Clearly, I'm not cut out to be a blogger, or even much of a social media-ist. (Not a real word, I guess.) Social media feels to me like a game of Whack-a-Mole. You think you've taken care of one thing, and another pops right up. Argh.
Anyway, here I am after a couple of months' absence. My new release,
A Lady's Lesson in Seduction, which is a Regency Christmas story, has been out in the US for almost a month and will be out in the UK on November 1st.
Today I'm blogging at the
Pink Fuzzy Slipper Writers about an entirely different subject -- my vacation in Italy -- but I'm giving away a free download of
A Lady's Lesson in Seduction for either Nook or Kindle to one person who comments there.
Blurb:
Once a notorious rake, Camden Folk, Marquis of
Warbury, is now consumed by desire for only one woman: beautiful young widow
Frances Burdett. And the Yuletide festivities at his country estate present the
perfect opportunity for seduction…
After her brief and unsatisfying
marriage, Frances Burdett swore never to become tied to another man. Then
a passionate kiss under the mistletoe reawakens longings she thought buried
forever. But can she give in to the pleasures of the body with a rogue like
Cam—without losing her heart?
Excerpt:
Frances should never have
agreed to go to the orchard with the Marquis of Warbury—to gather mistletoe, of
all things. She sent him a fierce, furious glare. “If you must have it, I don’t
enjoy kissing.”
He eyed her from behind the
apple tree. “Not at all?”
“No.” She pressed her lips
together.
“Come now,” he teased. “Surely
you’re exaggerating.”
Her voice was low, suffused
with passion. “You can’t possibly judge how that—that invasion made me feel.”
“That bad, was it?” The marquis
reached up and snipped with his shears. “You’re right, I can’t judge, but the
general popularity of kissing tells me you were merely unlucky.” He came around
the tree, a sprig of mistletoe in his hand.
What a fool she was; in spite
of bitter experience, she wanted to kiss him, wanted kissing to be
wonderful. How stupid! She was much better off—much safer—as she was.
He kissed the fingertips of his
gloves and blew. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Frances huffed.
He picked a berry from the
mistletoe and dropped it. “We’ll make it a very light kiss,” he said, coming
closer. “Short and sweet.”
She didn’t trust him; she
wanted yet didn’t want—
A flurry of snow tumbled from
the branches above, distracting her. He swooped in, dropped a swift, cold kiss
on her lips, and drew away—but not far. “Was that too unbearable?” Another
mistletoe berry fell to the snow.
“No, of course not,” she said,
“but—”
“Well, then.” He took her hand
and pulled her behind the tree. “If you don’t want me to invade
you—accidentally, needless to say—you’ll have to keep your mouth shut.”
“You mustn’t do this—”
“Of course I must. No talking.”
She gave up, shutting both her
mouth and her eyes. It was her own fault for coming to the orchard this
morning, but she’d enjoyed their time together in the middle of the night so
very much. It was only a kiss.
Nothing happened. She opened
her eyes again. He was contemplating her mouth from under his lashes. “You have
lovely lips.”
Through her teeth, she said,
“Get it over with.”
“I’ve never kissed a martyr
before.” His lips curled in a lazy smile, and then he pressed his mouth coolly
to hers and withdrew again. “It requires a more careful approach than we
disgustingly hasty men are used to.” He flicked another berry off the sprig.
She couldn’t help but watch his
mouth. What was he going to do, and when?
“Close your eyes, and whatever
happens, keep your lips together.”
This time his mouth lingered on
hers a few seconds, then pressed light kisses from one corner of her lips to
the other. Kiss. “One.” Kiss. “Two.” Kiss. “Three.”
Bite.
***
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
