Rogue of the Isles (42 page)

“Didnae fash,” he said and then dipped his head.

Mari gasped as his warm tongue delved into her wet core and then whimpered as he slowly licked between her folds, spreading the moistness. The pulsation between her legs began to throb in anticipation—of what she didn’t know, but the spot wanted attention as much as her nipples had. Jamie teased the little nub, circling it with the tip of his tongue and then nibbling the tender tissue of her folds before returning to make a broad swipe directly over the hard bud. Mari began to writhe and then gasped again as Jamie inserted a finger inside her and slid it out again, repeating the gesture until her insides began to pulsate too. She felt as though she would melt and explode at the same time from his ministrations.

And then another sensation began building in her body. Muscles began contracting deep inside as Jamie inserted a second and third finger, going deeper each time with rhythmic thrusts. Her hips lifted, her legs fell open and then her body shattered as Jamie’s mouth closed on her wildly strumming nub and he suckled hard.

Mari was still trying to catch her breath when Jamie moved over her. She felt the rounded head of his erection press against her now dripping, slackened core, but she felt no fear, only more wanting...

Jamie eased himself in, and Mari felt a stretching sensation as he filled her, but there was no pain. He gave her a minute to adjust to him and then he began thrusting slowly and steadily, allowing the tension to build again until her body moved in perfect synchronization with his, each near withdrawal and re-entry only increasing the exquisite torture of wanting more. Mari wrapped her legs around Jamie’s thighs as his thrusts grew harder and deeper. She heard him growl and his body shook just as her own erupted for the second time.

The movement slowed and Jamie began to roll off her, but Mari held onto him, liking the feeling of having him still inside her. “Stay here.”

“Aye, with pleasure. I didnae hurt ye too badly then?”

“It did not hurt at all. Can we do it again? I would like to learn how to please you too.”

Jamie grinned. “Ye need nae ask twice, lass.”

Mari smiled back, feeling completely weightless and boneless and a little foxed with what had just happened. “There is another question I want to ask.”

Jamie bent down to brush a kiss across her lips. “What is it?”

“Will you take me to Raasay?”

He looked surprised. “I thought ye didnae like the Isles.”

“That was before I realized I love you, Jamie MacLeod. I want to see your home.”

“Then we will go.”

“Soon?”

“Soon.” Jamie grinned again, his dimple showing. “But first, I thought ye wanted a bit more teaching?”

Mari giggled. “Oh, I do,” she said as Jamie grew hard inside her again. “I do.”

About the Author

Cynthia Breeding developed a love for Scotland long before she took her first trip across the pond. Blending the rules of English Regency Society with the wilds of the Highlands was an adventure of its own.

Currently, the author lives in south Texas, basking on a balmy coast with her Bichon Frise. She enjoys sailing and horseback riding.

Cynthia can be reached via snail mail at 3636 South Alameda, B116, Corpus Christi, Texas 78411 or at her website:
www.cynthiabreeding.com
.

Slainte
(good health).

Look for these titles by Cynthia Breeding

Now Available:

Capture Her Heart

Rogue of the Highlands

She must tame a Highland barbarian…before he steals her heart.

Rogue of the Highlands

© 2012 Cynthia Breeding

Rogue, Book 1

With the death of her elderly husband, the Marquess Newburn, Jillian Alton is relieved that she will never have to endure another forced marriage. Until his long-lost son reappears to claim his title and holdings.

Left penniless, Jillian reluctantly accepts a tidy sum from the Prince of Wales to “refine” a Scottish Highlander who has inherited an English title—a man who shakes her resolve to never again let a man close enough to snare her in unwanted wedlock.

Ian MacLeod never planned to set foot in England, but the breakup of the clan system has left him in need of claiming the profits of his inherited English lands to support his people. When he meets the very proper Lady Newburn, he is intrigued…and determined to melt her icy heart.

It shouldn’t be much of a challenge. After all, he’s never met a lass who didn’t quite willingly succumb to him. But he quickly learns that the beautiful, auburn-haired Jillian is no mooning maiden.

And there’s something about her stepson that raises the hair on the back of his neck—a clear signal of danger that has never proved him wrong…

Warning: This book contains a sexy Highlander who will make the most proper of ladies have very improper thoughts.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Rogue of the Highlands:

With a small sigh, Jillian stood up and smoothed her dress. “Remember, the man will be a guest in this house for several weeks. I’m sure if we treat him like a gentleman, he will act as one.” She wasn’t sure if she believed that, but she wasn’t about to have her maid entertain fantasies about any skirt-lifting.

She straightened her shoulders. Time to begin earning her money. She descended the stairs and moved toward the drawing room, pausing for only a second before she opened the door. And gasped.

What on earth was the man wearing?

Ian Macleod looked around the fancy parlor the skinny mon with the fancy suit and nose out-of-joint had shown him to. Light, filmy curtains hung at the windows, hardly anything to keep a night’s chill out. Paintings of pale English men, trussed in lacy frills like some young bairn presented to the clan by a proud
maithar,
lined the walls. All of the chairs looked too fragile to hold his weight. How had he allowed that blethering idiot who had shown up at his holdings to talk him into this?

He didn’t want to be an earl. Would have preferred never having to cross the Borders. His great-grandfather may have fought with King George in hopes of saving the clan, but his great-grandmother’s people had rallied to Bonnie Prince Charlie. And all for naught. The Disarming Act had disbanded the clans and even forbidden a mon to blow the pipes or wear his plaid.

Which was why he was here. The English lands would provide enough profit for him to help his people. Once he had taken stock and felt confident he could leave an overseer in place, he would return to Scotland. He wanted as little to do with the English as possible. While it might be illegal for his people to be verbal about it, his clan still looked up to him as their laird. His younger brother, Jamie, would stand in his place while he took care of whatever he must do here. Between them, his people would be well.

