Wednesday, July 30, 2014

Sneak Peek: A Promise at Dawn by Jane Leopold Quinn


Their affair was scorchingly sensual

Faye Burke, recently widowed, retreated to the coast of Maine to grieve and reassess her future. Her favorite part of the day is watching the sun rise out of the Atlantic Ocean. It’s also when the man she considers her guilty pleasure runs along the beach.

Gil Farrelly, a successful painter, is trying to get his career back on track after the studio fire that destroyed everything. He starts his creative juices flowing every day by running on the beach. The lovely woman who watches him also gets his juices flowing and he’s determined to reinvent his career by painting her.

Faye’s combination of maturity and sensual vulnerability intrigue Gil and he wants to immortalize her on his canvas. She’s flattered, aroused and ultimately frightened of the emotions he incites. He claims not to care he’s younger by twelve years but she believes sooner or later he’ll come to his senses and seek out women his own age. Can Faye conquer her fears? Can Gil prove to her it’s not age separating them but her fear?


“Was your studio here in this area?”

“Uh huh. Like you, I came up here a couple years ago to find myself. Since the fire, I’ve been doing some landscapes. You’re the first portrait I’ve wanted to do in a long time.”

She lay on her back, tilting her face to the sun, savoring the warmth. She’d popped a slice of apple in her mouth, and he watched her chew and swallow it. “Faye,” he began, shifting his body over hers.

She sighed and opened her eyes.

He didn’t waste any time. Through eyes barely open, he watched her lashes close, watched her lips part. He kissed her softly. With light touches and delicate sips, he tasted the sweet stickiness of the apple on her lips.

She didn’t respond. It wasn’t a rejection. It just wasn’t a response.

He braced his hands on either side of her shoulders, holding himself off her breasts so the only place their bodies met was their lips. It took all his control to go slowly.

At first she didn’t touch him. Then at the same time she began to kiss him back, she placed her palms on his chest, their warmth and pressure highly arousing. She slid her arms around him and slowly pulled him down on top of her.


He took that for permission and rolled to his back, taking her, draping her over his body. He wrapped his arms around her, one hand cupping her head lightly, giving her the opportunity to break away if she didn’t like it. She stayed, and he deepened his kiss. His tongue explored her mouth, claiming her, delving into her welcoming and passionate response.

Her moans rose sweetly from her throat, then became deep growling noises. Her hands cupped his face, held him. She massaged his tongue with hers. His cock surged in response.

He rolled again putting her beneath him and slid his thigh between hers.

Her body quivered, her hips undulated, pressing upward against his.

He moved his fingers to the buttons of her sweater and flicked them open one by one, spreading the sides to reveal a pretty white lacy bra with, thank the good Lord, a front clasp. Her eyes opened, met his with an erotic, pleading gaze. The clasp easily opened, and her full, pale breasts spilled free.

“Gil,” she gasped his name. There was no question in it, just pure desire.

Slipping his hands under her shoulders, he pulled her up, brought his mouth down, and latched onto a beautiful strawberry shaded nipple as erect and hard as a little clit.

He uttered a soft grunt at her sharp cry, drawing on her, loving the taste and feel of the tightly furled bud.

She clawed at his shoulders, writhing under him. “Yes, yes, God, yes.”

He delicately clamped her nipple between his teeth.

“Yes. Harder.”

He rocked the tip and lashed it with his tongue.

“Oh. The other one,” she begged with a breaking sob. She fisted her fingers in his T-shirt, yanking, tugging at it.

He released her nipple and pushed himself up.

“No,” she cried.

He gripped the back of his T-shirt and pulled it off over his head, tossing it aside. “I want to feel your skin on mine,” he murmured, and teased her other nipple.

She gave herself so completely over to the torment of his mouth. He could feel her fingernails on his shoulders. The harder she scored, the deeper he drew on her nipple. They fed off each other, off the ecstatic storm of their emotions. She cried his name, rolled her head back and forth on the blanket, stiffened, and covered her mouth with the back of her hand. He felt her orgasm in the vibration of the guttural groan from deep in her belly.

His heart soared, his lips tipped in an elated smile. Just giving her this pleasure satisfied him more than he thought possible. She was an amazing combination of reluctance and responsiveness. She thought her age might make her less attractive? Ha!

