When Love is More Dangerous Than the Cartel ... #DarkRomance #NewRelease

By Amber Daulton (Guest Blogger)

Corrupting His Wife is a story about power imbalance and the dark side of love and obsession. These themes fit perfectly in the dark romance genre, particular mafia romance, so if your reading taste leans toward the dark, the gritty, and the intensely possessive, the latest installment in the Lozano Cartel series is exactly what your e-reader needs. Think Beauty and the Beast (if the Beast was a cartel capo and the castle was a war zone).

Enrique Briceño, the ruthless second-in-command of the Lozano Cartel, is used to taking what he wants. When the woman he desires, Lourdes Villegas, is promised to another man, Enrique doesn’t send a wedding gift—he orchestrates an abduction.

Lourdes is a cartel princess who wants nothing more than to trade her gilded cage for an artist’s life of peace. Instead, she finds herself in the arms of a sensual man determined to corrupt her. But Lourdes isn’t a submissive captive; she fights back with a fire that catches Enrique off guard. As their world descends into a bloody power struggle, they both have to decide: is this a kidnapping, or the only escape they have left?

What to Expect:

A morally gray hero who will do anything to keep his prize.

A heroine with a backbone of steel who refuses to be a pawn.

Intense enemies-to-lovers chemistry that sets the pages on fire.

No cheating and a guaranteed HEA (Happily Ever After).

Reader Note

As this is a dark cartel romance, please be aware that the story contains heavy themes, including kidnapping, violence, and discussions of child endangerment, spousal abuse (not between the H/h), and miscarriage. It’s the third book in the Lozano Cartel series but can be enjoyed as a standalone.

Pick this up if you love high-tension romance where the anti-hero gets the girl!

Blurb

Kidnapping a reluctant bride is easy. Staying off her jilted fiancé’s radar is tough.

As the second-in-command of the Lozano Cartel, Enrique Briceño always gets what he wants. So when Lourdes’s father demands she marry another man, Enrique makes his move—abduction. Vowing to corrupt his sweet little captive in every wicked way imaginable, he doesn’t expect her to fight him with fire.

Cartel princess Lourdes Villegas longs for peace. Freedom. A chance to let her artist soul breathe. Yet once again, a man is pulling her strings. In Enrique’s arms, she trades one ruthless capo for another. His touch sets her ablaze, but she’s already plotting her escape.

As political alliances crumble and the streets run red, Enrique must prove he’s more than just another monster in Lourdes’s life. Because this time, love might be the most dangerous thing of all.

– Book three in the dark romance series, the Lozano Cartel. All the books can be read as a standalone, but are part of an interconnected series.

– Scenes featuring kidnapping, violence, and miscarriage (discussed) may be uncomfortable for some readers.

– No cheating. HEA guaranteed!

Spicy Excerpt

The following morning, Lourdes breached the veil of sleep as something shifted between her legs. A hot, wet swipe across her clitoris jolted her upright on the cushy rug in the penthouse living room. “Enrique!” Spots flashed in her vision. His guttural moan rumbled through her core. The golden glow from the table lamp sliced through the darkness and gleamed in her husband’s wicked eyes as he rubbed his morning scruff on her tender folds.

“You taste amazing.” Enrique gripped her thighs to hold her steady. At his mercy.

She groaned and plopped back on the floor. “Haven’t you had enough?”

He chuckled and leaned up just enough to smirk at her. “It’s my wedding night.”

“Ours, and it ended at midnight. What time is it?”

“Late, or early. Sun’s not up yet.” He feathered kisses along her inner thigh.

“We need sleep.” Her heart raced faster as his mouth closed over her throbbing labia. “Ooh!” She squirmed, desperate for an anchor in the bliss ravaging her body. He pinned her down, savoring her as though he’d never tasted anything so delicious. She gripped his messy hair and bore down on him. The fine tether on her release snapped. Pleasure crashed over her, liquefying her bones and rocketing her pulse into the stratosphere. She cried out, tears burning her eyes, and collapsed helplessly in his hold.

“I love the way you shatter.” He licked her once more, then stretched out beside her on the rug and drew her into his arms.

“Should I expect to wake up like this every morning?” Lourdes rested her head on his chest and dragged air into her straining lungs.

“Perhaps.” He stroked the length of her tousled hair.

She turned to face him. The swipe of his talented tongue across his glistening lips flip-flopped her heart. It should be illegal for him to look so damn good in the morning.

Download Links

Only 99 cents for a limited time!

