Darkest Dreams (40 page)

The corner of his mouth quirked up as he sat. “What's next? The Terminator?”

“Sponge Bob Square Pants,” she said briskly as she turned on the water.

He snorted and winced. “Can we stick with Superman?”

“Depends on how cooperative you are, Dudley Do Right.”
More like Studly Do Right
.

He laughed, then groaned. “Okay. You win. Just don't make me laugh again. No more torture.”

She opened the first-aid kit and he reached for the Ibuprofen, downing a handful of them before pulling off his stained T-shirt. The bathroom shrank to the size of a pea pod, a very warm pea pod. And the torture had just begun because ignoring him and the effect of his chiseled in stone physique became impossible. His every muscle was perfectly defined, supple and vibrant with life.
Thank God for that
.

This man had put his life on the line for their country numerous times. And he'd put everything on the line for her without question.

Taking the wash cloth, she gently cleansed away the dried blood then dabbed some antibiotic ointment to his wound and left it open to air at his insistence. She turned her attention to cleaning his neck and chest as well, lingering more than she had a right to, but unable to stop herself from relishing every touch. A touch he was clearly far from indifferent to, a reaction that filled her even more with want, with need, with excitement. He seemingly watched her every move with his heated gaze, but then she swore he'd stared at her mouth, her breasts, her sex so long that it was a wonder she didn't burst into flames.

She surprised herself on how quickly she finished, then again, he had a way of warping her perception of time. It could have been five minutes, it could have been fifty, whatever it was, it wasn't enough. She wanted more of him, needed to give more to him in so many ways.

That bullet had shot to hell any barriers or pretensions, leaving a raw need that only he could fill. She slid her palm against his hard-edged jaw and eased his gaze up to hers. His skin had become burning hot, his pulse raced beneath her finger tips, and his respirations had quickened considerably. “Are you sure you don't need the hospital?”

“The hospital is the last thing I need right now.” His voice was like sandpaper, made her feel raw, vulnerable and that much more needy. He placed his hand against her hers and turned to brush his lips to the inside of her wrist. The simmering desire between them flared white hot and burned a path all the way to her core. She shivered with excitement. The connection between them was one that only a near-death incident could forge.

Her mouth went dry and she searched hard for the right thing to say to him. Her heart was so full, her need so great. She met his gaze. “I don't know that I've thanked you enough. For being there yesterday. Today. For keeping my sons safe. For keeping me alive.”

He started to shake his head and she stopped him. “Let me finish. I want to thank you for what you've done every day, for the years that you've been there doing what has to be done so I can live the life I live. It means more than I can express or ever repay.”

He exhaled. “Lauren, sometimes it's a job, sometimes it's more than that. It's everything I believe. But right now it sure as hell isn't—”

She pressed her finger to his lips, halting his words. “That being said, I want you to know this has nothing whatsoever to do with gratitude and everything to do with what's in my heart.” She planted her mouth on his, ready to start this kiss where their kiss last night had ended.

Handing over the reins is hard. Handing over his heart…damn near impossible.

 

Gideon

© 2011 Beth Williamson

 

Devils on Horseback, Book 5

Gideon Blackwood is on the run—from Tanger's meddling matchmakers. With no intention of following the rest of the Devils down the aisle, he heads for the hills to reassess a life spent leading and caring for others…and runs smack into the business end of a shotgun. At the trigger: a curmudgeonly woman with a broken axle and a load of responsibility.

In Chloe Ruskin's experience, men take what they want and leave a mess of trouble behind. The safety of two orphans and her granny is at stake, and the last thing she needs is Gideon's “help”. This time, though, she has no choice but to allow the big cowboy to fix her wagon.

As they work into the night, grudging admiration grows into attraction—and desire. Gideon finds he can't dig his boot heels in hard enough to avoid falling for the opinionated little female.