A Promise at Dawn is available at Amazon

Amazon Reviews

"Good short story! Faye and Gil have very hot chemistry, and their story is heartwarming. I was surprised at the character development in such a short offering. Faye had suffered such a huge loss, and we were drawn in along on her new path in life."

"Ms Quinn paints a detailed portrait of a woman re-awakening after the loss of her husband. Her emotional state is handled quite deftly. This story has pathos, passion and humor woven together. Gil and Faye's story unfolds quickly and it's a scorcher."

About Me

Sensual fantasies were locked in my mind for years until a friend said, "Why don't you write them down?" Why not, indeed? One spiral notebook, a pen and the unleashing of my imagination later, and here I am with more than a dozen books published. The craft of writing erotic romance has become my passion and my niche in life. I love every part of the creative process — developing characters, designing the plot, even drawing the layout of physical spaces from my stories. My careers have been varied — third grade school teacher, bookkeeper, secretary — none of which gave me a bit of inspiration. But now I'm lucky enough to write romance full time — the best job in the universe!

Jane Leopold Quinn
My Romance:  Love With a Scorching Sensuality

Monday, July 28, 2014

Describing the Indescribable

If you write explicit erotica or erotic romance, as I do, you’re constantly facing the problem of describing the indescribable. How can you convey the essence of a sexual encounter? You can’t show your readers a picture. You can’t literally evoke the sensations of skin on skin, the sound of a moan that is halfway between agony and delight, the scents of sweat or semen. Words are your only tools. Somehow you must employ these tools to communicate both the sensual and emotional experience of your lovers.

Describing actions is relatively straightforward — who touches whom, how and where. Actions, however, are not enough to create a moving and arousing sex scene. Somehow you have to put your readers inside the heads of your characters. Sex scenes just don’t work unless your readers share your characters’ experience.

What does it feel like, to be aroused? Warm,wet, full, throbbing, aching — we’ve all used these words a thousand times. Yet they’re only the roughest approximation to the way it really feels. Concrete terms only get you part of the way to the goal. Even if you succeed in precisely describing sensations (a difficult task), that’s not sufficient. In fact, the purely physical parts of sex can seem ludicrous, even gross, if that’s your sole focus.

To effectively describe sexual encounters, I find that I need to emphasize emotion, while suggesting sensation. To do this, I tend to use a lot of metaphor, that is, implicit comparisons, often to phenomena in nature. Hurricanes. Earthquakes. Fire. Clouds. Rivers and oceans. These familiar phenomena evoke emotional responses. By using them to describe sex, those emotions get transferred to the characters and the scene. At the same time, because they do relate to physical experience, metaphors can also convey ideas about how things feel, from a physical perspective.

Romance has gotten a bad rap for “purple prose”, overblown, exaggerated language that sounds ridiculous. An orgasm like a hurricane? Come on now! I read a blog post not too long ago where the author ridiculed the many outrageous descriptions of orgasms that she had encountered in her reading. I cringed at some of her extreme examples.

There are dangers here, I admit, not only overwriting, but also falling into clichés. Nevertheless, I don’t think I could write sex scenes without using metaphor. The human mind operates by recognizing familiar patterns and then filling in the blanks. That’s how metaphors work. They’re a kind of emotional shorthand. When I write that a climax is a hurricane (if I do it skillfully), my readers think: ferocious wind, drenching rain, overwhelming power, uncontrolled fury, terror, excitement, helplessness. All these connotations overlay the literal meaning of the text, giving it depth and intensity.

At least, that’s my objective! Here’s a brief excerpt from my paranormal romance Serpent’s Kiss. It demonstrates my point, I think. I use lots of metaphors, but I never actually come out and say, her climax was like a volcano. I hope that it works, that it conveys the intense pleasure my character is experiencing.

“You don’t understand what you ask. If we couple, you and I, we will open the gates of chaos.” He hovered close, leaning over her, gazing into her eyes. His scent made her dizzy.

“I don’t care. So be it.”

His strong arms snaked around her body and pulled her to his chest. “So be it,” he whispered. “As the gods will.”

His mouth captured hers. He sucked away her breath, drained her of her strength. Then he swept his tongue across hers and everything flowed back: strength, breath, awareness, pleasure. She felt his tongue everywhere, on her aching nipples and in the liquid gap between her thighs, tickling the tender lobe of her ear, dancing in the hollow at the base of her throat. Yet she knew, with the tiny kernel of rationality that remained, that his lips had not left hers. This exquisite ballet of sensation was nothing more than an illusion.