Universal: https://books2read.com/CorruptingHisWife

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3H7ssPi

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/corrupting-his-wife-amber-daulton/1148037918?ean=2940184521732

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/corrupting-his-wife

Google Play: https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=dGt5EQAAQBAJ

Apple: https://apple.co/4lV856g

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1831689

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/240070753-corrupting-his-wife-lozano-cartel-book-3

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/books/corrupting-his-wife-lozano-cartel-book-3-a-star-crossed-lovers-dark-romance-by-amber-daulton

 

About the Author

Amber Daulton is the author of the Lozano Cartel, the Arresting Onyx, the Embracing You, and the Ramseys in Time series, as well as several standalone novellas. Her books are available in ebook and print on demand while select titles are also in audio and foreign language formats.

She lives in North Carolina, USA, with her husband and demanding 

cats.

Social Media Links

Follow Me: https://linktr.ee/AmberDaulton

Check out my website, Daulton Publishing: https://amberdaulton.com

 

Sign up for my Exclusive Newsletter (free ebook to new subscribers): 

 

 https://amberdaulton.com/newsletter-signup/

This woman could not have created that music! #Menage #Romance #MFRWHooks

My Book Hook today is a snippet from my multi-partner romance Goldberg Variations. This is quite an old story. The original version dates from 2010, when there were many opportunities for publishing in anthologies. Still, I think it holds up fairly well. After all, music is eternal.

Of course I might be biased. What do you think?

Blurb

A violinist, a violist and a seductress.

For twenty-two years the Goldberg brothers – Richard on cello, Harvey on viola and Albert on violin – have made music together, earning a decent living and a modicum of respect in the classical music community. When Richard’s sudden demise forces Harvey and Al to find a replacement cellist, neither can imagine how their new colleague will shake up their middle-aged lives.

Deidre Rasinovsky-Corbatta is an unlikely addition to the Goldberg Trio, a shapely siren with purple hair, scarlet lips and a rose tattooed on her ample breasts – but she plays cello like an angel. The passion she pours into her music spills over into her relationships with the two brothers. When both Al and Harv fall in love with her, will this tear the trio apart – or transform it?

The Hook

“Ms. Rasinovksy-Corbatta is in Practice Room 5 on the second floor,” the receptionist volunteered. “You can go on up, if you’d like.”

Harvey and Al bundled their instruments up the stairs to a long hallway that smelled of dust and rosin. Room 5 was at the end. The door was ajar. Light and music spilled through the opening.

Harvey grabbed Al, who was about to push the door wide. “Wait,” he whispered urgently. “Listen.”

The melody swirled around them like smoke, mysterious and difficult to apprehend, shifting form and mood in each moment. Harvey recognized Bach’s masterful D minor Partita, rendered with a purity and restraint that made Harvey ache. He closed his eyes and allowed the music to invade him, to overwhelm him. The notes soared heavenward, until he felt breathless in the thin atmosphere, then sank into low, throaty tones that vibrated deep in his gut.

He knew the piece well – could remember Richard performing it, to enthusiastic crowds – but now it seemed as though he had never truly heard it before. The playing was formal and precise yet somehow the control only heightened the emotional intensity. Pensive, questing, triumphant then subdued, the music ebbed and flowed in the darkened corridor.

“She’s good,” Al whispered.

“Shh!” Harvey felt momentary rage at his brother’s interruption, then that paltry emotion washed away in the tides of Bach’s creation. She was more than good. She was great, clearly a far more talented musician than any of the Goldberg brothers. Even Richard.

Why in the world would she want to be part of their group? What could they offer to induce her to join them? Harvey fretted briefly. Then the music raised him up again and carried him along, until the last mournful note trailed way into silence and set him free.

The two of them stood motionless for a long moment, looking at each other. Harvey gave a gentle knock.

“Come on in.” The voice was low and well-tempered, with the faintest trace of an accent. Harvey led the way into the practice room.

“Ms. Rasinovsky,” he began. He was unable to continue.

He didn’t know what he had expected, but the woman facing him with the cello cradled between her thighs was a shock.

Her red-shading-to-magenta hair made a spiky halo around her head. Her plump lips were painted to match. Wedgewood-blue eyes blazed in her long, pale face. One ear was pierced by half a dozen silver hoops and every finger of the hand that clasped the bow was decorated with a silver ring.

She wore a tight black jersey that zipped at the neck. The zipper was pulled down low enough that Harvey could see the tiny rose tattooed on creamy skin of her throat and the shadowy chasm between her full breasts. Her matching skirt was slit up the front. Harvey was grateful that she was wearing opaque tights.

