Laurel O'Donnell's Blog, page 70
June 13, 2013
First Kiss Friday – A Knight’s Vengeance by Catherine Kean
Today’s First Kiss Friday featured guest is Catherine Kean, author of historical romance A Knight’s Vengeance. Welcome back Catherine! Here’s the first kiss between Geoffrey de Lanceau and Lady Elizabeth Brackendale.
With a strangled cry, Elizabeth broke free of his grip. She whirled and bolted toward the trestle table.
De Lanceau’s laughter chased her. Pace by pace, he stalked her down the table. She scooted ahead of him, her bottom pressed against the table’s edge. Her hands skidded on the dusty surface. She tried to dart past him, but he thwarted her escape.
Her fingertips scraped against stone, and, with a horrified jolt, she realized she was against the far wall.
Trapped.
A wicked smirk on his lips, de Lanceau towered over her. He crowded her back into the corner.
His palms slammed on the wall either side of her head.
“Tell me,” he murmured against her hair. “Are your only assets the lands you bring to marriage, damsel? Or, are there other reasons for Sedgewick to covet you as his betrothed?”
“I do not know what you mean.” She flattened back against the cold stone, one hip squeezed against the end of the table.
“You will.”
“Please, let me go.”
His fingers tangled into her hair. “You should not have provoked me. Any woman with any sense would have realized I am not a kind or patient man.”
His thumb tilted up her chin.
He meant to kiss her.
Elizabeth jerked her face away. With gentle but firm movements, he twisted her hair around his hand until she had no choice but to look at him. “Nay,” she choked. “N—”
His mouth crushed down over hers.
The kiss tasted of anger. His lips branded hers with the essence of ale. His tongue lashed. In all her years, no man had ever kissed her.
No one had dared.
She shrieked and clawed and scratched at his jerkin. The fabric softened her blows. Grinding his hips against hers, he pinned her flush against the wall. Where they touched, the heat of his body scorched.
Elizabeth squeezed her lashes shut. His scent enveloped her, and her head reeled. Somehow she must endure this torture. She must maintain a prudent detachment until he lost interest or she wriggled free. With a strangled sob, she let her hands fall to her sides.
She sensed tension warring within him, the desire to crush her spirit with his strength. Yet, he did not. His kisses slowed, gentled, and as his tongue flicked into the corner of her mouth, she gasped. The skin across her chest tingled, a similar sensation to when he had kissed her hand in the market.
An unfamiliar ache blossomed inside her.
He nibbled her bottom lip. Taunted. Coaxed. Dared her, with the glide of his mouth and tongue, to meet his sensual challenge.
A muzzy haze clouded her thoughts. In her mind, she wept in self-reproach. He knew of the tremors running through her body.
Tremors not due to fear.
She moaned. Her lips parted. Despite the warning shrilling inside her, she began to kiss him back.
He growled. The pleasured sound stirred a primitive hunger. Molten heat flooded through her like sunlit water surging across glistening sand, slowing to a swirling eddy, and then returning a moment later on another cresting tide. His tongue slid into her mouth, and she sighed.
He released her hair. His fingers caressed her neck, and then slipped down her shoulder blade.
His palm brushed her breast.
She stiffened. Shock slashed through the haze of wondrous sensation, then indignation. De Lanceau meant to do more than kiss her.
As he had no doubt planned, she had melted under his onslaught like a lusty tavern wench. He could not conquer her will, so he would subdue her body instead.
This man was her sworn enemy.
She betrayed her father by wanting de Lanceau’s touch.
Resentment drowned her last glimmerings of pleasure. De Lanceau hesitated. He lifted his lips from hers and stared down into her face, his heavy-lidded gaze intense.
Protecting her bruised arm, she braced her palm against his chest and shoved with all her might. She kicked his shins and scratched with her nails. He swore, yelped, and she broke free.
Elizabeth darted behind the bed. “You rogue!” With the back of her wrist, she scrubbed her mouth, desperate to erase the taste and feel of him.
“I did not hear you protesting a moment ago.” He dragged a hand through his mussed hair and glared at her.
“You will pay for your boldness. My father will see you punished.”
