thundered through the cabin.
Her stomach flip-flopped. Dizziness swamped her. Swallowing convulsively, she battled to contain the contents of her queasy stomach. Hiding in that empty molasses barrel hadn’t been the brightest idea of her twenty-one years. “I’m not talking to anyone but my brother.”
Jurgens’s forceful hands yanked her to a standing position. “You answer the cap’n.”
The abrupt movement snapped the fragile control she clung to. Spasms seized her throat. Arianna struggled to turn away, but the fingers digging into her arms held her in place. The contents of her stomach erupted.
All over Captain Danvers’s boots.
Her captor released her and jumped back in horror.
LOL. That will teach him. Great excerpt.
Hi Ella!
Here’s an excerpt from A BREACH OF PROMISE, my debut erotic historical romance that has recently been nominated for the TRS CAPA Award.
A BREACH OF PROMISE by Victoria Vane
WHEN CHARM AND PERSUASION FAIL…ONLY SEDUCTION REMAINS…
Prologue Derbyshire, England—1742
Lydia Albinia Trent was giddy with anticipation as her new abigail Molly slid the fine silk over her petticoat and stays. Lydia ran her fingers over the luxurious fabric with sheer delight. It was a custom-made confection of soft, petal pink with white bows and matching pink, satin slippers specially ordered for this momentous occasion and her first silk gown.
Now dressed, Molly put the finishing touches to Lydia’s hair, pinning her usual braids into a ladylike coronet atop her head and ornamenting the coiffure with pink ribbon and white roses.
A soft tap sounded at the door. “Are you ready, my dear?” her father called through the wooden panel. “The guests are nearly all arrived.”
“One minute more, Papa!” Lydia called. With a deep intake of breath, she stood and turned to the pier glass, expecting to behold a young lady of sophistication, one who would prove to Marcus she was now a woman grown. To her chagrin, the image that greeted her fell short of her expectations. Beribboned and bowed in pink and white, Lydia was struck by the ludicrous thought that she more closely resembled her birthday cake.
She exited her room and dipped into her well-practiced curtsey. “Do you approve, Papa?” she asked with uncertainty.
His warm, dry lips brushed her cheek. “You are the image of your dear Mama.” He pulled her hand to the crook of his elbow. “Shall we, my dearest treasure?”
Lydia had looked forward to her engagement party to Marcus Russell since…well…since as long as she could remember. She had thought herself the happiest girl in the world to know that such a dashing, young man would one day be hers. Now, with the arrival of her seventeenth birthday, it would become official at last.
Although the event was an intimate gathering with only family and close friends in attendance, Lydia was still a bundle of nerves, descending on her father’s arm with a tremulous smile and a racing pulse. As she reached the bottom of the staircase, she bit her lip and her gaze flickered over the assemblage of well-wishers, seeking the one who made her heart race and knees quiver.
“Where is he?” she whispered. “Where is Marcus?” She had expected him to be first to receive her. Seized with trepidation, she looked to her father for reassurance.
Sir Timothy covered her small hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. “Have no fear, child, he will be here. Any number of things might have delayed him in London.”
Though her father’s words and manner were confident, she could detect the anxiety behind his eyes. “Of course you are right, Papa,” she replied with a serenity she could not feel. In this nightmare daze of distraction, Lydia moved about the room to greet her guests.
“Lord and Lady Russell.” With heat stealing into her cheeks, Lydia made her deepest obeisance to the parents of the elusive groom-to-be. Pasting on a false smile, she fought the nervous churning of her stomach and grappled the powerful urge to flee back to her chamber.
“My dear girl, how lovely you look!” Lady Russell kissed both of her cheeks and gushed, “Your mother would have been so very proud.”
“Enchanting, simply enchanting,” Lord Philip Russell agreed, all the while stealing anxious glances to the doorway. In obvious embarrassment, he conjured several possible, if unlikely, scenarios for Marcus’ delay. Lydia murmured an appropriate reply but refused to meet their discomfited gazes.
After waiting nearly two hours for the missing bridegroom, the elaborate dinner proceeded in an awkward but telling silence. Too mortified to raise her eyes from her plate, Lydia picked at each course, fighting back tears and wishing with all her heart that the earth would just swallow her up.
At the meal’s conclusion, after all had given up any hope, the antechamber echoed with the sound of raucous laughter. With glazed eyes and drink-induced affability, Marcus Russell burst into the dining room to execute an unsteady and over-flourished bow.
“Marcus!” Lydia’s heart skipped a beat.