When she smiled, put down her bow and stood to greet them, Harvey noticed her pointy-toed, high-heeled, Wicked-Witch-of-the-West boots.

No, there was no way this woman could have created that music! He swallowed hard, and tried again. “Ms. Rasinovsky,” he croaked. “I’m Harvey Goldberg, and this is my brother, Albert.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both. Thank you for coming all the way to Boston.”

Al’s eyes gleamed. He stepped forward and took the slender hand the cellist offered. “The pleasure is ours, Ms. Rasinovsky. I haven’t heard that piece played so well for many years.”

The woman laughed, deep in her chest. “You flatter me. And please, call me Deidre.”

“Al is telling the truth – Deidre. Your performance was astonishing. Not only was it technically perfect, it was very moving.”

“I appreciate the praise all the more, coming from a musician of your reputation, Mr. Goldberg – I mean, Harvey.”

She made his name sound like music. Harvey suddenly felt as though somebody had turned on a sunlamp. His wool suit was unbearably hot. His necktie was strangling him. He burned with embarrassment as he imagined how she must see him: a dumpy middle-aged man, balding and a bit disheveled, blushing like a girl. He needed to take control of this interview, but somehow he couldn’t organize his thoughts enough to utter a coherent sentence.

 

You can find the links on my website: https://www.lisabetsarai.com/goldbergvariationsbook.html

Be sure to visit the other authors participating in today’s Book Hooks!

Why am I doing this? #AmWriting

Image by Nanne Tiggel from Pixabay

Yesterday I received notification from my bank about March deposits from Amazon. Across different marketplaces, I made a total of about thirty dollars.

I was a bit depressed by this meager return, but not really surprised. For the past few years, my intense but rewarding day job has limited my serious writing time to one day per week. My last release was in December 2025, my previous one in October. (You can find my full, twenty-six year publishing history on my website.)

In today’s competitive, algorithm-driven environment, you have to have a constant stream of books in the pipeline in order to remain visible. Right now, I can’t manage that. (Actually, I never have, since writing has always been a side gig for me.)

Meanwhile, my current WIP is stalled at Chapter Six, at least partly because there’s at least week’s lapse between each of my writing sessions, sometimes more. I don’t have a target completion date for The Ruination of Ramona Stone. I don’t want to put more pressure on myself.

I just restructured my digital presence in order to save some money. I canceled my web hosting and SSL certificate subscriptions, provided by a big and not very responsive hosting company. These services were about to renew, with price increases of course. They were costing me about $600 per year. As an alternative, I moved my website to a cheap, self-administered cloud server. I also migrated my domain email to ProtonMail. Together the two new subscriptions have an annual price tag of less than $200. Big win. Less cost, not to mention less aggravation.

Of course, I had to give up one of my writing days to do all the configuration and testing work involved in this migration. I think, though, that the effort was worthwhile.

So why do I bother with all this? Where’s the payoff? It’s certainly not financial!

I can summarize my reason for writing in one word: love. I love the written word. I love spinning stories. When I re-read something I’ve produced, I’m amazed at the paragraphs and the people I have created. There is definitely magic in the process of starting with a nebulously imagined plot and characters and transforming them into a finished book.

In addition, I love the freedom that comes with self-publishing. Anyone familiar with my work will know that I chafe at genre conventions and tired tropes. I would rather mix things up and challenge reader expectations. My back log incorporates both romance and erotica, as well as a number of titles that fall into the gray area between them. I’ve written science fiction, historical, paranormal, multi-cultural, humor, suspense, even a little horror.

When I was working with a romance publisher, I found it really difficult to follow their rules and satisfy their constraints. These days, I can write and publish according to inspiration, not prescription.

Finally, I love the writing communities to which I belong. There are so many talented authors out there. The Internet has made it possible for me to connect with passionate and creative individuals all over the planet. They’ve helped me by critiquing, by reviewing, by sharing my releases with their readers, as well as by offering emotional support. I try to do the same for them.

Love. Simple, right?

Actually, love might the only valid reason for pursuing any endeavor.

Charity Sunday: Raising Our Voices – #VotingRights #WomensHistoryMonth #CharitySunday

Welcome to Charity Sunday for March. Today, to honor Women’s History Month, I am supporting the League of Women Voters, a non-partisan education and advocacy organization which has its roots in the U.S. women’s suffrage movement, more than a century ago.