Laurel O'Donnell - Author - Medieval Romance Novels, Paranormal Romance Novels and Urban Fantasy
June 9, 2013
Inspirational Quote Monday! #23 of 2013
It’s Inspirational Quote Monday! Here’s the quote for the week – “Life is meaningless only if we allow it to be. Each of us has the power to give life meaning, to make our time and our bodies and our words into instruments of love and hope.” – Tom Head
Laurel O'Donnell - Author - Medieval Romance Novels, Paranormal Romance Novels and Urban Fantasy
June 6, 2013
First Kiss Friday – Tango in Paradise by Elysa Hendricks
Today’s First Kiss Friday featured guest is Elysa Hendricks, author of contemporary romance Tango in Paradise. Welcome back Elysa! Here’s the first kiss between Jason Blackhawk and Darcy “DC” Camden.
Suddenly DC wanted – needed to get closer – to feel Jase’s life affirming warmth. Careful not to touch his injured arm, she leaned into him. Beneath the thin top she wore her breasts swelled and her nipples grew hard and achy as they pressed against his solid chest. Deep in her belly desire unfurled sending a rush of liquid heat to her groin.
A virgin by choice, she wasn’t ignorant of passion or physical pleasure. There’d been men who’d wanted her, men who’d wooed her. Men she’d thought she might love. But she’d never let them move past second base. Self-gratification was better than settling for second best. None of them stirred her. None of them melted the ice encasing her heart. None of them made her want them like she wanted this man.
When he didn’t pull away she grew bolder. She wrapped her free arm around his waist and tried to pull him to her, but he remained motionless, an immovable object. His passive resistance gave her the courage to explore further. She slipped her hands under his shirt to touch his warm damp skin. Like a child eager for an unknown yet long anticipated treat she explored his smooth muscled chest. His breath hitched. Beneath her palms his heart thudded in time with her own. She caught one flat male nipple between her thumb and finger. It pebbled and his heart rate accelerated. Still, he didn’t move. Didn’t look at her.
She combed her fingers through his close-cropped hair. After the coarse stubble of his beard, the thick, black strands stroked her skin like raw silk.
The musky masculine scent of him filled her nostrils as she reached up and tried to pull his head down to hers. For a second he didn’t move then with a groan his head dipped. His arms closed around her and his mouth took hers in a possessive kiss.
Fire raced through her veins. Needs she’d only dreamed she had erupted hot and heavy inside of her. For the first time in her twenty-nine years she wanted a man – this man – more than she wanted her next breath.
Her body warmed to his touch. The cold, clammy feel of near drowning faded away as his hand slipped under her shirt and stroked her breast. His calloused palms against her tender flesh sent streaks of lightning through her, feeding the fire in her belly. Hungry for the taste of him she opened her mouth to his questing tongue. Heart racing she gave everything he asked and demanded the same from him.
She didn’t object when he pulled off her shirt and cupped her breasts in his palms. The sight and feel of his tanned fingers brushing her pale skin excited her. It frightened and thrilled her how quickly this man had become important to her. She owed him more than her life. For too long she’d been closed to the possibility of life, of love. He’d opened her eyes and her heart.
He lifted his face. “Tell me to stop,” he demanded through clenched teeth.
When he tried to pull away she gripped his wrists and held his hands to her breasts. “No. I don’t want to stop.”
With a muttered expletive he swept her into his arms. Her head whirled as he carried her into the cave and laid her down on the blanket. He braced himself on his arms above her and met her gaze.
“Last chance.”
“Stop talking and kiss me.” She grabbed his head and pulled him down.
With a groan of surrender he complied. Warm and slightly salty, the taste of him banished the tang of river water lingering in her mouth. When he lifted his head, she mumbled a protest that turned to a moan of pleasure as he moved lower to suckle her breasts. First one then the other. She stroked her hand down his head and over his shoulders. After a few minutes he paused and rested his head on her chest. She liked the feel of his breath and the faint prickle of his beard on her skin.
He lifted his head.
“Don’t stop.”
Laurel O'Donnell - Author - Medieval Romance Novels, Paranormal Romance Novels and Urban Fantasy
June 2, 2013
Inspirational Quote Monday! #22 of 2013
It’s Inspirational Quote Monday! Here’s the quote for the week – “The difference between ordinary and extraordinary is that little extra.” – Jimmy Johnson
Laurel O'Donnell - Author - Medieval Romance Novels, Paranormal Romance Novels and Urban Fantasy
May 30, 2013
First Kiss Friday – Lord of the Blade by Elizabeth Rose
Today’s First Kiss Friday featured guest is Elizabeth Rose, author of Historical romance Lord of the Blade. Welcome Elizabeth! Here’s the first kiss between Lord Corbett Blake and Devon.
Corbett made his way further through the long thin passageway, making his normal routine check of the castle before retiring to his solar for much needed sleep. The hour was quite late and the corridor was only lit occasionally by a flickering torch that hadn’t quite extinguished itself.
