Splendid Captivity in Print
Excitement has reigned since I found out my book, Splendid Captivity, will be released in print, on Saturday, April 30, at Silver Publishing. This is what the cover looks like:
If anyone is interested, let me know and I'll happily send bookmarks, with Splendid and Love Immortal on each side. If anyone would like the book signed, please let me know.
Here's an excerpt:
1820
Berkshire, England
Isabella Malin leaned back against the well-worn squabs of her hired carriage. It was late on this full-mooned June night, with just a single carriage light to illuminate the small enclosure. Her legs were spread wide; her skirts rucked up around her waist, her bodice pulled down to meet them. She worked her hands furiously, one pinching her nipple until she felt the effects in her quim, the other circled her clitoris, the dueling sensations assaulted her body, warmth building. She dropped her head back and closed her eyes. The carriage slowed, she faintly heard voices, but she was lost in her small world of pleasure.
The door opened, though she had little awareness of another's presence, as she was too close to bliss. A warm breeze enveloped her nakedness, though even that odd sensation didn't cause her to open her eyes. She neared her peak, fervently sought that all consuming heat, that oblivion—almost…
"You need some help with that?"
Isabella's eyes flew open, her heart raced out of control. She stilled her hands, though she didn't remove them from their provocative spots on her body. She shrieked, "Oh my god, what—who are you?" Damn it!
The masked man removed his hat and with a sweep of his arm, answered, "The Falcon, at your service." He jumped into the carriage, and took a seat next to her, impertinently moving her over just a bit. "Like I said, do you need some help with that? I have it on very good authority that I am quite proficient at pleasuring the ladies."
With a great deal of indignation, she straightened herself, shoved her skirts back to her ankles and tugged her bodice back into place.
"What do you want?" she asked this stranger, who now lounged with arms crossed over his chest. He seemed to enjoy watching her discomfiture.
"Well, after what I've just seen, I don't believe that should be much of a mystery," he said, as he ran his hand over his blatant erection.
Isabella's gaze followed as he moved his hand over the bulge in his breeches, then she looked into his eyes, tried to get some sense of the man.
She felt her face heat, her heart still pounded.
He had such audacity and appeal. His baritone voice had a soothing quality as it wrapped around her senses and he smelled of leather, sandalwood and horse. Dressed in black, his penetrating dark eyes watched her through the crudely cut holes in the ridiculous scarf he'd tied around his head. Though everything about this situation told her she should be fearful, she felt an amazing calm. Indignant, however, she was. She'd risked and realized discovery and hadn't reached what she so desperately craved.
There was something about this man. His notoriety spoke of swagger and self-assuredness. He was all of that, but if her suspicions were correct, he was oh, so much more. He was different from any man of her acquaintance, in the way he overwhelmed her to sensory excess. He was almost too masculine, too dangerous, and at that moment, she would have followed him anywhere.
* * * *
When the lady didn't answer, Julian raised a quizzical eyebrow. However, he was a man on a mission, and this had been a pleasant, yet problematical diversion. She was attractive, something never lost on him. He'd kissed many a beauty in the year he'd haunted this road. In fact, he'd made kissing his feminine victims his trademark. After all, he was a notorious highwayman, famous for charming the ladies and robbing the nobility blind.
On a whim, he opened the door, turned, and grabbed Isabella, pulling her from the security of the carriage. She screamed and kicked like a bucking horse. Ignoring her yelps, he swatted her rolling bottom. "Be still, vixen."
He closed the door, and yelled, "Drive on."
"Gladly, gov'na," the nervous driver responded.
Julian's partner had guarded the driver, lest there be a blunderbuss hidden beneath the driver's perch.
As per their pre-arrangement, the two men parted company. Julian tossed Isabella onto his horse and mounted the huge black beast with one easy, fluid motion. They headed down the road, following the hired carriage.