Failing to acknowledge her, he announced to the room at large, “I offer my most profuse apologies to our dear host for my unavoidable delay, but I’ve just received news that is truly worthy of celebration.”
The winsome smile froze on Lydia’s face.
“Capital news, my boy!” Lord Russell beamed with paternal pride.
“Congratulations are most certainly in order,” Sir Timothy agreed. “Simpson, bring the port!”
To Lydia’s dismay, even her father seemed now to regard his tardiness as a venial offense. With the final covers removed, Lydia was forced to retreat while Marcus joined the gentleman for port and political talk with nary a thought to his fiancée.
***
Darting sporadic glances at the door, Lydia stumbled over the keys of the spinet, fumbling the elegant notes of Scarlatti’s Sonata Number Twelve in B Minor, and then falling off completely once he deigned to appear.
Marcus entered the drawing room with the deliberate gait of one who had over-imbibed and surveyed the occupants with an unfocused stare. “Sh-shampagne,” he cried when he finally lit upon Lydia, as if suddenly recalling the evening’s true purpose. “We must have champagne to toast the blushing rose that has now become my betrothed.”
His lingering gaze sent a hot flush creeping from the base of Lydia’s neck to the tip of her nose, and when Marcus smiled, her breath seized as abruptly in her throat as her fingers on the spinet keyboard. To be the object of his full attention, even for this brief moment, was akin to the sun appearing from behind a dark and dismal cloud to blaze its full radiance upon her. And in that moment under the giddy glow of his smile, Lydia thought she could forgive him anything.
Buy link : http://www.amazon.com/A-Breach-of-Promise-ebook/dp/B006PFTKAU/
Lovely, Victoria. Thanks for post
“How about this: I’ll fill the shopping cart, then you can peruse my items, remove any you don’t approve of, and purchase what you do. How’s that?”
Her suggestion clearly surprised him. “That is a very good solution. However, your mother will be most upset if she discovers you wearing items bought from the internet.”
“For the love of God! My closet is full of black Goth! Certainly, even Walmart has to rank above Goth.”
He opened his mouth, stopped, his forehead wrinkling on one side and then the other as if his brain argued with itself on this matter, and finally, he sighed. “We can pursue this solution as long as your mother does not object.”
“Are you planning to tell her?”
“No. Are you?” he asked.
“Hell, no!”
“A simple ‘no’ will do. A lady never curses.”
“Well, if I meet one, I’ll pass on the lecture.”
Excerpt from Saving Casey by Liza O’Connor
Cute exchange, Liza. No wonder so many people like your book. Why don’t you post a buy link?
Love these!
Mine is from Cowboy, Come Home, it’s a WIP.
The waitress placed an open Coors in front of him and Adam didn’t bother to pour it into a glass, instead he sipped without tasting. He forced himself to slow down, not to get drunk. To eat and not dwell on things he couldn’t change.
He caught Russ’ eye. “When are you going to take that mare over to the good vet’s?”
“I’m not sure. Why?”
“Thought I might ride along if it’s a weekend.”
“Why?” Russ sounded suspicious.
“I’d kind of like to see this horse my wife has taken on.” To his own ears, he sounded lame.
Russ cocked an eyebrow. “Then why don’t you just drive over there tomorrow after work and look at him?”
Adam hesitated for a moment. “I could I guess.”
“If he’s as bad as Eden says, it might be better to put him down,” Russ suggested. “Anything Rand Carlton’s touched is bound to be a mess.”
Shaking his head, Adam said, “If she wants to try and save this horse, then that’s what we’re going to do.”
“Did you just hear yourself? You said we.” Sage grinned smugly. “You’re still a couple… you just won’t admit it.”
Russ shared a smile with his wife, then winked at Adam. “She’s right, you know.”
“I know what I’d do if my wife was on date with another man,” the judge boomed from the other end of the table. “I’d kick his ass and take her back.”
Heat crawled up the back of Adam’s neck. “Eden isn’t my property. I can’t sling her over my shoulder and run off to the hills with her.”
“You know, a week in the cabin wouldn’t be such a bad idea.” Laura Lee smiled at her husband. “A little alone time can do wonders for a marriage.”
They shared a look.
“Mom, please.” Next to his sisters, his mother was the last person Adam wanted to talk about his busted marriage with.
“What?” She arched her brows at him. “I can’t give you my opinion?”
He gave in. “Sure. Shoot. Everyone else has given me advice. What’s yours?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I just did. The cabin’s empty. Why not a second honeymoon?”