He strolled past the kitchen, glancing at its total darkness, knowing most his servants were already retired for the night. A slight rustling caught his attention and from the corner of his eye he was sure he saw a figure scuttle through the far end of the darkened room. Following, it took his eyes a minute to adjust to the blackness. The room’s only light came from the soft glow of the dying cook fire. A large cauldron hung over it waiting for some night-owl to use the last bit of lukewarm water for washing up.
The smell of boar’s head with brawn pudding and hot fruit pastries still clung possessively to the air from the evening’s meal. The embers crackled at the hearth as Corbett slowly moved past the stone ovens stacked with logs drying on the still warm bricks. Bunches of herbs hung from the high rafters, the strong smell of sage sharpening his senses.
A small noise from the far end of the kitchen caught his attention. Perhaps a thief trying to rob his already near empty larder. The dripping of a wine barrel broke the stillness in the vast deserted room as he quietly moved forward. Unable to move his feet freely, he looked down to find his boots literally stuck to the floor. He cursed under his breath at whatever lazy serf neglected to clean up the broken jar of honey. A string of dried garlic brushed against his shoulder at the same time a mortar and pestle crashed to the ground behind him.
His fast reflexes pulled his feet loose from their prison as he turned abruptly and unsheathed his sword. A large rat went scurrying across the butcher block table and Corbett lowered his sword realizing the intruder was only a vermin. He continued toward the larder that stored the salted meat for the winter.
He looked within, seeing the flickering light of a lonely candle casting shadows on the walls. A salted carcass of a pig hung from the ceiling twirling slightly in the dim light. Not sure what or who he’d find inside, he raised his sword and quickly stepped through the portal. “Who goes there?” he commanded, his deep voice breaking the silence.
Devon screamed and jumped to her feet, sending the smoked pork and stale crusts of bread tumbling from her lap to the floor. A short candle danced on a barrel of salted herring beside her, its jumping flame eating up what little was left of its tallow.
Devon squinted her eyes, peering into the darkness wondering whose body inhabited the voice. She found it hard to make out the dark form readily hidden in the shadows. “It…‘tis I, Devon,” she stammered, her body shaking slightly.
The man replaced his sword into his scabbard. Then he took a step forward which allowed the dim candlelight to hit his face. Devon gasped as she recognized Lord Corbett.
“Devon.” He spoke her name softly and Corbett stepped from the shadows. “You cannot seem to follow my orders.”
“My lord. I…I…” she lowered her eyes to her dinner sprawled at her feet and wondered what she could possibly say to remedy this situation. She’d defied the man thrice now and he was sure not to take a liking to her.
“Servants eat the scraps left over from the meal. They don’t break into my larder and feast on the morrow’s main meal.”
“I was hungry,” she stammered. “I know I shouldn’t have entered but – ” She bit her lip, almost hoping Corbett would stop her by interrupting.
“But what?” He waited for her answer.
She knew she should apologize, but she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. Life at the castle was not at all what she’d thought it would be. The harder she tried to understand it, the worse it got. She liked not this life of a servant. She knelt to clean up the food, hoping he wouldn’t notice the slight tear in her eye.
Corbett’s hand rested upon hers and she found him kneeling across from her once again. The warmth of his touch penetrated her skin.
“Devon,” he said with great care, and her heart skipped a beat just hearing her own name on his tongue. “Devon, why are you here?”
What did he mean? She’d just told him she’d been hungry, but still he asked. Somehow she didn’t think he queried about her presence in the larder, but mayhap her presence in his life.
With the edge of his thumb he traced the outline of her lips. She froze in midsentence unable to speak.
“Look at me,” he whispered. The musky essence of his body filled her nostrils. Woodsmoke clung to his clothes and hair. She found herself obeying, and looked into his eyes. At once she was lost in the blue swirling depths. She saw within them a need so strong it pained her. They seemed caring, daring and if she didn’t know better, loving. But this couldn’t be possible.
He brushed the back of his hand against her cheek and a tingle climbed her spine. Her eyes closed involuntarily as his hand caressed her hair between his fingers. He tilted her chin up slightly, his eyes fastened on her lips. Years of anticipating and fantasizing about her first kiss could never compare to this. His lips were soft for a man with hard words, their warmth and sensuality intoxicating. His touch was so gentle for a warrior who’d taken enemies down with a mere swipe of his sword. He pulled back slightly, hand still on her chin. Their eyes met once again, and she felt like the luckiest, most special girl in the world.