Ian made a derisive sound, thinking about the suggestion the Englishman had made that some neighboring widow would give him lessons in manners. By the auld gods, he didn’t need some auld woman telling him how he should act. A mon measured another mon by the strength of his sword arm and the worth of his word. Always protect children and never hurt a woman, although if she were willing, there was no harm to tupping her thoroughly.

He grinned suddenly. If those two silly lasses who’d giggled their way past him in the hall were any indication, he’d have no more trouble bedding English women than he did Scot ones. Although he was nigh thirty, he’d ne’r had a complaint from a lass, only purrs of pleasure after the act.

He looked up as the door opened and almost gaped. The woman in the doorway was breathtakingly beautiful. Her soft, chestnut hair was burnished with faerie gold and the deep green of her eyes reminded him of the tranquil depths of the forest near his home. Her fair skin was nearly translucent and she looked like a woodland nymph, except that the rounded fullness of her breasts outlined by the well-fitted bodice were very, very real. He felt his groin tighten painfully. Whoever this lass was, he meant to have her.

“Do ye work here, lass?”

One delicate eyebrow went up as she considered him. “In a manner of speaking, I suppose one could say that what I do on a daily basis is work.”

A bit long-winded the wench was, but he’d forgive her that. Her voice was as throaty and low as a burn rumbling gently downhill.

“And what do ye do?” he asked with a slow smile.

“One could say that I…run this household.”

“Ah. Ye be the housekeeper then.” Ian took a step closer and lowered his voice. “I’m the new earl at Cantford, here to see the widow. The auld woman is going to try to teach me English ways.”

“Indeed?” The lady walked past him rather stiffly to stand at the window.

“Aye. I dinna ken why. ’Tis nae wise to try to change a mon.”

“Indeed?” she said again.

Was that all the lass could say? He hoped she wasn’t dim-witted. He liked a woman who could spar with him. In bed and out. But if she were nae bright, she was still beautiful. Standing by the window, the sun highlighted the faerie gold in her hair and accentuated the smooth curve of her cheek and the full lushness of her lips. He hoped that his sporran hid what his wayward tarse was doing. By Dagda, he’d never had such a strong reaction to merely sighting a lass before. And an English one at that.

“Is the widow taking a wee nap? I could come back later.”

“There’s no need for that.” She raised her chin. “I am Jillian Alton, Marchioness of Newburn. I believe you are my pupil.”

For a moment he was nonplussed.
This
was the widow? This young lass? Och, being on English soil had just gotten much better. “I hope ye’ll forgive the mistake. The
eejit—
the idiot—who told me about ye dinna say ye were a bonnie lass.” He gave her his most winning smile, the one his older sister always said made her forgive him for all his youthful escapades that she had to cover up for.

Lady Newburn ignored it. “Regardless of my age, Lord Cantford, what is expected by the Prince of Wales is that I prepare you for your new role.”

Ian’s grin widened. “Ye’ll find me a verra apt…pupil. I aim to please ye, Jillian.”

When this scoundrel abducts an innocent it’s his heart in danger of being stolen.

Reckless Viscount

© 2013 Amy Sandas

London society sees Leif Riley, Viscount Neville, as a reckless charmer of wealthy women. No one sees his silent desperation to restore his impoverished ancestral holdings to their once-formidable glory.

When he spies a fresh-faced Irish lass at court, something beyond her slim, feminine form and hefty dowry quickens his pulse. Which only makes the truth—that a love match will never be his—too much to bear.

Pursued across the Irish Sea by a secret that could shatter her dream of a loving husband and children to cherish, Abbigael Granger has no time for handsome rakes. Yet she can’t deny how Leif’s stolen kiss illuminates her innocent body.

Awakening from a despair-driven binge, Leif is horrified to find that his impulsive abduction of Abbigael was no drunken dream. Yet while Abbigael discovers there are certain pleasures to be found in a rake’s marriage bed, Leif wonders if he can ever leave his scandalous past far enough behind to be the man of her dreams. Or if he deserves the heart she offers.

Warning: Contains a sexy viscount skilled in the twin arts of lovemaking and seduction, a fair Irish innocent desperate to break free from the misery of her past and rumors of madness. A hasty abduction involving silk stockings, a skull-splitting hangover, and a roadside inn interlude could steal your breath.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Reckless Viscount:

Not one to sit idle and wait for what he wanted, he broke the silence of the room. “Are they saying anything interesting?”

Even spoken quietly his words had a dramatic effect on the young woman. She gave a sharp, startled gasp and spun around to face him, pressing her back flat against the door she had just had her ear to. Her eyes were wide with alarm and she drew a swift breath that appeared to get caught in her lungs.

She was not a beauty by any means. At least not in comparison to the stylish ladies currently gracing the drawing rooms of London. Her forehead was a touch too high, but her arching brows, pert little nose and the soft bow of her mouth lent her an other-worldly attractiveness. There was even a constellation of pale freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose and the crests of her fine cheekbones.

No, not a collection of features that would bring her acclaim as a great beauty, but there might be some who managed to see past the oddness of the delicate details to appreciate their uniqueness.

The eyes, he realized belatedly, were easily the most unusual of her features. A green so pale and bright they seemed to be lit from within. They reminded him of the sea on those rare days when the brightness of the sun washed away the darker blues, leaving behind a crystal purity unmatched by even the most precious gems.

Uncomfortable with the poetic bend of his thoughts, Leif allowed his gaze to dip below her neckline. Just long enough to note that if he’d had a champagne glass, he could have proven that her breasts had the potential to rival the perfection of Marie Antoinette’s iconic bosom.