“I can’t get away, for one thing. For another, you have to be married to have a honeymoon.” He lifted his beer. Getting drunk sounded better all the time.
D’Ann. Great job. I really want to know what’s going on.
Great excerpt Ella! I adore Marcus!
Here’s an excerpt from my paranormal christmas novella Silent Night. My heroine Zoey had a bad dream and went to get a glass of water, and is confronted by the sexy, Irish vampire, Connor.
After finishing two glasses of water she rinsed the glass and set it in the dishwasher. Everything in the cupboards was brand new and apparently unused. Zoey wondered if Ian and Connor had ever owned dishwashing detergent. Probably not.
“Couldn’t sleep?” The husky murmur right behind her ear was so soft that she let out a squeak of surprise.
She hadn’t heard Connor sneak up on her. Spinning around she came face to face with Connor or rather Connor’s bare chest. He was so tall she had to tip her head back to look him in the eye. She swallowed hard and raised her chin. His face was inscrutable, but the curve of his full sensual mouth distracted her from whatever she’d been about to stay. Such warm brown eyes, like honey coated chocolate.
“Huh?”
His answering laugh shook her with its vibrations as he pressed close, touching her torso to torso. Something hard and hot dug into her stomach and she jolted in shock.
“Easy, pet, tis just my body making its desires known.” He curled the fingers of one hand around her throat, the hold possessive and dominating but not harmful. The message was clear. She wasn’t allowed to move, to escape him, not until he chose to allow it.
“You’re naked!” Her voice was too shrill and breathless. Her eyes dropped, taking in the length of his lean muscled naked…gloriously naked body. The blush that burst on her cheeks was hot enough that she broke out into a sweat. Rope after rope of corded steel formed an eight-pack of abs, she could feel every smooth, hard contour as her breasts mashed against it. Damn, he was too tall, how would they ever…
Zoey shook her head, failing to clear the fog of lust that swamped her. Never in her life had she been so close to losing all sense of control. There wasn’t a world outside the perfect pectorals, and the muscles of his biceps as they flexed when he moved to put his hands on her shoulders. There was just him. Connor. A hundred percent male. She was a tiny, delicate female in comparison and the knowledge that he desired her sent bursts of electric energy through her, both weakening her body and strengthening her own desire at the same time.
Connor’s fingertips stroked her throat, the cool press of his fingers a balm to her fiery, sweat-dewed skin. His gaze grew slumberous as he looked down at her, like a wolf catching sight of a snowshoe hair out in the open tundra with no hope of making it to its burrow. She was a goner, couldn’t outrun him. He’d have his teeth in her neck and she didn’t stand a chance.
“Shall we get you naked too?” The suggestion flowed form his sensual lips and in that instant Zoey’s knees turned to jello. She would have collapsed onto the floor at his feet, but she stayed upright because his hips jerked forward, digging into hers, keeping her pinned to the counter.
“What do you think? Lose the shirt and show me that pretty skin, Zoey…” Her name, so often sounding childish when anyone else said it, sounded positively erotic the way he rolled the syllables off his tongue and lips. Her womb clenched…her head light, she sucked in a harsh, much needed breath.
“Umm…” There would be no more articulate words from her today apparently. Cave woman meet Caveman…her inner voice giggled wildly.
Lauren, I like it. Good job!
Here’s an excerpt from Stolen Away (which is currently #36 in Amazon’s Regency Romances, and #26 in Anthologies) – http://www.amazon.com/Stolen-Away-Regency-Novella-ebook/dp/B00AK1IGTQ/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1357583146&sr=8-2&keywords=stolen+away
Audrey thought about sending the footman to hire a traveling chaise, for they kept only a single pair of horses and an open landau with a leather top that could be put up in bad weather. However, the footman would then know that she and Chloe had not left the house together. If one servant knew, the entire house would soon hear the story—and servants from one house talked to servants from other houses.
She could not risk it.
Not if Chloe was to be extracted from this without talk, and without Arncliffe learning the truth. He might, of course, be gentleman enough that he would still hold to his betrothal to Chloe, even in such circumstances. But such knowledge must wound his pride and his heart. She would not allow that. No, somehow, she must fetch Chloe back—hopefully, with Chloe repentant for her folly, but otherwise unharmed. That meant, of course, hurriedly slipping a few things for herself—and Chloe—into a small portmanteau that she could carry and slipping out of the house.