“Why do you kiss me?” she asked, finding it curious that a man who could have any woman he wanted would want to kiss her.
Laurel O'Donnell - Author - Medieval Romance Novels, Paranormal Romance Novels and Urban Fantasy
May 26, 2013
Inspirational Quote Monday! #21 of 2013
It’s Inspirational Quote Monday! This week’s quote is for everyone who is having a child graduate! – “Whatever they grow up to be, they are still our children, and the one most important of all the things we can give to them is unconditional love. Not a love that depends on anything at all except that they are our children.” – Rosaleen Dickson
Laurel O'Donnell - Author - Medieval Romance Novels, Paranormal Romance Novels and Urban Fantasy
May 23, 2013
First Kiss Friday – Lady Elinor’s Escape by Linda McLaughlin
Today’s First Kiss Friday featured guest is Linda McLaughlin, author of Regency romance Lady Elinor’s Escape. Welcome Linda! Here’s the first kiss between Lady Elinor Ashworth and Stephen Chaplin.
“Would you like to dance, mademoiselle?” Stephen asked.
She bit her lip in hesitation. “But I do not know how to waltz.”
His brows rose in surprise. “You have been tied to the hearth. However, all you need do is follow my lead. Shall we?”
“Avec plaisir.” She allowed him to take her hand and lead her onto the floor. Her heart raced at the intimate feel of his hand at the small of her back. At first, he talked her through the steps, but after a few moments, she relaxed and gave herself up to the music and the pleasure of being twirled around the floor by the gentleman of her dreams.
He drew her far closer than was proper, but she didn’t resist. “Ah, mademoiselle, how am I to resist you?”
She smiled at him. “But, monsieur, you are not supposed to. For tonight, you are the handsome prince and you are required to fall in love with me.”
When the waltz ended, Stephen procured two more glasses of champagne. Elinor sipped it, letting the liquid cool her parched throat. Then, she let Stephen lead her downstairs and out into the moonlit garden for a breath of air. Her head was spinning, though whether from the champagne or the twirling motion of the dance, she did not know. She only knew she was behaving very badly tonight, drinking champagne, daring to dance the wicked waltz, and now this. Without the mask and costume, she would never have dared to act so. He must think her very fast, indeed.
They strolled along a path lined with rose bushes and stopped to drink in the fragrance scenting the air. The cool night air helped to clear her head, but made her shiver. Or was that caused by the warm look Stephen sent her way?
He ran a finger from her ear to her chin. “Will you remove your mask for me, Cendrillon? I long to know you better.”
“Mais non, monsieur. It is forbidden.”
“Will you at least tell me your name?”
She smiled. He was her dear, inquisitive Stephen, but she had to find a way to avoid the question. She glanced around the garden and a line from Romeo and Juliet came to mind.
“My name is not important, monsieur. Was it not you who said, ‘What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.’”
He broke into laughter. “Hoisted by my own petard, I see. You are a clever minx.” He leaned closer to her. “Is a kiss forbidden also?”
The word oui was on her lips, when she thought, why not? Had she not wanted him to kiss her at Hampstead? This might be her only opportunity to find out what it would be like to be kissed by him. “A kiss would be allowed,” she said, shocked at her own daring.
His mouth brushed hers, the mustache tickling a little. She let out a nervous giggle.
He drew back. “Do you find my kiss amusing?”
She touched his lips in apology. “No, but your mustache, it tickles me. It is not unpleasant, however.” In truth, it had been her very first kiss, but she doubted he would believe that after the way she was behaving tonight.
“Then perhaps we should try again.”
He drew her closer and she lifted her arms to his shoulders. Once more his mouth touched hers, more demanding this time. When she tentatively returned his kiss, he pulled her even closer until her breasts were crushed against his chest. Her heart pounded in rhythm with the music and her head spun as if they were still whirling around the dance floor.
He drew back slightly to stare at her, a look of naked longing on his face. With his thumb, he touched her sensitized lips, and then trailed his hand along her jaw and down her neck. Shivers of pleasure coursed through her. When he traced the low bodice of her gown, she sucked in a deep breath at the feelings his touch aroused.
“Will you let me leave with you at midnight?” he asked in a husky voice.
Laurel O'Donnell - Author - Medieval Romance Novels, Paranormal Romance Novels and Urban Fantasy
Lost Souls: Resurrection is Free!
Resurrection, the first Episode in my Lost Souls series is now free! Get your copy today!