A quarter hour later they turned off into a wooded area which soon became a dense forest. His passenger had calmed significantly, though she kept up a running chatter about ballocks in a vice and other such unpleasant consequences of this impulsive kidnapping. He'd smacked her bottom several more times, threatened her with severe bodily harm, and thought more than once of simply tossing her off his horse, but he still possessed a modicum of gentlemanly valor.
He chuckled at the thought. Gentlemen didn't steal women from their coaches in the dead of night, but hell, they didn't play dress-up and rob wealthy travelers either. His impulsiveness might just hang him and Nate this time. What was he going to do with her? Well, he'd have to think about that later. Between the two of them, he and Nate would figure this out. They always did.
Within an hour, they stopped in front of a thatch-roofed, half-timbered cottage. He dismounted and reached up to aid his passenger's descent. "Come on, my lady. Get your ass down here," he said as she kicked at him. "If you don't want more of what I've already treated your precious bottom to, you'll haul your sweet cheeks down here, now!"
With a grunt, she slid off the horse. Not standing on ceremony, he grabbed her wrist and dragged her into the cottage. Once inside, he slid the bolt home. His guest's eyes widened. She looked frightened, but he sensed at least part of her reaction was a façade.
"Take off your clothes." He sounded stern, even to his own ears.
"I beg your pardon, sir?" Indignation dripped from her lips.
"You can beg all you like. I rather like begging. Now, take off your clothes." He lit a couple of candles beside the sofa, but she didn't move to obey his order. Closing the gap between them, he stood toe-to-toe with her, towering over her by at least ten inches.
"Do you need help?" he asked flatly.
"I'm sorry, sir, but I won't remove my clothing for you." She placed her hands on her hips and he could have sworn she tapped her foot.
"As you wish." He grabbed her bodice and ripped the clothing from her body, leaving her standing before him in only her chemise. "You aren't wearing a corset!" he said as he tossed the torn garment across the room.
"It would appear as though I'm not wearing much of anything," she retorted, trying to cover herself, the chemise being of little aid.
"No need for such modesty, madam, I have already seen all the interesting bits." Waggling an eyebrow, he smirked.
"Who are you?" He asked.
The lady seemed reluctant to speak, but with further prodding, she finally said, "My name is Isabella Malin."
"What were you doing out in that shabby hack at this time of night? Did your mother never tell you to beware of strangers?"
"I don't suppose my mother had any idea creatures such as you prowled the night."
"Touché, dear lady. I bow to your superior wit."
He watched her slightly pink face and was struck by her extraordinary beauty. Rarely had a woman taken his breath away but something about this one dug deeply into his stony heart. Her flame red hair suited her, for she was indeed a fiery sort. When he'd cared for the company of a woman, one of her slight build and mien suited him well.
"Who are you? What do you want with me?" Again he noted the lack of fear in her voice. Odd, he thought.
"My name is Julian," he said on impulse, somehow wanting her to know him and not the bandit he portrayed.
"All right, Julian, what do you want with me?"
Crossing the room, he sat in one of the chairs. It was in a darkened corner as the candlelight didn't reach that far. He stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed them at the ankles. After he removed his mask, hat, and gloves and tossed them onto the chair next to him, he motioned for his guest to take a seat on the sofa positioned opposite him. Settling his arms loosely over his flat stomach, he asked, "You have some unfinished business, do you not?"
"What do you mean?" her voice seemed to tremble.
"Well, it would appear I interrupted you when I opened the carriage door."
Isabella's face flushed. "You, sir, are a crude bounder."
"That, my dear, is an absolute fact, and I'm impressed you should observe such upon our brief acquaintance. The fact remains, my wish is for you to finish what I so rudely interrupted."
"I most certainly will not!" She huffed and visibly started when he jumped out of his chair. Pushing her back, he raised her legs, settling her feet on the edge of the seat. As he loosened the lacing on the front of the chemise, the hem settled in her lap. When he slid it off her arms, his mouth watered at the sight of the most beautiful bosom he'd seen in ages.
