historical-romance

Don__ be sorry, Darlin__, he said in his best cowboy drawl, __or I__ certainly not. It__ not every day a man like me gets to assist such a pretty lady. Any time you need help in or out of a wagon, you just give me a holler_ he said in a teasing tone, ____l be right there, hoping you__l fall in my arms again.

He hated having to look for a new girl, a new spy to add to his band of fallen women. Yes, it was an opportunity to spare her before her ruin could be known, but a deep part of him hurt for the women in his employ and what they__ all endured.

Steeling her resolve, she stepped further into the study. __egardless if I have your blessing, I have made up my mind. I love Hugh Maclain. It is he whom I will wed._ Pap guzzled the remaining dregs. Slamming the bottle to the table with a belch, his gaze wandered to the hearth rather than to Charlotte. __o._ He drew the word out and it hung in the air and chilled like death. __ou cannot marry a corpse.

I falter in the doorway, swept with memories of my reckless behavior last time I saw him. I sipped wine from a bottle. I kissed him. And as my pulse flutters with excitement, I know I would do it again, given the chance.

She sighed. __hat I wouldn__ give for a civilized bathroom._ Howie remained silent out of habit and also because he didn__ know what a civilized bathroom was.

His heat, his erotic pull__he could feel it. A weird, pulsing, virtual pull tugging at her skin, her nerve endings. Made her want to_touch. Made her want. The more she resisted the urge, the stronger it became. It would be a relief, really. To just_touch. One little touch. Just one.

A woman__ lust is addictive ," he murmured, marveling at the wetness coating his fingers as he stroked her. She trembled and her breath hitched in response. "It inspires a man to touch and to taste.

The engorged moon hung full and low in the sky like a yellow skull. Misshapen clouds stretched across the floating orb with elongated hands and bony fingers grasping. As they neared the docks, the gas lamps grew fewer and the streets gloomier. The cobblestones blackened as they passed the deserted brickfields. Bottle-shaped kilns spat their outrage with orange tongues of fire into the cooling air. Mangy dogs snarled in hunger and wandering sea-gulls screamed their displeasure at the hansom__ passage.

The first time Christina and Lachlan Meet ...Christina wasn't about to stop fighting__ot until she took her last breath. Boring down with her heels, she thrashed. "Get off me, ye brute." She would hold her son in her arms this day if it was the last thing she did. And by the shift of the crushing weight on her chest, she only had moments before her life's breath completely whooshed from her lungs. The very thought of dying whilst her son was still held captive infused her with strength. With a jab, she slammed the heel of her hand across the man's chin. He flew from her body like a sack of grain. Praises be, had the Lord granted her with superhuman strength? Blinking, Christina sat up. No, no. Her strike hadn't rescued her from the pillager. A champion had. A behemoth of a man pummeled the pikeman's face with his fists. "Never. Ever." His fists moved so fast they blurred. "Harm. A. Woman!" Bloodied and battered, the varlet dropped to the dirt. A swordsman attacked her savior from behind. "Watch out," she cried, but before the words left her lips the warrior spun to his feet. Flinging his arm backward, he grabbed his assailant's wrist, stopped the sword midair and flipped the cur onto his back. Onward, he fought a rush of English attackers with his bare hands, without armor. Not even William Wallace himself had been so talented. This warrior moved like a cat, anticipating his opponent's moves before they happened. Five enemy soldiers lay on their backs. "Quickly," the man shouted, running toward her, his feet bare. No sooner had she rolled to her knees than his powerful arms clamped around her. The wind whipped beneath her feet. He planted her bum in the saddle. "Behind!" Christina screamed, every muscle in her body clenching taut. Throwing back an elbow, the man smacked an enemy soldier in the face resulting in a sickening crack. She picked up her reins and dug in her heels. "Whoa!" The big man latched onto the skirt of her saddle and hopped behind her, making her pony's rear end dip. But the frightened galloway didn't need coaxing. He galloped away from the fight like a deer running from a fox. Christina peered around her shoulder at the mass of fighting men behind them. "My son!" "Do you see him?" the man asked in the strangest accent she'd ever heard. She tried to turn back, but the man's steely chest stopped her. "They took him." "Who?" "The English, of course." The more they talked, the further from the border the galloway took them. "Huh?" the man mumbled behind her like he'd been struck in the head by a hammer. Everyone for miles knew the Scots and the English were to exchange a prisoner that day. The champion's big palm slipped around her waist and held on__t didn't hurt like he was digging in his fingers, but he pressed firm against her. The sensation of such a powerful hand on her body was unnerving. It had been eons since any man had touched her, at least gently. The truth? Aside from the brutish attack moments ago, Christina's life had been nothing but chaste. White foam leached from the pony's neck and he took in thunderous snorts. He wouldn't be able to keep this pace much longer. Christina steered him through a copse of trees and up the crag where just that morning she'd stood with King Robert and Sir Boyd before they'd led the Scottish battalion into the valley. There, she could gain a good vantage point and try to determine where the backstabbing English were heading with Andrew this time. At the crest of the outcropping, she pulled the horse to a halt. "The pony cannot keep going at this pace." The man's eyebrows slanted inward and he gave her a quizzical stare. Good Lord, his tempest-blue eyes pierced straight through her soul. "Are you speaking English?

