historical-romance

He kissed her temple. "Would you read to me?" "You wouldn't grow bored?" "Not if you were reading, my love." Helen slipped off the bed, tiptoed into the main chamber and retrieved the book from the table. When she returned, Eoin had situated the candelabra to provide good light, and arranged the pillows for comfort. How wonderful it was to be with a man who actually cared enough to do simple things like fluffing the pillows. He opened his arms and beckoned her to him. "Come and tell me what this story's about." "It would be my pleasure, sir knight." Helen climbed up and snuggled into his arms. She opened the cover and read the title. "'The Wedding of Sir Gawain and Dame Ragnelle'." She looked at Eoin and grinned. "The story begins when the mystical knight, Sir Gromer Somer Joure, challenges King Arthur to discover what women desire most, or face dire consequences." He rested his chin on her shoulder and peered at the pages. "You have me entranced already.

She flapped her hands, anxious energy coursing through her. __ow can you be so calm?_ He got to his feet, unfolding with an easy grace. He held out a hand, his dark eyes focused solemnly on hers. __ome with me._ __or what?_ __hat__ part of the lesson._ Was it her imagination, or did a twinkle of humor stir in those eyes? __enter yourself, and grab onto the here and now._ That made no sense__hat was he now, Sir Medieval Zen Master? But she slipped her hand into his strong, calloused one. He hauled her up until she bumped into his chest. With a finger under her chin, he tilted her face until she looked in his eyes. __isten to the world around you. Hear the birds? Hear the small animals scurrying? You are in this moment, this moment only, and sometimes that__ all you can do, all you can be._ His finger pulled away, brushing against her skin, and he tapped her nose, stepping away.

He had years of experience and training. She'd unraveled them in a week, and he was left at loose ends. This distraction, this madness of desire and yearning- it was everything a man in his position needed to avoid. On second thought, perhaps his senses hadn't been muddled. After all, they had been meticulously attuned to detect the slightest hint of peril.This woman- this beautiful, unbiddable, all-too-perceptive woman- was his personal embodiment of danger. She could ruin him. Destroy everything he'd worked to become.And she would do it all with a smile.

He hadn__ landed on the battlefield to save Christina, at least not entirely. He__ landed there because it was meant to be _ because his destiny lay with a bonny woman who would capture his heart and show him honor and respect on a uniquely deep level that had been lost in the twenty-first century.

Temperance Dews stood with quiet confidence, a respectable women who lived in the sewer that was St. Giles. Her eyes had widened at the sight of Lazarus, but she made no move to flee. Indeed, finding a strange man in her pathetic sitting room seemed not to frighten her at all.Interesting.__ am Lazarus Huntington, Lord Caire,_ he said.__ know. What are you doing here?__e tilted his head, studying her. She knew him, yet did not recoil in horror? Yes, she__ do quite well. ____e come to make a proposition to you, Mrs. Dews.__till no sign of fear, though she eyed the doorway. __ou__e chosen the wrong woman, my lord. The night is late. Please leave my house.__o fear and no deference to his rank. An interesting woman indeed.__y proposition is not, er, illicit in nature,_ he drawled. __n fact, it__ quite respectable. Or nearly so.__he sighed, looked down at her tray, and then back up at him. __ould you like a cup of tea?__e almost smiled. Tea? When had he last been offered something so very prosaic by a woman? He couldn__ remember.But he replied gravely enough. __hank you, no.__he nodded. __hen if you don__ mind?__e waved a hand to indicate permission.She set the tea tray on the wretched little table and sat on the padded footstool to pour herself a cup. He watched her. She was a monochromatic study. Her dress, bodice, hose, and shoes were all flat black. A fichu tucked in at her severe neckline, an apron, and cap__o lace or ruffles__ere all white. No color marred her aspect, making the lush red of her full lips all the more startling. She wore the clothes of a nun, yet had the mouth of a sybarite.The contrast was fascinating__nd arousing.__ou__e a Puritan?_ he asked.Her beautiful mouth compressed. __o.

The pulse visible in the pale column of her neck vibrated faster, her intoxicating scent washed over him, and he was dizzy with lust. Even through his mail and gambeson, he could feel her womanly curves crushed against his hard chest. He uncurled his fingers from her throat and ran the tough leather of his palm__ mitten along her neck and to the enticing curve of her shoulder. He nudged her mantle an inch, exposing skin. He cursed that his hand was covered in mail. How long had he wanted to taste, to touch her precious skin? Unable to resist, he bent and, with his tongue, touched, tasted the heat of the skin on her collarbone. Oh, Christ, she was lovely. She shivered, and satisfaction roared through him.

When she straightened, he leaned back in the chair, his eyelids heavy. __y God, woman, you know how to make a man melt.

I__l never leave you. I__l never mistreat you. I think you know that by now. Try with me. Let us find what we may find.___hat do you expect to find, Robert?___ow should I know? I__e never experienced anything like this before in my life._ Tears shone briefly under her graceful long lashes before she blinked them away and glanced at him again with a reluctant twist of a smile. Sitting up, she wrapped her arms around her bent knees and sighed.__ou are asking us both to set ourselves up for great hurt when it comes time for me to leave.___eave? Don__ speak of leaving, angel. You must stay forever.___s your mistress.___s my love,_ he countered insistently.

What to make of this man? He was proper. He was passionate. He had the public demeanor of an iceberg, but he kissed her as if she were his oasis in a vast, arid d

Rory did not want her. After devoting so much effort to avoid being wed to a man she did not want, she found herself bound to a man who did not want her.

Hot-blooded men make war. It__ up to cool-headed queens like us to make the peace.

Enjoy the ride!

Except I was hoping someday to see you standing on a ship's deck in your shirtsleeves with a cutlass between your teeth.""Maybe it can be arranged

Lying on the floor, with the carved panels of the ceiling flickering dimly above, I found myself thinking that I had always heretofore assumed that the tendency of eigh­teenth-century ladies to swoon was due to tight stays; now I rather thought it might be due to the idiocy of eighteenth-century men.

Without love, we are pointless. With it, we are infinite.

Let me touch you, Ivy. Let me have you...let me love you. This is madness, what is between us...a fire that cannot be extinguished. A thirst I cannot seem to quench. Somehow, you've destroyed me and I cannot bear it. God, I've missed you so terribly." --Sebastian Cain

She didn't know how she would survive when every breath stung, every tear burned, and every step took her further from the only man she'd ever loved.

...Ethan, but I'm certainly not the type of woman to just go home with two men whether I know them or not. It would be highly inappropriate, not to mention stupid.""And you're not stupid.""Not as far as I can tell"...