it's a beautiful Sunday afternoon. I'm sitting at my desk (taking a break to write this post) doing edits on An Improper Wife. I'm so excited. this is my first dabble into English/Scottish historical erotic romance. I have to give props to my writing partner Tarah Scott. Without her this book would, well it would have been contemporary romance lol. She is the brilliant writer who made the historical aspects of the story so engaging.
Here is a sneak peek. The book is coming to Total E Bound on May 8th!!
(This is not the final edited version of the story.)
Taran’s body tensed when her gaze turned to steel.
”I am to wed,” she said.
“To wed—you mean—” He stared. “What in God’s name are you doing at this masque?” But he knew the answer. Innocence and sin. Heaven and sweet hell. When she’d first touched his cock with those delicate, inexperienced fingers, he’d nearly exploded.
“Christ,” he muttered.
She had purposely misled him. He should turn her over his knee and paddle her backside. Or her soon-to-be-husband should.
He was a fool. At cards he beat the most skilled player, few dared face him in a dawn appointment, yet this wisp of a woman brought him to his knees when she knelt and took him into her mouth.
Moonlight seeped through the crack in the window drape and fell across the purple sash that now lay unevenly beneath her breasts. As if reading his mind, she slid the drapery closed.
Taran lifted his eyes to her face, bathed in the soft light of the interior lamp. “Why attend the masque?” he demanded.
Her gaze dropped.
The carriage bumped and rolled along the lane for a long moment before he prompted, “My lady?”
Her eyes rose to meet his. “You know as well as I, that a woman has only that which is given her.”
Taran thought of the woman who would be his wife tomorrow. Condemned to life with a man she had met once as a girl, her betrothed’s brother, a man she didn’t know, but must take into her bed on the day they wed.
I decided—” Aphrodite paused. “I decided to take something for myself.”
Taran released the breath he held. This he understood. “Many hours remain before morning. There are ways we may pleasure one another and satisfy your husband in the bargain.”
Her expression turned wary.
“Something for yourself?” He extended a hand.
A moment passed, and a vise-like pressure squeezed his chest as an unexpected urge arose to protect her—to claim her for his own. He had no business opening his heart to her. Despite the logic, a fissure in his armour-plated shell cracked. She placed her hand in his and he breathed again.
She moved to his side of the carriage and Taran pulled her close. He kissed her, trailed a hand over her ribs, then cupped a breast, pinching the pebbled nipple until her breath caught and she trembled in his arms.
In his imagination, they lay in a feather bed next to a warm fire while he filled her with his cock and tasted her pleasure in hot, wet kisses. Tonight they had a rented carriage and stolen touches.
He brushed her ear with his lips. “Remove your mask.”
She pushed him back so that she could look into his face. “We have left the masque, but the rules prevail.”
“Even in the cover of darkness?” He leaned across the seat and blew out the lamp. The compartment plunged into pitch black. He sat back beside her. “My hands shall be my eyes.” He removed his mask, set it on the opposite cushion, then reached for hers.
“My lord, no.” The fear in her voice reminded him of her innocence and he silently swore constraint.
“I promise, we shall don our disguises before first light.”