He walked back to his chair and sat down.
"Touch yourself."
Till next time, Luv, Brita
If anyone is interested, let me know and I'll happily send bookmarks, with Splendid and Love Immortal on each side. If anyone would like the book signed, please let me know.
Here's an excerpt:
1820
Berkshire, England
Isabella Malin leaned back against the well-worn squabs of her hired carriage. It was late on this full-mooned June night, with just a single carriage light to illuminate the small enclosure. Her legs were spread wide; her skirts rucked up around her waist, her bodice pulled down to meet them. She worked her hands furiously, one pinching her nipple until she felt the effects in her quim, the other circled her clitoris, the dueling sensations assaulted her body, warmth building. She dropped her head back and closed her eyes. The carriage slowed, she faintly heard voices, but she was lost in her small world of pleasure.
The door opened, though she had little awareness of another's presence, as she was too close to bliss. A warm breeze enveloped her nakedness, though even that odd sensation didn't cause her to open her eyes. She neared her peak, fervently sought that all consuming heat, that oblivion—almost…
"You need some help with that?"
Isabella's eyes flew open, her heart raced out of control. She stilled her hands, though she didn't remove them from their provocative spots on her body. She shrieked, "Oh my god, what—who are you?" Damn it!
The masked man removed his hat and with a sweep of his arm, answered, "The Falcon, at your service." He jumped into the carriage, and took a seat next to her, impertinently moving her over just a bit. "Like I said, do you need some help with that? I have it on very good authority that I am quite proficient at pleasuring the ladies."
With a great deal of indignation, she straightened herself, shoved her skirts back to her ankles and tugged her bodice back into place.
"What do you want?" she asked this stranger, who now lounged with arms crossed over his chest. He seemed to enjoy watching her discomfiture.
"Well, after what I've just seen, I don't believe that should be much of a mystery," he said, as he ran his hand over his blatant erection.
Isabella's gaze followed as he moved his hand over the bulge in his breeches, then she looked into his eyes, tried to get some sense of the man.
She felt her face heat, her heart still pounded.
He had such audacity and appeal. His baritone voice had a soothing quality as it wrapped around her senses and he smelled of leather, sandalwood and horse. Dressed in black, his penetrating dark eyes watched her through the crudely cut holes in the ridiculous scarf he'd tied around his head. Though everything about this situation told her she should be fearful, she felt an amazing calm. Indignant, however, she was. She'd risked and realized discovery and hadn't reached what she so desperately craved.
There was something about this man. His notoriety spoke of swagger and self-assuredness. He was all of that, but if her suspicions were correct, he was oh, so much more. He was different from any man of her acquaintance, in the way he overwhelmed her to sensory excess. He was almost too masculine, too dangerous, and at that moment, she would have followed him anywhere.
* * * *
When the lady didn't answer, Julian raised a quizzical eyebrow. However, he was a man on a mission, and this had been a pleasant, yet problematical diversion. She was attractive, something never lost on him. He'd kissed many a beauty in the year he'd haunted this road. In fact, he'd made kissing his feminine victims his trademark. After all, he was a notorious highwayman, famous for charming the ladies and robbing the nobility blind.
On a whim, he opened the door, turned, and grabbed Isabella, pulling her from the security of the carriage. She screamed and kicked like a bucking horse. Ignoring her yelps, he swatted her rolling bottom. "Be still, vixen."
He closed the door, and yelled, "Drive on."
"Gladly, gov'na," the nervous driver responded.
Julian's partner had guarded the driver, lest there be a blunderbuss hidden beneath the driver's perch.
As per their pre-arrangement, the two men parted company. Julian tossed Isabella onto his horse and mounted the huge black beast with one easy, fluid motion. They headed down the road, following the hired carriage.
A quarter hour later they turned off into a wooded area which soon became a dense forest. His passenger had calmed significantly, though she kept up a running chatter about ballocks in a vice and other such unpleasant consequences of this impulsive kidnapping. He'd smacked her bottom several more times, threatened her with severe bodily harm, and thought more than once of simply tossing her off his horse, but he still possessed a modicum of gentlemanly valor.