A short, sharp questioning of Meg had at least made it clear that Chloe had left with no more than the clothes on her back. She must not have had planed an elopement—so Fitzjoy must have abducted her.
Well, he would be made to suffer. Abduction, particularly of an heiress, carried grave penalties. Only how could Great-uncle Ivor prosecute the fellow without the story becoming known? She would have to save that threat for only if the worst had happened to Chloe.
Her throat tightened. She smoothed a hand down the front of her short, Spencer jacket, her fingers brushing the mother-of-pearl buttons. The worst could not have happened—or so she prayed. She would cling to that thought, and she would bring Chloe home. Intact.
Taking a deep breath, she took up her soft-sided reticule, her York tan gloves, and a chip straw bonnet and slipped down the stairs and out the front door. A note given to the tearful and repentant Meg to hand to the porter had sent that servant elsewhere in the house on another task. Now she would have to hope that her mother carried off her part of the story well enough to convince both the staff and any callers that Audrey had left with Chloe to visit a relative.
At least Meg, guilt-ridden as she was, had been rehearsed into forgetting anything she knew about Chloe’s adventures.
Once outside the house and on Half Moon Street, Audrey hesitated. She knew that various mail coaches left from various London inns, but she had no idea which inns these might be, nor if these establishments hired out traveling chaises. They must, she assumed. But servants had always been sent to make such arrangements. She simply gave orders.
Biting her lower lip, Audrey glanced up and down the quiet street with its tidy, flanking rows of prosperous town houses. A breeze ruffled the hem of her skirt. The sun had not yet risen high and deep shadows from the plastered-covered buildings cast a chilly shade over her. She shivered. Should she have worn something more sturdy than a blue muslin day dress, even if it did have long sleeves. The short jacket that buttoned at the high waistline of her gown gave her little protection from the wind, but walking would warm her. If she saw a hackney, she would wave the driver down. Baring that, she could certainly make her way to one of the better hotels.
At that, she brightened.
Brown’s! That would be just the thing. They knew her and her mother at that respectable establishment. The hotel porter could summon a vehicle for her, and she had the household account money in her reticule to pay for any service. She hoped that eighteen pounds, five shillings, and tuppence would be sufficient. If not—well, she would think of something then.
Putting down her portmanteau, she pulled on her gloves, settled her bonnet in place, and tied the ribbon under her chin. She would manage. She must. For Chloe’s sake. For her mother’s. For Arncliffe.
She frowned again. She rather hoped that he and Chloe had not had any engagements set for the next day or so.
Bending down, she took up her bag.
As she straightened, a carriage turned the corner from Piccadilly—a black phaeton with a high perch seat and four smart, matched grays. A gentleman drove the team, for it was indeed a gentleman’s carriage. She glanced at it, worried. Could she avoid the driver’s notice? Turning, she tucked her chin down and started up the street, hoping the brim of her bonnet would obscure her features.
Behind her, the clop of hooves on the hard dirt of the street stopped. She glanced back.
The four thoroughbreds stood before the town house that her mother had rented for the Season. A short, stocky groom stood beside the leaders, settling the animals, smoothing a hand over first one gray dappled neck, then another. White manes fluttered in the breeze. The gentleman driver leapt down from the high-perch seat. The broad shoulders and the glimpse of gold hair from under his hat, betrayed his identity—Arncliffe!
Of course. Who else would call so early in the day, as if he were family?
Biting back a groan, Audrey started to hurry away, but he had already glimpsed her, for he called out, his tone uncertain, “Miss Colbert?”
She slowed her steps. It would be unforgivably rude to pretend she had not heard, but she had a craven desire to do just that. Instead, she turned.
A smile lifted his lips as he started toward her. He took off his hat as he reached her side, sweeping a polite half-bow.
Audrey swallowed. She swallowed again.
What in heavens did she tell him? And how did she explain why she was walking down the street with a portmanteau in one hand?
Great, Shannon. Congratulations on the Amazon ranking!Thanks for sharing.
Thanks for the opportunity! From The Companion of Lady Holmeshire: http://www.amazon.com/The-Companion-Lady-Holmeshire-ebook/dp/B005A8SJ0K/ref=tmm_kin_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1356568895&sr=1-1
The lawyer offered Emma his arm. They stepped out followed by Anne who began whimpering at the sight of a couple arm in arm. Certainly she would never be allowed to touch her dear one’s arm or even see his face again, what with meals in the nursery.