 

You would think that after a hundred years, our right to vote in the U.S. would be secure. Unfortunately, nothing is further from the truth. The SAVE Act, currently being deliberated in Congress, will if it passes effectively strip large numbers of people of the right to vote in November’s critical mid-term elections. The proposed law would require levels of proof regarding citizenship and voter eligibility that will be difficult or impossible for many individuals to satisfy. Furthermore, the law will disproportionately affect women, since they often change their names due to marriage, invalidating their birth certificates and even their passports as proof of identity.

LWV is one of the organizations mobilizing opposition to this undemocratic and restrictive proposal. I’ve already sent messages to my senators; LWV will encourage others to do the same.

For each comment I receive on this post between now and the next Charity Sunday, I will donate two dollars to LWV.

For my excerpt, I’m sharing a bit from my MFM romance Wild About That Thing. Ruby Jones, an unhappily divorced single mother, is trying to make a success of her fledgling New York blues club. But the world keeps putting up obstacles.

She’d probably be one of the folks who’d be disenfranchised by the SAVE Act.

Excerpt

The crowd erupted into claps and whistles as the Travellers finished their number. “Thank you kindly, ladies and gentlemen.” A decade in New York hadn’t erased the softness of the South from Zeke’s speech. “Welcome to our first open mic night here at the Crossroads. Hope you brought your axe, your sax or your harp—if you didn’t, well, hell, you can borrow ours! Everybody gets the blues sometimes. This is the place to let it all out!”

Fresh applause greeted Zeke’s invitation. He stood up there on the platform—his hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans jacket, his axe hanging around his neck—and grinned like the country boy he used to be. At six-foot-one, with the solid build of a halfback, Zeke was an imposing figure. He’d broken up more than one drunken brawl for her over the past two years and he had a temper that could be scary. To Ruby and Isaiah, though, he’d been nothing but kind. Whatever success the Crossroads could claim was largely due to him.

“To kick things off tonight, I want to invite a very special lady to join us here on stage. She’s been through some hard times, friends, and she knows the blues. It’s in her blood, passed on from her daddy, Jimmy ‘The Harp’ Jones. When she sings, she spills her soul. Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for Ruby Jones, the lovely owner of the Crossroads Blues Bar!”

Applause filled the club. Zeke’s invitation hadn’t been a surprise. They’d discussed having her warm up the crowd, and of course, she’d been performing since she was a kid. Nevertheless, his effusive introduction made her feel self-conscious. Ruby wished she’d worn something a bit more glamorous than her usual jeans and tailored shirt.

She picked her way between the tables, headed for the stage. Zeke held out a big hand. When she grasped it, he swung her onto the platform, and quite neatly, into his arms. The crowd roared.

Zeke brushed his lips across hers. His distinctive scent engulfed her—clean sweat, Jim Beam and Ivory Soap. It was like turning on a movie—she instantly remembered the last time he’d been inside her. His blond stubble grazed her cheek. She saw him in her mind’s eye—body suspended above hers on powerful arms as he buried his cock in her pussy, fucking her with a smooth, steady rhythm while he scanned her face, focused on her pleasure. She felt again the way he stretched and filled her. The seam of her jeans teased her suddenly swollen clit. She wondered if Zeke could smell her growing dampness. Hell, what about the rest of the band?

“Stop it,” she whispered, pushing against his rock-hard chest.

Zeke released her with obvious reluctance. “I love her,” he told the audience, eliciting a chorus of hoots and whistles. Aching, hungry and guilt-ridden, Ruby knew he meant every word.

She smoothed the wrinkles from her blouse, noting in passing the tautness of her nipples, and took a deep breath. “Good evening,” she said into the microphone. As always, the amplified sound of her low alto startled her with its depth and richness. “I’m so glad to see you all. I hope you have a great time—that’s why I’m here, to make that happen if I can. Like Zeke says, the blues is in my blood. I can’t get away from it. I just gotta give in and let it out.”

She turned to nod at Zeke and the other musicians. They picked up the intro to Bessie Smith’s famous lament.

“Once I lived the life of a millionaire,

Spending my money, I didn’t care.

I carried my friends out for a good time,

Buyin’ them bootleg liquor, champagne and wine…”

The audience was as silent as a few dozen folks crammed into a low-ceilinged bar could be. Ruby dug deep and let the pain flow out into her song.

“Nobody knows you when you down and out

In my pocket not one penny

And my friends I haven’t any…”

Zeke and Jojo gave her solid backing, keeping it simple and strong to avoid drawing attention away from her vocals. She didn’t need to think—she’d learned this song at ten years old. She could sing it in her sleep.