He chuckled at the thought. Gentlemen didn't steal women from their coaches in the dead of night, but hell, they didn't play dress-up and rob wealthy travelers either. His impulsiveness might just hang him and Nate this time. What was he going to do with her? Well, he'd have to think about that later. Between the two of them, he and Nate would figure this out. They always did.
Within an hour, they stopped in front of a thatch-roofed, half-timbered cottage. He dismounted and reached up to aid his passenger's descent. "Come on, my lady. Get your ass down here," he said as she kicked at him. "If you don't want more of what I've already treated your precious bottom to, you'll haul your sweet cheeks down here, now!"
With a grunt, she slid off the horse. Not standing on ceremony, he grabbed her wrist and dragged her into the cottage. Once inside, he slid the bolt home. His guest's eyes widened. She looked frightened, but he sensed at least part of her reaction was a façade.
"Take off your clothes." He sounded stern, even to his own ears.
"I beg your pardon, sir?" Indignation dripped from her lips.
"You can beg all you like. I rather like begging. Now, take off your clothes." He lit a couple of candles beside the sofa, but she didn't move to obey his order. Closing the gap between them, he stood toe-to-toe with her, towering over her by at least ten inches.
"Do you need help?" he asked flatly.
"I'm sorry, sir, but I won't remove my clothing for you." She placed her hands on her hips and he could have sworn she tapped her foot.
"As you wish." He grabbed her bodice and ripped the clothing from her body, leaving her standing before him in only her chemise. "You aren't wearing a corset!" he said as he tossed the torn garment across the room.
"It would appear as though I'm not wearing much of anything," she retorted, trying to cover herself, the chemise being of little aid.
"No need for such modesty, madam, I have already seen all the interesting bits." Waggling an eyebrow, he smirked.
"Who are you?" He asked.
The lady seemed reluctant to speak, but with further prodding, she finally said, "My name is Isabella Malin."
"What were you doing out in that shabby hack at this time of night? Did your mother never tell you to beware of strangers?"
"I don't suppose my mother had any idea creatures such as you prowled the night."
"Touché, dear lady. I bow to your superior wit."
He watched her slightly pink face and was struck by her extraordinary beauty. Rarely had a woman taken his breath away but something about this one dug deeply into his stony heart. Her flame red hair suited her, for she was indeed a fiery sort. When he'd cared for the company of a woman, one of her slight build and mien suited him well.
"Who are you? What do you want with me?" Again he noted the lack of fear in her voice. Odd, he thought.
"My name is Julian," he said on impulse, somehow wanting her to know him and not the bandit he portrayed.
"All right, Julian, what do you want with me?"
Crossing the room, he sat in one of the chairs. It was in a darkened corner as the candlelight didn't reach that far. He stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed them at the ankles. After he removed his mask, hat, and gloves and tossed them onto the chair next to him, he motioned for his guest to take a seat on the sofa positioned opposite him. Settling his arms loosely over his flat stomach, he asked, "You have some unfinished business, do you not?"
"What do you mean?" her voice seemed to tremble.
"Well, it would appear I interrupted you when I opened the carriage door."
Isabella's face flushed. "You, sir, are a crude bounder."
"That, my dear, is an absolute fact, and I'm impressed you should observe such upon our brief acquaintance. The fact remains, my wish is for you to finish what I so rudely interrupted."
"I most certainly will not!" She huffed and visibly started when he jumped out of his chair. Pushing her back, he raised her legs, settling her feet on the edge of the seat. As he loosened the lacing on the front of the chemise, the hem settled in her lap. When he slid it off her arms, his mouth watered at the sight of the most beautiful bosom he'd seen in ages.
He walked back to his chair and sat down.
"Touch yourself."
Till next time, Luv, Brita
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