When Chloe's family disappears, her suspicion threatens to destroy any spark of love before it catches fire. Gideon finds himself making promises his pride won't let him break—even if it costs him the love of the woman who owns the missing half of his soul.

Warning: Beware of a strong hero with a stubborn streak a mile wide and a heroine with enough gumption to fill the entire state of Texas. Discover love, hot sex and an amazing, dangerous adventure.

 

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Gideon:

Gideon was furious. Not only had he allowed the stranger to keep them tied up and captive for a good portion of the day, but Chloe had changed their circumstances instead of him. It was his job to be the one doing the rescuing and planning, not hers. Yet he had hesitated to do what needed to be done because he was afraid she would get hurt.

Now the idea made him nearly snort. She was not only fearless, she was smart and quick as hell. They'd been tied together, yet she'd managed to injure the peddler woman, maintain her balance and give him the opportunity to disarm their enemy. It was damn embarrassing, frustrating and impressive.

After they were far enough away to be safe for now, he climbed up into the wagon and sat beside Chloe. He set the shotgun in front of them on the floor and held out his hands. She just raised one brow.

“What makes you think I'm gonna let you drive?”

Gideon gritted his teeth. “Because I'm the man here.”

“I'd say we're equal partners, Blackwood. We were a team back there, and you're gonna have to let me hold the reins now and again.”

It made sense, of course. Logic over emotion and all that, but he didn't give a shit about logic. He just wanted to feel as if he was in control, even if he wasn't.

“For right now, just hand it over.”

She must have seen something in his expression, because she sighed dramatically and gave him the reins. Gideon wondered if she were humoring him but didn't want to take that thought any further. Right now he would focus on the trail ahead of them and getting back to where they had been as soon as possible. Unfortunately, the team was old and plodded along slower than he thought possible. They would need some fresh blood to pull this wagon, or they would never catch the people they chased.

They moved along at a snail's pace, the sound of the merchandise in the wagon behind them clanking and banging together as the wheels hit dips in the trail. It was a strange kind of music—one he did not want to get used to hearing. He planned on getting rid of the wagon as soon as they found the Ruskins. For now he would endure it and its hideous stench.

“Do you think we can find our way back to the packs we left behind?” Chloe's voice was surprisingly calm.

“Maybe, but with all the shit in this wagon, we don't need any supplies.”

She murmured something he didn't quite catch. Five minutes later, she apparently could not control her tongue any longer. “I want that pack back. It's likely all we have left of our things, and I don't want to show up on my aunt's doorstep with nothing but dirty drawers and bugs in my hair.”

“This is the same trail we followed west. If we keep going, we'll end up where we were this afternoon.” He could almost feel her grinning at him. “But there's no guarantee we'll find the exact spot, and we can't afford to be poking around in the woods.”

She nodded. “I understand that, and I would probably say the same thing. But in this case, I can find the spot.”

“How is that possible? It was a bunch of trees with no distinguishing landmarks.” Gideon thought maybe she was trying to trick him into searching for the packs. There was no chance she could find a bush in the middle of the thick woods they had left them in.

“Distinguishing landmarks? You sure do talk fancy.” She shook her head. “I cut an X in the tree bark.”

“You did what?”

“You heard me. I marked the tree with my knife when you was getting captured.” Chloe sounded so damn smug, his annoyance notched up further.

He told himself not to react, to let her have her moment of triumph. Overall, Gideon was the better soldier, even if she'd been the one who freed them from their captivity. She was a young woman, cocky and sure of herself. There was no reason for him to get riled up.

But damned if he didn't.

Before he even realized what he was doing, Gideon dropped the reins and yanked her close to him for a bruising kiss. It was a clashing of lips, teeth and tongue, different from their midnight sex. This was primal, elemental and overwhelming. Perhaps it was because they had faced danger together and escaped. He knew he was lying to himself, but thinking wasn't an option at the moment.

In fact, he could hardly breathe.