Her fussing was not heard at first. Mr. Hughes thanked Miss Carrington for meeting him at short notice. It was so seemingly thoughtless of him, he said, but the fact was he was free from work engagements unexpectedly and had been looking for another chance to talk with her after their first meeting a few evenings since. He would love to have heard her express great gladness he had come, but before that opportunity arose nothing could be heard above the lamentation behind them. Anne was bent over her first handkerchief, crying as she trudged along, so bent that she could not see where she was going and ran right into the back of Mr. Gabriel Hughes. She did not apologize, not having even noticed plowing into him, knocking him into a pillar and nearly into the area below stairs. She raised her voice to her mistress.
“Oh, ma’am, I am such a case of devastation.”
“So I see, Anne, dear girl, let’s find a bench and have a sit down. Come over here,” Emma wrapped her arm about the poor girl’s shoulder and led her to a seat. The astonished Gabriel regained his balance. He hastened to their sides to comfort little Anne as best he could but stopped short to contemplate how it might best be done. The ladies sat down. The gentleman was yet some feet away and got to be beside himself, as gentlemen often are when a woman is in tears. He hastened to pick her the beginnings of a lilac from a nearby bush, as nothing nearby was yet in full bloom, in hopes that what existed of it could dispel some of her grief. But for all her sobbing to Emma, it was never noticed.
“Please, tell me what to do,” she wailed. “I shall never see him again. The lovely footman, who helped me so downstairs—he … I … he may not ever appear near the nursery, you know, or in the hall near your room, and I may never know if he should care for me.”
“Anne, you have found someone you care for? I see. No wonder you were so delighted this morning.”
Poor Emma was lost for what to do. Her mind went back and forth, considering whether she should discourage this romance as propriety required, or whether she should help Anne in some way with it. Her puzzled look went from Anne to Gabe and back again. Could not Mr. Gabriel Hughes, this renowned orator, handle the case with some aplomb?
The gallant Gabriel took out his handkerchief and put it into Emma’s hands for her consideration. He then stood back, hoping he had pleased her. He nervously awaited the outcome and admired Emma for her selfless efforts and the humble friendship she extended toward her maid. He was ever so grateful to have a woman present to handle this grievous feminine emergency.
Anne could no longer contain her thoughts and blurted everything out to the abandonment of reason and sense. “I was delighted, ma’am, yes, I am sorry, for I know I am in service, and I never intended to consider deviating from it being so privileged, but how was I to know? And now her ladyship has said we are to eat upstairs.”
Gabriel was terribly confused by her comments, but she was a woman, after all, and how could she be understood? He looked to Emma for the gynecic wisdom that surely would, by now, have solved the puzzle, but to his dismay, Emma yet appeared perplexed. Someone must have some understanding of the situation and how to repair it, for it must be repaired that he not be required to endure more weeping while appearing to completely understand.
He, with chivalrous intent, suggested Emma obtain more information from the girl while he… stand guard, or assist with the belongings she had dropped, or best of all, locate a more private place for women to sob and confuse him. Off he went to search, but felt most inconsiderate for it. He had abandoned them to passersby, and he promptly returned. Perhaps things would make more sense quite soon, he hoped with all his heart.
You’re welcome. Thank you for sharing.
Here’s an excerpt from ‘In a Milk and Honeyed Land’, a historical novel set around 1200BC: see http://www.amazon.com/In-Milk-Honeyed-Land-ebook/dp/B00A5QMR0A/
She watched him obliquely, her head raised a little but still not looking directly at him. Her eyes, he noticed, were a shade lighter than Qetirah’s, contrasting with the darker hue of her skin. The creamy colour for the kef had been a fair choice, he thought abstractly, still struggling for words. “Look, I see now it must look as though that was all a bride-price for you, but it was shameful for him to send you out in just one piece of cloth. He wouldn’t even let you take that harp. He made me very angry in that. I wasn’t buying you with that silver, not at all. It was like, oh, I don’t know, more like making a thank-offering to the gods.”
“But all that was later. When you bought me you knew nothing of that, it was still to come. It had not happened.”
He looked away, fiddled with the fire for a few moments.
“Look now, you are not a slave any more, you are just the same now as any other woman of my town.” He broke off again, seeing the wary look still filling her features, and struck by a sudden thought pulled out the wooden writing frame. “Look, Nepheret, look I’ll swear by the gods to treat you well. I know, I’ll swear by Tefnut and Taliy. Here, you write the signs for Tefnut and I’ll write Taliy’s name, and I’ll swear an oath on both.”
