Today’s Snog is short but hardly sweet. It’s a Bollywood bit from my multi-genre opus Rajasthani Moon.
In case you’ve forgotten, here’s the blurb:
Neither kink nor curse can stop a woman with a mission.Cecily Harrowsmith, secret agent extraordinaire, is a woman on a mission. When the remote Indian kingdom of Rajasthan refused to remit its taxes to the Empire, Her Majesty imposed an embargo. Deprived of the energy-rich mineral viridium, essential for modern technology and development, Rajasthan was expected to quickly give in and resume its payments. Yet after three years, the rebellious principality still has not knuckled under. Cecily undertakes the difficult journey to that rugged, arid land in order to determine just how it has managed to survive, and if possible to convince the country to return to the Empire’s embrace. Instead, she’s taken captive by a brigand, who turns out to be the ruler’s half-brother Pratan, and delivered into the hands of the sexy but sadistic Rajah Amir, who expertly mingles torture and delight in his interrogation of the voluptuous interloper.Cursed before birth by Amir’s jealous mother, Pratan changes to a ravening wolf whenever the moon is full. Cecily uncovers the counter-spell that can reverse the effects of the former queen’s hex and tries to trade that information for her freedom. Drawn to the fierce wolf-man and sympathising with his suffering, she volunteers to serve as the sacrifice required by the ritual—offering her body to the beast. In return, the Rajah reveal Rajasthan’s amazing secret source of energy. In the face of almost impossible odds, Cecily has accomplished the task entrusted to her by the Empire. But can she really bear to leave the virile half-brothers and their colourful land behind and return to the constraints of her life in England?
It’s a fun book, I promise!
When you’re done here, head back to Victoria’s place for more sexy weekend kisses.
The silver arc of the new moon rode high above the courtyard now. The musicians took up a new song, with a pounding beat Cecily felt deep in her belly. The crowd clustered around the edges of the amphitheatre poured in the centre, churning and writhing to the insistent drums. The brothers stood, swaying with the rhythm, clapping in time.
Cecily couldn’t bear to sit still. Hampered by the chain and her loose-draped clothing, she clambered to her feet. Everyone was whirling, stomping, wailing along with the singer. The courtyard below was a kaleidoscope, coloured patterns forming and dissolving, shifting before her eyes.
Pratan was doing a sort of jig that would have been ludicrous if he’d been a less graceful, well-made man. Amir dipped and turned as though entranced by the music. The beat was infectious, impossible to deny.
The song was a drug—everyone was intoxicated. It flowed through Cecily’s body like molten energy. She had to answer its call, had to move, but her fetters made that impossible. “Please,” she begged. “Unfasten the cuffs.” She seized a handful of Amir’s tunic, trying to make him pay attention. “Free me—let me dance! Please!”
The Rajah stared at her, still swaying, his eyes unfocused. Gradually he came to his senses. “Oh—you. I’d almost forgotten. The music does that.”
He leaned in to brush his lips across hers. It was the barest touch, just enough to give her an impression of soft flesh and a whiff of anise. She wanted to scream at his smug grin. Instead, she moaned, as he gave her breast a rude squeeze.
“Free you? A luscious, sensitive, devious creature like you? Not bloody likely, my dear. Oh no, if you think you’re bound now—just wait for later.”