“Susanna we have to stop,” he breathed heavily as
he tore himself away from her lips.
“Why is it you can kiss me when you’re foxed, but I
can’t kiss you when I’m foxed?” she asked, watching the passion and torment
raging war in his uniquely-colored eyes. “Your eyes are the color of a tempest,
by the way.”
He laughed and kissed her again before setting her
away from him, wiping his kiss off her lips with his thumb. “I am much better
at handling myself while severely impaired.”
“I only had three glasses of champagne, Westcott,”
Susanna said, slipping her hand into his evening jacket, and running her
fingertips over his chest. “I’m not severely impaired.” He closed his eyes,
enjoying the sensation.
“Apparently you are,” he said, pulling her hand
down. “Three glasses of champagne and you’re drunk. Duly noted.”
“I’m not drunk,” Susanna said. “I’m merely . . .
free.”
She gazed at him, thinking of his kisses, of his
kindness and his jokes. He leaned down and kissed her again, long and drugging,
enough to fill her senses.
“You are much too tempting for your own good,
Susanna,” he whispered huskily against her lips.
“Then let me tempt you, Westcott,” she replied.
“Why
will you not call me Ian?” he asked, softly, capturing her face in his hand,
rubbing the pad of his thumb over her soft skin of her cheek. “You did so the
other day.”
“When you are Westcott, you are detached from me, I
have no claim on you,” she explained thickly, looking at him through her dark
lashes. “When you are Ian, you are mine. And because you will not let me have
you, it is too painful to call you Ian. Even though that is who you are to me.”
With a feral sounding growl he captured her mouth
with his, pushing her back into the wall, completely hiding her from view. Her
hands wound around him, lacing her fingers through his hair, pulling him
closer, pulling him to her. His mouth was hot, and his roaming hands left a
path of fire as he trailed them down her breasts and to her waist, cupping her
bottom and pulling her against the hard bulge in his trousers. Moving on wanton
need, she slowly lifted up and down on her toes, rubbing her body against his,
the spot at the apex of her thighs burning as she pulsed against his erection.
Susanna was lost, the heat of his mouth on hers, and his body so close, it
drove her mad, stirring a desire deep within her she hadn’t known could exist.
She was no longer in control of her actions, her hands, body and mouth moving
on primal instinct as she returned his kisses, feeling freedom from the
propriety that held her in check so often. True, she pushed the limits of what
was acceptable, but she was fairly certain that wantonly kissing an earl who
was not her husband was not socially acceptable. If someone found them…
BLURB:
Lady Susanna McCalister is young and beautiful, but her marriage
prospects thus far have been rather lacking. Rather than living a life of
spinsterhood, she decides a loveless marriage, to the dull and unromantic Lord
Riverton, is better than none at all. One day while strolling through Hyde Park
with her suitor, she is almost trampled to death by a rambunctious rider, Lord
Westcott. Little does she know that this earl, who is as handsome as he is
arrogant, would weasel his way into her heart. But the earl has demons of his
own that threaten to complicate their secret romance, as he blames Lord
Riverton for his sister's death. Can Susanna tame this tormented earl and help
save herself and other women from a deadly fate?
IndieBound:
http://www.indiebound.org/book/9781944995157
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
AUTHOR Bio and
Links:
Erica
Taylor is a mother of two and military wife married to her high school sweetheart.
Raised in the mountains of Colorado, she holds a BA in History from the
University of Colorado. Erica has been writing stories since she can remember.
She picked up her first romance novel while on a beach vacation as a teenager,
and fell in love with falling in love, sexy heroes, and the feisty women who
challenge their lives. A self-confessed geek, Erica loves anything Harry
Potter, Doctor Who or Star Wars, can spend hours in Target with a Starbucks,
and truly believes a cat makes a home. Currently living in South Africa, Erica
can often be found writing during soccer practice or piano lessons and is not
afraid to let dinner burn if it means getting the story out of her head.
Website:
http://www.ericataylorauthor.com/
Twitter:
https://twitter.com/EricaTayor
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