She looked more directly at him, softening visibly, took the bronze nib and scratched out five signs from right to left, the first four in two vertical pairs, and a taller curved shape on its own to the left, pursing her lips at the rough shapes being made.
“There. But it should be made with a brush. These shapes are not so good.”
He took the nib back. “We can do a better copy up at Kefrath. This is my part.” He scratched out three quick signs. She looked at them and traced the first with her finger, moving her hand quickly away as he placed his over both the names, bowed his head, closed his eyes, and after thinking for a moment, said,
“These are the words of Damariel, seer of Kefrath, who came down from the hills and is now come up out of Gedjet with this woman Nepheret-er-sefet-Tefnut. Now,
listen, all you gods of the nations,
in the divine assembly take note:
record the words of Damariel,
the oath of the son of Yeresheth.
Taliy, I call to you to hear me,
Tefnut, I kiss the ground at your feet.
Nepheret’s freedom was bought for her pleasure,
and for her own delight has she been released.
May I find blessing when I look out for her well-being, body and soul, and may I find a curse if I do anything to her, soul or body, against her will and invitation.”
Richard, that’s great. Thanks for sharing.
From the Napoleonic spy thriller, OF HONEST FAME:
Barnet nodded and drank down the last of his ale, holding it for a long moment in his mouth before swallowing, then motioned to the tapster for another. He slid a coin across the bar-surface, then leaning heavily on the bar, regarded the head of foam on his refilled tankard with affection. And then, softly, sweetly even, he murmured, “Tom Ladyman’s brung you a parcel.”
Jesuadon, in the act of downing a glass of porter, narrowed his gaze in surprise. “What?”
“Tom Ladyman’s gone and brung you a parcel,” Barnet repeated. And there was a thread of humour in his quiet voice.
His voice now higher: “I beg your pardon?” Jesuadon gaped. This was too much. “What in the devil is Tom Ladyman doing this far north?” he ground out. “He’s meant to be down in Hampshire, the plaguey sauce box!”
His companion slanted him a glance, the first of the evening. “‘Tis a very special parcel,” he averred, giving a quick nod of approval. And again that thread of humour. “‘Tis waiting for you at Sparrowhawk’s, from what I hear.”
Jesuadon’s temper snapped, that edge of temper which had been threatening all day to break out, now wholly erupting. “What the devil is all this buggeration about parcels, you fecking poxy quire?”
The lashless man, who had been savouring his information, treasuring it, enjoying it as a sweetmeat in Lent, smiled, showing his decaying teeth. “‘Tis a lady,” he said, with a swift appreciative wink.
Jesuadon looked at him hard, fury mounting. “What in the name of all that’s holy would Tom Ladyman bring me a woman for?” he barked.
The repellent, confident smile grew. “Well, now, if would appear he grew tired of waiting for the weather to clear, what with Warne being none so keen to take shipments in the rain, as I understand it. On account of the paths through the Forest being so mired and all. So he’s took to the High Toby…and as chance would have it, he’s brung you a lady,” Barnet said airily. And added: “Perhaps he knows more o’ your habits than me…”
Jesuadon nearly screeched: “Taken to the High Toby? What?” In sudden rage, Jesuadon caught at his hair. “Tom Ladyman is a hell-born babe and a cursed idiot, and the devil may fly away with him! Od’s my life, it is bad enough having old Charlie Flint sending the Revenue Officers off in every direction to keep that fool from harm. But now he’s meant to interfere with Bow Street’s business as well, is he, to protect that bloody young lobcock? I shall damned well kill him for this!”
Jesuadon sniffed hard as if he had a cold coming on, and narrowed his eyes to peer angrily at Barnet. “You, sir, are a f**kster, sir,” he ground out, and turning on his heel, left.
The lashless man ran a cool smoothing hand over his sunburnt head and smiled appreciatively at his newly-filled tankard. “There now. I did enjoy that, you know,” he murmured, crooned even, to nobody.
http://mmbennetts.wordpress.com/books/of-honest-fame/
I’m intrigued. Thanks for sharing.
Excerpt from A Christmas Surprise
This is an excerpt from my Amazon bestselling debut regency, A Christmas Surprise.
Amazon-
As Aleece turned back to respond to a question from one in her circle, her eyes caught sight of a vision of pure delicious wickedness. In an instant she felt her heart pound in her chest, and her mouth grew dryer than the cakes served in one of the anterooms at Almack’s.
Redirecting her attention to one of her closest friends and confidantes she quietly asked, “Susan, who on earth is that devilishly handsome man over there? The one talking with your brother.” Aleece cocked her head oh so subtly toward the man she was referring to.