Souls who refuse to pass into the afterlife become wandering spirits, trapped between the world of the living and the dead. These are the Lost Souls. Some of these Lost Souls have banded together, uniting to fight against an evil endangering both their existence and the safety of the human world they once inhabited. This evil has taken shape in unholy creatures called the Changed, beings who were once Lost Souls but who are now dark, dangerous and disturbed monsters. The Changed feed on the energy of the Lost Souls, growing stronger with each Lost Soul they drain. The ultimate goal of the Changed is to harness enough energy to return to the land of the living by possessing the body of a human. The mission of the Lost Souls is to stop them…
Laurel O'Donnell - Author - Medieval Romance Novels, Paranormal Romance Novels and Urban Fantasy
May 19, 2013
Inspirational Quote Monday! #20 of 2013
It’s Inspirational Quote Monday! Here’s the quote for the week – “Don’t say you don’t have enough time. You have exactly the same number of hours per day that were given to Helen Keller, Pasteur, Michaelangelo, Mother Teresa, Leonardo de Vinci, Thomas Jefferson, and Albert Einstein.” - H. Jackson Brown Jr.
Laurel O'Donnell - Author - Medieval Romance Novels, Paranormal Romance Novels and Urban Fantasy
May 16, 2013
First Kiss Friday – Deliverance by Jennie Marsland
Today’s First Kiss Friday featured guest is Jennie Marsland, author of historical romance Deliverance. Welcome Jennie! Here’s the first kiss between Carl O’Neill and Naomi Franklin.
Carl lowered his hand. It curled into a fist at his side. Whatever had happened must have been bad, if she couldn’t stand a simple touch. “I’d like ten minutes alone with the man who did this to you. Naomi, I’ve done plenty of things that I’m not proud of, but I’ve never, ever forced a woman to do anything she didn’t want to do. Do you believe me?”
She swallowed, nodded. “Yes.”
“Good. Because looking at you now, I think maybe you’re feeling some of the same things for me that I’m feeling for you. If I’m wrong, go ahead and tell me so.”
Naomi’s answer came out small and fearful and she wouldn’t look him in the eye, but her words rang with honesty. “I…I wish we could pretend we weren’t both so alone.”
“Maybe we can.” And Carl knew how he wanted to go about it – if he managed not to scare her off first.
He touched her cheek again, just a brush of his fingertips. This time, she didn’t flinch. “Naomi, have you been kissed before?”
Colour burned into her cheeks. “Of course I have, but that was before…” Her voice trailed off. Carl tucked a finger under Naomi’s chin and very gently lifted it.
“Are you going to let some man take that pleasure from you forever?”
Naomi tensed, but she didn’t pull away. She met Carl’s gaze squarely, in spite of her obvious fear. “I… No.”
“Then maybe you should consider trying kissing again.”
Inch by slow inch, he lowered his head. The smell of her hair, the sound of her breath catching. The warmth against his lips when she exhaled. To Carl, a kiss had never been more than a prelude to sex, but none of the few women he’d been with had trembled when he touched them. None had made him tremble in return. He couldn’t have rushed if he’d wanted to.
He slid his fingers into the silk of Naomi’s hair, tucked a softly curling lock behind her ear and lingered to stroke her there. They were only pretending they weren’t alone, like she’d said, but why not pretend while they could?
“Easy… If you want me to stop, just say so.” Hell, she shouldn’t have to say so, O’Neill. You don’t need her to tell you this is stupid.
But Naomi said nothing. Their lips met, and Carl’s conscience headed south. So what? His conscience had never been much good at keeping him out of trouble, anyway.
He didn’t kiss her full on at first. Instead, he teased the corners of her mouth, first one, then the other. Her lips relaxed, but she still held her body tense, ready to run. He ran his fingers up her arms to her shoulders, trying to soothe her, but she flinched. He dropped his hands and gave her a little space. Hell, his own nerves were bowstring tight. He’d never made this kind of effort to be gentle with a woman before. Did he even know how?
“This will be better if you relax.”
Naomi turned her face away. “I’m not sure I can.”
Carl took her hands and twined his fingers with hers. To anchor her – or himself?
“Don’t think. Just feel.”
Feel? He didn’t have names for the feelings rushing through him right now. He brushed Naomi’s lips with his again. Her fingers curled, her shoulders stiffened. Then, between one breath and the next, she relaxed. Her mouth opened, soft and quiet, inviting him to taste her. That was all it was at first, acceptance, but the sweetness of it made him ache.
Then she started kissing him back.
Oh, yeah.
Laurel O'Donnell - Author - Medieval Romance Novels, Paranormal Romance Novels and Urban Fantasy
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