Real or imagined, the fluttering tongues quickly carried her to the edge of release. “Please,” she begged, sliding her mouth away from his. “I can’t wait. Make love to me.” He clutched her to him. His erection pressed into her belly like a lump of stone. “You want me, Jorge. Take me.”

“Your clothes…” he murmured. In ten seconds she had them off, her jeans still hanging off one ankle, her blouse a torn heap on the ground. He pulled his shirt over his head and folded it into a pillow for her comfort. Then he bore down on her, taking them both the floor of the porch.

She untied his drawstring pants and pushed them down around his lean hips. His swollen cock sprang out, an invincible spear of flesh aimed at the sky. She stroked her hand down his length, marvelling at the satiny texture of the skin, the way it sheathed a core of granite. She was suddenly reminded of the feather, simultaneously stiff and soft.

Jorge swept his fingers once through her cleft, as if to assure himself that she was ready. She jumped at his shocking touch, teetering on the precipice. A river of sweet moisture flowed from her, coating his hand. He did not make her wait any longer.

With one jerk of his hips, he sank his rod into her juicy depths. Elena felt the silk-encased stone of his cock, sliding over her slick flesh, filling her, claiming her. The delicious invasion finally pushed her over the edge. Her climax erupted, starting at her molten core and overflowing, sweeping away everything in its path. She wailed, her voice shocking the birds and other night creatures into silence.

Sunday, July 27, 2014

Sunday Snog #134: A Breed Apart

Today I've got a kiss from my taboo erotica story, A Breed Apart. In this Gothic tale of decadence and temptation, a ruined governess travels to the isolated mansion to instruct the angelic child of a dazzlingly beautiful couple. Little by little, the shockingly lascivious Peter and Rachel entangle poor Joan in their erotic snares. As a fallen woman she has little to lose – until they reveal their terrible secret.

This story was written expressly for the Coming Together: Tabooty  imprint. Tabooty is an ebook line of single titles featuring taboo relationships, inspired by's blocking of certain titles due to the nature of their sexual relationships. The Tabooty line features erotic fiction considered taboo by current social standards. This includes not only incest but unusual fetishes and/or sex with clergy. Regardless of the taboo, all material involves: (a) consensual relationships and (b) participants of legal age.

All proceeds from the sale of Coming Together: Tabooty titles benefit the National Coalition for Sexual Freedom Foundation.

After you've recovered from my excerpt, slide on over to Victoria's for more Sunday kisses! 

Lost in my fantasy, edging ever closer to my crisis, I did not notice the lull in their salacious symphony. Only when the door opened, revealing my gasping, half-clad form to Rachel's amused eyes, did I realize that my own vocalizations had given me away.

"Joan," she murmured. Shame leaped up to consume me. I snatched my hand from my cunny, miserably aware that my woman-scent hung in the air like the exhalation of a beach at low tide. "Come in, darling. We've been expecting you."

She grasped my wrist and drew me into their chamber. I was too stupefied by embarrassment to resist. Her skin was pure satin on my bare arm, the most delicious sensation I'd ever experienced. It was some moments before I realized that she was completely and gloriously naked.

"I - I - I'm sorry," I stuttered. "I didn't - please excuse - the door...."

"Hush," she said, enforcing her command by pressing her lips to mine.

Lightning arced down my spine. Thunder beat in my ears. I would have collapsed had she not crushed me to her pillowy breasts. Her ripe mouth tasted of strawberries and rain. Her tongue wriggled between my lips like the Biblical serpent, tempting me with new knowledge. A part of me watched, horrified, as I allowed her to deepen the kiss, screaming warnings when I circled her trim waist and stroked the silken firmness of her swelling buttocks.

I refused to listen. When she slipped her hand inside my wrap and pinched my nipple, I moaned into her mouth and ground my pubis against hers. She laughed like a naughty child. Taking my hand once more, she guided it to the soft curls that shielded her sex. It was like touching myself. I burrowed into that damp nest, seeking the hot, hard bead of flesh I knew I'd find there. She gasped, sucking my breath into her lungs, as new liquid gushed around my probing fingers.

Every caress I lavished on her slick quim I felt myself. I knew exactly how to touch her, how to wring those lovely moans from her plump lips. I could measure her excitement by my own. I knew she was mere breaths away from her spend, because I was also.