“I’m not sure. My brother arrived recently from Spain and only today came down to London. I wonder if the gentleman is a friend from the Guards?”
Aleece lifted her opened fan to hide most of her face as she peered over the top again at the man. “That must be it,” she said before turning back to her circle of friends.
Now partially screened from view she was able to better assess the handsome man. Dark brown hair, fashionably cut and swept forward with a wisp falling over his forehead, which her fingers itched to brush back. A Bath superfine black evening coat tailored to emphasize his broad shoulders, so typical of the Guards’ officers, graced his torso, enticing her hands to want to touch him.
With the distance and crowd between them, Aleece wasn’t able to completely evaluate the entire form of this intriguing person which frustrated her. She did suspect from what was visible, the rest, she suspected, would be as perfect.
Slightly embarrassed at her thoughts she felt her face warm when this so mysterious individual looked directly at her and seemingly devoured her with his eyes before he gave her a slight nod. Aleece watched as Lord Jeffery, Susan’s older brother, and the man circled the dance floor heading directly to where she and her friends were conversing.
She turned to Susan saying, “They’re coming over here. Do you think this gentleman will garner an introduction?”
“I shan’t be surprised, considering how focused on you he
appears.”
Very nice, Lindsay. Thank you for posting.
I had fun reading everyone’s excerpts, and of course I love Marcus and Phoebe. Thanks, Ella!
Hi Ally, thanks for stopping by.
My excerpt is from my Victorian novel COACHMAN. Links to all sales points (Amazon & ISBNs for bookshop orders) are available from http://www.jackdawebooks.co.uk/coachman.htm.
Lucy first saw George strolling into the Blue Bell, seeming to bring with him all the sunshine of the crisp autumn afternoon. He stood his whip against the bar and doffed his smart hat to her most politely, and when he asked for ale his smile was so firm and handsome she had to stop herself hurrying, in her eagerness to serve him.
After he’d taken the edge off his thirst he didn’t wander off to find a seat like most coachmen did. He unfastened the buttons of his driving coat to take in the warmth of the inn, and leaned his elbow on the little counter.
Lucy seldom bothered to question her customers, but there was something steady and restful in his face, and something very appealing in his warm brown eyes.
“Have you come very far?” she asked.
“Oh, around,” he said. “Liverpool, Manchester, Buxton, all over.”
“Buxton? Oh aye? I’ve heard it’s popular to take the waters if you’re poorly. But it must have done you good. You look quite healthy.” She gave a hint of a smile, inviting him to laugh, and he did.
“I wasn’t taking a cure, saucy. I was driving a coach.”
“As if I couldn’t have guessed.” She flicked a finger against the whipthong that hung like a coiled white snake from its stick. “Was it good work?”
“Not bad. I drove the manufacturers, and the commercial gents, and their wives and families. It was nothing fancy.”
This time she laughed, not believing him. “Oh, I’m sure it must have been.”
“Well,” he said, “it was a business, just like yours, I suppose. If you can give your passengers something useful about the scenery or the places they should visit, they remember you and give you a good tip.”
“And you had plenty to tell them, I suppose?”
He only smiled a little. “They’re manufacturers – the new rich – people who want to move in society. I don’t care so much for them because they don’t care how I drive – and that’s because they don’t know how it should be done! But if I had you on my coach, I’d find all manner of things to tell you.”
“Oh, I couldn’t move in society,” she said. “I’ve lived here too long! But if you have a new way to stop the customers fondling me, I’d be glad to hear of it.”
“Impossible,” he said, “unless you could put on a hundredweight of flesh and about forty years! And that would be a dreadful waste.”
She had no time to answer before Mr Farrimond shouted, “Wench! Fetch us brandy, will you?”
She excused herself and carried brandies to the fireside for Farrimond and his friend Armstrong. She considered her new customer. He seemed a bit cagey about his background but she couldn’t fault him for that: she knew what it was to need defences. Too many men had come and gone through the doors of the Blue Bell, and the other houses where she and her mother had lived.
When she came back he was looking into an empty mug.
“Shall I fill that up for you, sir?”
“George,” he said. “Davenport. But you can call me George,” and when she reached for the mug he wouldn’t release it until she’d repeated his name.
While she poured the ale she found it easy to go on talking. “Why did you leave Buxton? Didn’t you have a good place?”
“It’s the end of the season. They call them butterfly coaches, you know, because they go to bed as soon as there’s a hint of autumn. Now let me ask you something, my lovely judy. You’re too pretty to be called Wench. What’s your name?”