 

If this sounds like something you’d like to read, you can purchase it as a stand-alone title, or read it as part of my ménage-themed boxed set Triad, free on Kindle Unlimited.

Please, be sure to leave a comment! Every one supports free and open democracy.

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Join us for Charity Saturday, 29 March 2026 #CharitySundaySignup #Altruism #Marketing

Image by Michael Schwarzenberger from Pixabay

Since 2017, I’ve been devoting the last Sunday in each month to a post which features some worthy cause. Often, other bloggers join me in this effort, turning the event into a blog hop. This Sunday, March 29th, is our next Charity Sunday.

If you do decide to join me, I hope you’ll download my new 2026 banner:

https://www.lisabetsarai.com/2026CharitySundayBanner.jpg

Charity Sunday is a meme designed to give authors and bloggers a chance to give back to the world, as well as to attract new readers.

How does it work? Each participant selects a favorite charity. Before the date, you should prepare a blog post that: 1) talks about the charity and why you support it; 2) provides a link to the charity; 3) includes an excerpt from one of your books; 4) includes the code to show links to other participating blogs.

It’s fun if you can make the excerpt relate somehow to your chosen charity, but this isn’t required.

For every comment left on your post, you commit to giving some amount to the relevant charity. The specific charity and the amount to donate are up to you. You can set an upper limit to your donation if you want.

If you’d like to participate in the next Charity Sunday on March 29th, sign up using the Linky List below. Please be sure that the link you enter will lead directly to your Charity Sunday post, not just to the home page of your blog.

Be sure to use the new Charity Sunday banner!

For an example post, check out this link from my last Charity Sunday, which was in January:

https://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com/2026/01/charity-sunday-for-wild-world.html

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Bawdiness Inspired by the Bard – #WomensHistoryMonth #MFRWHooks

For today’s MFRW Book Hooks, the last in Women’s History Month, I am taking some liberties with the past and sharing a bit from my Shakespeare-inspired romantic romp A Midsummer Night’s Gender Bending. Many people forget how many cross-dressing and gender-impersonation scenes there are in William Shakespeare’s oeuvre.

Enjoy!

Blurb

What visions I have seen! Methought I was enamoured of an ass.

The year is 1595 in the reign of Good Queen Bess. Stage-struck, young Ben Hastings leaves his father's farm for London, to join Will Shakepeare's band of players. Hugh Templeton, the handsome leading man, takes the innocent lad under his wing, but Ben soon discovers that Hugh wants more than just friendship. Meanwhile a savvy tavern maid named Jenny engineers a comedy of errors to save Ben from Hugh's lewd embrace and win him for her own.

The Hook

Jenny didn’t open the note until she was safely hidden in a corner of the Globe’s stables. The sun slanted in through the gaps in the planked walls, giving her plenty of light. She crouched down, leaning back against the rough wood, and took a deep breath. The air smelled of new hay and manure, with a hint of seaweed and sewage wafting up from the Thames. Jenny closed her eyes and blessed her sainted mother, who had taught her the basics of reading before dying of the pox when Jenny was eight.

She was completely alone, but her heart still slammed against her ribs as she unfolded the parchment and smoothed it down across her thigh. Hugh had a fair hand, bold and even. His words were fair, too, but to Jenny they seemed laced with poison.

My dearest Ben,

I should perhaps not disturb or importune you, but I find that I cannot stay silent. I must tell you how deeply your indifference and neglect wound me. After the glorious delights that we shared, how can you be so cruel? I cannot bear the thought that you might find my devoted attentions odious. I long for you night and day. I ache to give you everything, all the love in my heart, all the pleasure that I can coax from your beautiful body. I have never felt such passion for a youth before. I beg you, do not reject me.

Remember how you trembled when I touched you. Recall your moans as I explored your most secret places. Only give me leave, and I will take you even higher, to pinnacles of ecstasy that few ever experience. Then you will understand that our love is right, and truly, a gift from God.

Please, I implore you. Tonight is the solstice, the shortest night, sacred to the old deities. The Queen will not hunt tonight, but will ply her barge on the river. So meet me under the trees in her preserve at Marleybone Park, in the clearing they call Diana’s Glade, and I will give everything you can imagine, and much more. Simply follow the left hand path from the main gate, and it will lead you to the enchanted place where we can consummate our love. I will await you at midnight.