A large man with wild blond hair gripped hr horse__ reins, drawing her steed to a stop. __elcome to hell._ Though he presented a jovial grin, his words shot straight to her gut. __nough, Murdoch,_ Sylvi said in a warning tone. The man shrugged his shoulders. __ch, I__ just toying with the new lasses. ____l no_ be here long to share my winning personality.

Love was like a stock, Lizzie realized. You gambled on its paying off in the long run__ut it could just as easily cost you everything.

He took a step back to distance himself from her wicked, mind-consuming scent. In the future if he wanted to bamboozle an opponent in the karate ring, all he had to do was splash on some eau de Christina.

He watched her emerald eyes darken with need until they were the color of the Highland hills warmed by the summer sun.

When their lips finally met, all the pent up emotion within Christina__ breast surged, funneling into a whirlwind of heat. Pushing away all thoughts, she allowed herself only to feel. Lachlan could be so physical, so powerful, so brutal, but when he wrapped his arms around her, Christina felt invincible. Be it true or nay, she felt loved, and cherished, and valued. Reaching up, she slid her fingers through his locks. Soft waves of thick tresses contrasted with hardened male_. As his kiss eased, he cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand. __ wish I could hold you in my arms forever.

Isn't one man's truth another man's lie?

Cole stilled when his feral eyes found her, roaming every inch as though searching for a wound. The doorway framed him like a portal to purgatory, and he stood like an avenging archangel come to wreak a wrath no less than biblical. The swells of his powerful chest heaved against the white of his shirtsleeves now blotched and stained with blood. The blade on his prosthesis was extended past the motionless metal fingers, and blood dripped from it into a thick crimson puddle on the marble floor.

Howie brought her hand to his lips. __ou stepped in front of me,_ he said in wonder. __ didn__ need you to. I can handle Prudence Morgan._ __ut you didn__._ She tapped his chest. __ou stayed quiet for the longest time before responding._ __uiet is how I handle difficult people_._ __ou don__ handle me that way._ Her voice came out sounding breathless. Howie slipped his arms around her. __f it were up to me, this is how I__ handle you._ Butterflies danced in her stomach. Not a fearful battering of wings, but a sparkling mating flight, making her heart soar into her throat. __hy isn__ it up to you?

She led them to their pallets, again encircled by other pallets. She sat down, sighing at her aching muscles, and caught his gaze. __ou may, er, wrap your arms around me if that will make you feel I am safer._ He chuckled--a hoarse chuckle, rusty, but a chuckle nonetheless. She__ take it. __ay I indeed?_ He lay beside her and pulled her back against him, settling her head on his arm, bunching the other hide up to use as a pillow. __f I must._ His warm sigh tickled across her neck. __fter all, I must ensure that pinkie does not wander._ Would Robert never let her forget that?