The salty taste of her lips gave way to the sweetness of her mouth. The hot, wet recesses beckoned him until he was so deep he couldn't distinguish where she ended and he began. His dick hardened in an instant, pressing against his trousers, eager to find release with Chloe. To his shock, her hand started pulling on the buttons to free him. He was about to stop her when she spoke.

“Please, I need. Now.” It was a fractured thought but one he understood.

He yanked at the offending buttons until the evening air hit his overheated skin. Her hand surrounded him, and he groaned into her mouth. Thank God she wore drawers with a slit. The ugly dress bunched around her hips. Chloe straddled him, never breaking the kiss, and soon he was poised at her entrance, which was already wet with arousal.

It was wrong, it was foolhardy, it was loco. He couldn't stop if someone put a gun to his head.

Gideon had never been as aroused or as hard as he was at that moment. She sank onto his length, inch by inch, her tightness surrounding him, embracing him. He gripped the seat beside him until the wood almost splintered under his fingers. It was only through sheer force of will he did not come in the first five seconds. She was perfectly made for him, as if someone had engineered her tiny body to accept, welcome, enclose his.

“Ohhhhh,” she breathed against his lips. “It's even better than last night.”

Damn straight it was. Gideon guided her up and down a few times, and then she took control again. Her pace increased quickly until all he could do was hang on to her hips and try not to find his release too soon. Blood raced around inside him until his heartbeat became the only thing he heard.

The sounds of the forest around them ceased, and the air became still. The world held its breath as Gideon and Chloe moved together as one being in an ancient rhythm, hearts thumping, breath catching. Sliding against one another, their moans echoing softly into the dense forest.

The long way home could be the shortest road to ruin…

 

The King's Mistress

© 2011 Sandy Blair

 

The king of Scotland is in a snit. Which means Britt MacKinnon, proud captain of the king's guard, has an onerous task: fetch Alexander's favorite paramour back to the royal bed—
now.
Never mind that the crown should be about the business of getting a legitimate heir. Especially since England's Edward I would love nothing more than to seize an empty Scottish throne.

When the handsome soldier appears on her doorstep, Geneen Armstrong has to think quickly. Her twin lies abed in her cottage, pregnant with the king's bastard. If the barren queen learns the truth, the foolish girl's life won't be worth a farthing.
 

She must somehow transform her graceless, plain-spoken self into her vivacious, talented sister. Then, after the court is convinced she carries no child, use her herbal knowledge to sour the king's taste for her sister's company—for good.
 

By the time Britt realizes this unusually articulate, ungodly stubborn woman is the
wrong
woman, tendrils of attraction have already tightened into a bond. A bond that will be tested when the king's unexpected death puts Scotland's very destiny at stake—and unleashes an ever-tangling web of court intrigues, secrets…and lies.

Warning: This title contains men in kilts, Scottish accents and a feisty heroine contained herein. A more perfect historical romance doesnae exist.

 

Enjoy the following excerpt for
The King's Mistress:

Hearing a cock crow, Britt opened his eyes and found Lady Greer just as he'd spied her most of the night, sitting upright on her pallet with her legs pulled close to her chest, her arms wrapped tightly about them, her chin on her knees as she stared at the dying embers. Had he not known better, he'd think her a woman on route to her doom.

“Good morn'.”

At the sound of his voice, she jerked upright and hastily rearranged herself, then glanced at the sleeping crofters who'd offered them a place before their hearth for the night. In a whisper, she said, “You sleep like the dead.”

Grinning, he stretched and rolled to his feet, taking care not to crown himself on the low-slung ceiling beams. “One sleeps when and how one can, m'lady.”

And last night—like any night whilst on the road, his sleep had amounted to only a few quick catnaps.

He held out a hand. Ignoring it, she rose on her own.

As she dusted bits of straw from her gown, he pulled two bodles from his sporran and placed the coins on the hearth where the crofter's wife would find them when she awoke. He bent and whispered in Genny's ear, “I'll ready the horses whilst you seek what privacy there is to be had.”