Her slender body tensed. She clenched and shuddered around my hand, drenching me in her fluids. The wave of her climax caught me up and swept me into my own whirlpool of pleasure. Swirling, thrashing, dizzy with delight, I clutched her sweet, warm flesh as pure sensation threatened to drown me.

Soft warmth cocooned me as I returned to my senses after my tumultuous crisis. Rachel cradled me against her exquisite bosom, crooning a wordless melody in my ear. I drifted, amazed that I was still standing. My lust simmered. She combed her fingers through my tangled locks and called me beautiful.

A rigid bulk suddenly pressed itself into the seam between my buttocks. "We knew you were the right choice, Joan." Behind my back, Peter chuckled as he eased off my robe and tossed it away. Hardness conquered softness. My banked desire flared anew.

Saturday, July 26, 2014

Writing Strong Female Leads

By P.J. MacLayne (Guest Blogger)

I come from a long line of strong women on both my father's and mother's side. Both of my grandmothers raised large families without a lot of money to spend, but made it happen with a lot of hard work and a lot of love. I'm thankful that work ethic has been passed on to me.

So I guess it's no surprise that I write my female characters to be strong. Harmony Duprie, the main character in my new book, The Marquesa's Necklace, has the rather unusual occupation of doing historical research for a writers' cooperative, a job she invented. That means she spends much of her time with her nose buried in a book or staring at a computer screen. That may not seem like hard work to some, but it takes both skill and intelligence to track down long-forgotten details of daily life of years gone by.

The weekly self-defense class Harmony participates in helps her stay physically in-tune. Of course, she doesn't expect to ever use what she learns, because nothing bad ever happens in Oak Grove, the small town she lives in.

Yeah, right. She didn't believe that anymore after spending a night in jail accused of drug trafficking.

As Harmony tries to put her life back together, she learns that sometimes being strong means letting other people help you., as in the excerpt below.

The folded, bright orange paper that must have been stuck between the screen door and the main door caught my eye. I almost dropped my laptop bag when I snatched it from the clutches of a sudden gust of cold wind threatening to send the sheet sailing. But I managed to hang onto it with my free hand, using my hip to push open the heavy wooden door.

Curious, I set down my laptop and purse and unfolded the paper without even kicking off my shoes first. Totally not like me. I sank down on my old brown couch.

A crudely drawn skull and crossbones adorned the top half of the page. On the bottom half, scrawled in red ink, were the words “You got lucky this time.” I took a deep breath, picked up the landline phone, and hit memory five—Detective Thomason's direct line.

I was sitting at the bottom of the stairway, patting Piper, and practicing breathing exercises to calm my nerves when he arrived in a squad car, sirens wailing. To my shock, Piper didn’t even growl. The uniformed cop with him dashed up the stairs, his hand on the butt of his gun. The detective sat beside me and pulled the evidence out of my still-shaking hand. He flipped open the sheet, glanced at it, and folded it in half. His lips tightened into a thin line as he stared at the crack in the concrete beneath his feet. We sat there, not looking at each other, until the policeman came stomping down the stairs.

“It’s clear.”

Detective Thomason grunted. “Ms. Duprie, have you met Officer Clearmont?”

I recognized the face if not the name. I’d probably seen him around the station. “I’d like to say good to see you again,” I said, “But unfortunately it’s not.” Wow, I was really slipping, cranking out a line like that. Under other circumstances, I would have been ashamed of myself.

“I’ll dust for prints on the door, but I don’t expect to find any,” the officer said, his expression not changing. “Except for yours, ma’am,” he added, acknowledging me.

“And we have hers on file at the station, so they will be easy to match up.” Detective Thomason noted dryly. “Bring back an evidence bag for this too.” He waved the guilty piece of paper in the air.
“Although I doubt we will find any unknown prints on it.”

The Marquesa's Necklace is for sale at major ebook retailers.

I can be reached at Facebook:

Friday, July 25, 2014

For Better Or Worse

By Ashley Ladd (Guest Blogger)

Have you ever found out that one of your favorite authors uses a pseudonym? Have you ever wondered why an author might choose to do so?

I’ll come forward. I’m one of them. “Ashley Ladd” is my pseudonym for my erotic romance novels.