“Lucy, sir.”
“Ah-ah – George, remember?” His smile warmed her again and she smiled back, and then to her own astonishment, found she was blushing. She busied herself wiping down the bar. She still had to ask two very important questions.
Keeping her eyes on the cloth, she rubbed the little curved counter top, paying far too much attention to the detail of its rounded edges. She knew he was watching her. She asked without looking up, “So, do you have a place now in Carlisle?”
“Yes.”
“And will you be staying here long?”
“Just until the spring.”
She felt a pang of disappointment. As though he understood, he leaned towards her and said gently, “But this looks like a snug place to spend a winter night. I don’t want anything fancy, only a bed to myself – then y’see, whatever I find in it, I’ve only myself to blame, haven’t I?”
She looked up to find him so close that she could hear him breathe.
“Do you have a room for me? Go on, fix me up, Lucy my darling.” He took her hand and pressed a half-crown into it, folding her fingers inside his own.
She wondered, for a moment, whether he thought he was buying her. That would have ruined everything. But she judged that his eyes were sincere.
Then her mother had come in from the kitchens and started to discuss terms for his lodging.
“A single room? There’s only one that’s empty. Most o’ t’coachmen shares, two or three to a room. Oh! well if ye insist, ye’ll have to find the price …” Mrs Hennessy paused as if waiting for a response, and he drew out a handful of silver and looked at them both with that half-smile. Lucy knew that for her mother ready cash was a powerful lure. “Very good, in that case, ye’ll be welcome – sir. Should I send Michael to fetch your bags?”
“He won’t stay,” said Ma, in the kitchen. “Too high in t’instep. Too free with his cash.”
Lucy kept her face expressionless.
“He’ll do as he pleases, I expect,” she said.
“Aye well, they all do,” said Ma. “Men. Trick is to make ’em pay for what pleases ’em. You make sure you give him nowt unless he pays for it. He’s just a customer.”
Sue, you’ve got me interested. Thank for posting.
Great excerpt, Ella! This was one of my fav lines: “And where did you find this paragon of nature?” So excited for your release!! 😀
Thanks, Karen. I hope September/October doesn’t seem like a really long time.
Great excerpts today. I’m coming in so late I won’t post, but next time I’ll be ready. Love Lady Phoebe!
Thank you. Jenna, I’m holding you to posting next time.
This is from my newly released story, Caitlin’s Book of Shadows, available at Amazon: http://amzn.to/UY4eqH
“What do you have there, Abigail?”
“More recipes, I guess.” She opened the cover and read the title, drawn in
Trevor’s sure hand: Caitlin’s Book of Shadows
Abigail gasped. No, not recipes.
Was it true? Had she really committed something like this to old-fashioned pen and ink? She flipped a few pages, reading entries.
I’d like to put in some orange trees.
Trevor told me Arianrhod might stop by.
She narrowed her eyes at the text. Was this really Caitlin’s work? She’d have to compare it to what they called Caitlin’s ideas pages—those pages scattered throughout Trevor’s five decades of collected sketchbooks wherein his wife had jotted down random thoughts and lists. Though the bulk of Caitlin’s work existed in electronic print the notebooks and this shared a similar slant. Although their grandson’s handwriting did seem comparable to this . . .
She set the book on her desk, running her fingers over its soft leather cover again. Caitlin’s book of shadows. She couldn’t wait to read the story therein.
Had Caitlin written it herself? If not, who had?
Some said she entertained the devil. Some said she spoke to the dead and heroes from the distant past. Was it true? No one knew, but perhaps this would solve some of the mystery?
***
This story is the second in my dark fantasy Antique Magic series. 🙂 Thanks for this opportunity, Ella!
Juli, you’re welcome, thanks for sharing.
Ella, your excerpt was wonderful. And may I say, every excerpt here was fantastic.
Thank you, Brenda.
A little late to the game but it’s my resolution to make it out to blogs more this year. Either way, I combed through some of the excerpts and definitely noted some books for my TBR list. Thanks Ella for doing this and letting us share excerpts.
Hi Toni, you’re very welcome, and thanks for coming by. I’m glad you enjoyed it.
I’m really late, but I wanted to say that I really loved your excerpt! Makes me want to read more. 🙂
Stacy, thank you. You’re never too late to say that.
Ella, your excerpt was great! Will be looking forward to more about your book’s release as the year goes on! 🙂 Thanks!