Through midnight March 22,
THE TEXAN’S IRISH BRIDE
is on sale for 99 cents!
https://www.amzn.com/B008V1UG54
Texas rancher Dallas McClintock has no plans to wed for several years. Right now, he’s trying to establish himself as a successful horse breeder. Severely wounded rescuing Cenora from kidnappers, Dallas is taken to her family’s wagon to be tended. He is trapped into marrying Cenora, but he is not a man who goes back on his word. His wife has a silly superstition for everything, but passion-filled nights with her make up for everything—even when her wild, eccentric family drives him crazy.
Warning: Lately
all my books have been sweet. This one has sex, but it’s between a husband and
wife.
Her rose scent filled him, and he
thought he would never tire of it. She fumbled with his shirt buttons then
pushed it from his shoulders.
“Yours is a very broad chest.”
Her fingers skimmed across him, and
his need for her magnified. When she traced the whorls of his nipple, he
thought his knees might give way. He stilled her hand.
“There’s something I want from you,
have wanted since we met.”
Fear sprang into her widened emerald
eyes and she paled. Dang, he cursed himself for frightening her and her for not
trusting him.
Her voice trembled. “Wh—What would you
be asking?”
“Dance for me.” He knew it sounded
crazy, but he’d imagined this for days.
She looked askance. “Here? But ‘tis
your bedroom, and not a note ‘o music playing.”
“This is our bedroom, and you can sing or hear the music in your head to
keep time.”
“But—”
“Please? Not for coins or where others
can see, but only for me.”
A slow smile spread across her face,
and she cocked her head to one side. “Aye, I see now. If ‘tis for your
pleasure, then ‘twill be mine.”
After she took off her shoes and
stockings, she spun away. But not in the regimented dance he’d seen when other
women accompanied her. This time she took the red scarf from her waist and used
it as an instrument meant to entice a man.
Her
man.
Him.
She twirled as if to a measured rhythm
only she heard. Her green skirt and white petticoats billowed out to reveal
long, perfect legs. Legs he wanted around him. She slid the scarf in imitation
of a caress along her slender arms. Then she moved the red silk along her body.
Dang, he was hot as a gunslinger’s
pistol and just as hard. His manhood strained against his britches until he
thought he’d pop through the fabric. He loosened the buttons and stepped from
his clothes, never taking his gaze from her. Reaching behind him, he turned
back the bedding and sat on the sheet.
Before his heat warmed the cool
fabric, she pulled him to the middle of the room and circled around him. He
pivoted, naked as a newborn, and watched her every move. Dipping, fluttering,
and arching her lithe frame, she lured him with each sinuous flow of her body.
Flush with the throbbing pulsating
through him, he pictured himself plunging into her again and again as she wound
around him. Her erotic gyrations set his already heated blood at a boil, but he
stood mesmerized by her and the dance.
Her flaming hair streamed around her
in a fiery cloud. She looped the scarf over his head, and the red silk left a
tingling trail across his shoulders and down his right arm. Then she threaded
it around her own shoulders and sawed it while she shrugged first one shoulder
up and then the other one. Fabric of her blouse pulled taut against her full
breasts and pushed the peaked nipples into view.
Dang, he couldn’t take much more of
this, or he’d explode like fireworks on the Fourth of July. On and on she
whirled and kicked, first coming near to brush against him, then moving back
with a captivating smile. Teasing him with the piece of silk as she pulled it
across his body, she seared him with her touch and made him part of her
beguiling ritual.
When he could stand it no longer, he
said, “Come here, let’s dance together in bed.” To his ears, his voice rasped
hoarse with the need that burned inside him.
She approached slowly, seductively,
with fluid grace. As she moved, she drew off her remaining clothes. Twining the
scarf around his wrists, she pulled his arms high until she slid under them,
imprisoning him and herself in their circle.
“Now we are truly bound together,” she
said, her voice breathy from her exotic dance.
“Am I your prisoner, then?” he asked,
amused at her tempting play even as her touch fueled his need.
“Yes, and I am yours.” She met his
gaze, but her jewel eyes held uncertainty. “Did I please you then, or was I too
forward with meself?”
“You are beautiful and graceful, and
your dance was even more special than I’d hoped.”
She breathed a big sigh. “Then you
approve and will be taking me to bed now?”
“I suppose I must do as you say, since
I’m your prisoner.” He nibbled at her neck, and she released the scarf binding
him. The silk fell from his skin as her arms slid around his shoulders.
If you haven’t read this book, I hope you’ll take advantage of the sale. I admit I love THE TEXAN’S IRISH BRIDE. Of course I love Cenora and Dallas, but I also love the O’Neill family—even grumbly Mac.
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