I, like many other authors I’m sure, have several good reasons for using one.

First, my mother’s family is very straight-laced and religious. I couldn’t envision telling my very sweet aunt or my very prim and proper uncle that I write graphically explicit male-male-male love scenes. As it turns out, one of my children is now transgender female, and when I admitted that to them, they couldn’t, wouldn’t accept her.

Secondly, I work for a religious ministry full-time. I have a suspicion that my employers wouldn’t look favorably upon my extra-curricular activities. I might very well end up unemployed if they were to learn about my erotic romance novels. Unfortunately, I can’t afford to retire and write full time. Not yet anyway.

Unfortunately, one of my coworkers discovered my alter ego. One day we were friends and the next she unfriended me on Facebook and ran away from me at lunch. When I got up the nerve to ask why she’d unfriended me, she admitted she was disappointed in me. She’d found out I wrote erotic romance.

Additionally, I don’t want my activities to adversely affect my family. The mother of my son’s best friend stopped allowing her child to play with mine because my husband had made and displayed a ceramic dragon. She was very religious and thought we’d joined a satanic cult because of a silly figurine. I can only imagine that she’d look even less favorably upon what I write.

I’m sure other authors have other good reasons to hide their identity as well. I’d love to hear them.

Deciding to use a pseudonym was only the first step in the process. Next I had to choose a pen 

I was watching a Cheryl Ladd movie during the decision-making process, thus it was one of many last names on the list of possibilities. Next, I wanted to choose a first name that was popular with the twenty-forty year old crowd. After that I made a long list of possible combinations and asked my critique group which one they liked. Ashley Ladd won the vote.

However, I wasn’t done there. I didn’t want to use another author’s or famous person’s name, or even a name I found on the Internet. Then I googled the name. At that time, no one else named Ashley Ladd came up on a Google search. So I adopted the name. When I googled Ashley Ladd to find mentions of my recently released romance novel Cooking Up A Storm, however, I found at least five other people named Ashley Ladd. Worse, a few years ago I received an email from another Ashley Ladd accusing me of stealing her name. By then, I had several books published as Ashley Ladd, and hopefully a following.

I don’t know if it’s possible to choose a unique name. I work with a large data base at my day job and very often see two or more people with the same “unusual” name. Most of the time when I speak to someone like that they presume they are the only person on Earth with that name, so I know it’s not a family member.

Should I have made up a really unusual name like Swanzetta to use for my pseudonym? It probably wouldn’t have helped. I’ve seen this name for a real person.

For better or worse, I am Ashley Ladd. To date, Ashley’s name is on seventy plus books, the most recent being a contemporary male-male erotic romance Business or Pleasure just made available today (July 25) for download at Totally Bound. It will be available on Amazon, ARe, and other booksellers as of August 22.


Guy Rogers is extremely attracted to his new realtor, Tom Beaudreaux. As a passionate vegetarian and animal activist, he’s ecstatic that Tom is a kindred soul. He could never be with a carnivore. Unfortunately, Tommy isn’t really a vegetarian or animal activist. He never said he was either, he just didn’t eat meat when he was with Guy. And maybe he emptied his house of all meat and dairy products before inviting Guy over. In fact, Tommy’s family owns the most popular barbecue restaurant in town and if his family has their way, he’ll manage the new location.

When Guy finds out that Tommy eats meat and his family owns a restaurant that is a monument to eating meat, he’s livid and doesn’t know if he wants anything else to do with Tommy.

But then Guy’s life gets crazy –his dad’s paranoia blossoms into violent dementia, he gets arrested for picketing a doggy mill, and then he winds up in even more legal trouble. When Tommy sticks by him through all his trouble and does everything he can to help him, Guy wonders if he’s been too militant and narrow-minded. Perhaps he can learn to live with people who have opposite views.


Gunshots rang out as they turned onto Guy’s street.

Tommy looked at him and mouthed, “Shit! You don’t think…?”

I hope not. I don’t know.” Guy pressed the gas pedal to the floor and the car shot forward, fish-tailing.

Tommy fisted the door, hanging on tight. “I hope we’re wrong.”

Guy’s intuition told him he wasn’t. His knuckles turned white they held the steering wheel so tightly. Unafraid for himself but scared for his dad, he pulled into his driveway and jumped out of the car, with Tommy close on his heels.