If you harden your heart, and refuse to meet, I swear I do not know what I shall do. I am not responsible for my actions. I do know that it will be impossible for me to continue suffering the agony of sharing the stage with you, and so one of us will have to quit the Lord Chamberlain’s Men. That would cut almost as deeply as your rejection.

I eagerly wait your answer. For pity or love, please succour me.

Passionately and completely yours,

Hugh

Jenny sniffed in contempt. ’Never felt such passion for a youth before’! What poppycock! Yet Ben might well believe it, might be seduced by the flowery rhetoric and raw emotion of the message. Then there was the veiled threat near the end. Hugh was a primary player. His roles had helped to make William Shakespeare famous throughout the city. There was no way that Hugh was going to leave the company. No, it would be Ben who would have to relinquish his dream.

It was fortunate that she was here to protect him.

When Ben had fled the tavern that morning, Jenny hadn’t known what to do. She hadn’t realised how much she wanted Ben or how much she cared about him until she saw his horror and confusion. Her declaration of desire had startled her as much as it had him. Once she had spoken, though, she was quite certain that he should be hers. The only question was how to nudge the fates in that direction.

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Find the buy links at: https://www.lisabetsarai.com/midsummernightbook.html

Be sure to visit the other authors participating in today’s Book Hooks!

A single stolen kiss – #Sapphic #Historical #WomensHistoryMonth

On Wednesday I hosted a guest, so I did not participate in the weekly MFRW Book Hooks blog hop. However, I figured I should continue my observation of Women’s History Month by posting historical excerpts that feature my heroines.

Today’s snippet comes from my Sapphic romance By Moonlight. This is a re-imagining of the classic poem The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes, but with a twist – and a happy ending. The tale is set in mid-eighteenth century England.

Enjoy!

Blurb

She risked all, loving an outlaw – especially a woman

In her eighteen years on earth, Bess has never traveled more than twenty miles from her Devonshire village. The raven-haired innkeeper’s daughter has little time to dream of adventure as she labors from dawn to dusk to keep her abusive father satisfied.

Then, at the weekly market in Tavistock town, she meets a handsome dandy who claims her with a single stolen kiss. When the gallant gentleman makes a midnight visit to the inn, Bess learns that her new lover is none other than Kit Latour, a notorious French highwayman who has been boldly relieving the local nobility of their valuables. Well-aware of the risk she’s taking, Bess still offers herself to the seductive outlaw. Even Kit’s darkest secrets cannot quench the flames of her love.

Excerpt

Bess watched her sharp features relax and soften in the aftermath. The notorious Kit Latour, outlaw, bandit and thief, looked much younger with her eyes closed and her shoulder-length russet locks fanned out over Bess’s pillow.

Somewhere in the distance, a cock crowed. Bess bent to kiss her drowsing lover.

“You’d best be off. It will soon be light.”

Kit stirred. She pulled Bess down into a desperate embrace. Their breasts mashed together. Below, their juices mingled, black curls tangling with ginger. Kit’s greedy kiss just left Bess hungry for more.

“I can hardly bear to leave you. But I’m after a fine prize today. If my plan succeeds, I shall have more than enough to take you away with me.” Kit slipped the fancy shirt over her head, hiding her small but shapely bosom. She’d already donned her breeches.

“Where would we go?” Bess had never been more than twenty miles from the village where she’d been born.

“Back to France, perhaps. Or to the colonies. As far away as possible from the King and his soldiers. There’s nothing for me here, my sweet, but a rope around my neck or a knife in my gut.”

A chill seized her, though the hidden sun was already warming the autumn air. “Do not speak of such things, Kit.”

Fully dressed now, her lover swept her into a final kiss, then cupped her cheek and gazed into her eyes. “Until tonight, bonny Bess. I’ll come to you by moonlight—though Hell should bar the way.”

She vaulted over the casement and clambered to the ground. Bess watched from the window as Kit crept toward the stables to retrieve her horse, Delilah. The sense of Kit’s cool palm on her face lingered, long after the mare’s hoof beats had died away.

Somewhere in the quiet inn-yard, a gate creaked. Bess held her breath. Now that Kit was gone, she was newly aware of the dangers that threatened them. She listened intently, but aside from another crow from the early-rising rooster, all was silent.

The moon had set. The wind had fallen. In the east, the stars were fading. An hour or two remained before dawn, when she needed to be about her chores. Her eyelids drooped. She could afford to sleep, at least for a while, to sleep and to dream of her lover.

 

Find the buy links at https://www.lisabetsarai.com/bymoonlightbook.html