The woman next door ran outside screaming, tearing out her already tattered hair. She pointed at her front door. “Your father’s shooting up my house and is holding a gun at my dad’s head. He’s going to kill him. You’ve got to do something.”

Tommy yelled as he began dialing on his phone, “I’m calling the police.” As if on cue, police sirens blared in the distance and grew louder by the second.

I’m going in. I have to stop him.”

Wait for the police. Don’t put yourself in danger,” Tommy ordered forcefully.

I have to take the chance. He could kill someone before the police get here. I can’t let that happen.” He put himself in harm’s way for animals, so certainly he could risk his life for his own father and other fellow human beings. He had no choice. It would be his fault if someone got hurt.

So he ran through the open door flailing his arms, hoping he would be in time. “Dad! It’s Guy. Don’t do anything. I’m here. You’ll be okay.”

He’ll be okay? What about me? He’s got a shotgun pointed at my head threatening to blow it off,” the elderly neighbor cried.

Buy Link

Contest! Leave me a comment with your email, telling me what you think about Guy and Tom. I'll give a $10 bookstore gift certificate to one of you!

About Ashley

Ashley Ladd lives in South Florida with her husband, five children, and beloved pets. She loves the water, animals (especially cats), and playing on the computer.

She's been told she has a wicked sense of humour and often incorporates humour and adventure into her books. She also adores very spicy romance, which she weaves into her stories.

You can find Ashley at:

Thursday, July 24, 2014


[You're going to love this excerpt from Sabrina York's new Regency, Defiant. Certainly I did! ~ Lisabet]

DEFIANT, by Sabrina York
Noble Passions, Book Five

When rakish Ned falls in with the wrong crowd, his brother decides to send him to the Continent for “seasoning”. For Sophia, this just won’t do. She’s loved Ned for ages—and also longed for adventure. She runs away from her boring suitors and disguises herself as a cabin boy on the Defiant, the ship sailing Ned to Italy.

Ned knows he’s not good enough for Sophia, but once they’re on the Defiant, he can’t stop himself from touching her, tasting her, loving her. Not when a wild tempest and a band of ruthless pirates threaten them. Not when every look from her gives him such pleasure. And certainly not when she comes, warm and wild and willing, to his bed.

If they survive their voyage, Sophia’s brother might kill him, but it will have been worth every moment and every hot, sweet kiss.

A Romantica® Regency historical erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave


Sophia stood on the bow of the boat in the dark as the wind and rain lashed her face. She loved it. Loved it. Not only was the storm elemental and fierce, it hid her tears.

Surely she hadn’t expected Ned to greet her with open arms. Not when she had barged in on his adventure as she had. But she certainly hadn’t expected him to be so horrid. His expression had devastated her.

Foolish girl, it said.

But then, her heart agreed.

She was foolish.

Foolish to ever think that he—

You’re soaked.”

She whirled around, though she knew what she’d see. More glowering.

She was right.

What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

I’m reveling.” She thrust out her chin, in case he didn’t believe her.

He gaped at her. “Reveling?”

Yes.” She didn’t mean to shout, but his wintry demeanor annoyed her tremendously. She threw out her arms. “Look at this!”

It’s a storm.”

It’s beautiful. The waves are wild, untamed—”

You could be swept overboard.”

The wind is howling and the rain is savage. It’s glorious.”

It’s freezing. Come inside.”

It’s not freezing. It’s summer.”

I’m cold.”

Then you go inside.”

Sophia Fiona—”

Don’t call me that.”

It’s your name.”

You sound like Ewan.”

I’m starting to think Ewan is a saint.”

She glared at him. “What a beastly thing to say.” She hated that her chin wobbled a little. Hated that he winced.

I’m sorry, Sophia. This has been trying for me.” He sluiced the water from his face. “Won’t you please come inside?”

All right. Fine.”

You will?”

You did say please.”

He blew out a breath and offered her his arm. She frowned at it. “I’m a cabin boy, remember? You don’t offer a cabin boy your arm.” When he didn’t lower it, she smacked it. “Someone will see.”

That caught his attention and he slowly lowered his arm. “Right then. Come inside.” He followed her back to the cabin, his stride decidedly unsteady. If anyone was tipping overboard, it was most likely him.

When she once again stood in his chambers, she realized the folly of her actions. She hadn’t brought a change of clothes and she was drenched. So was he. Without a word, he relit the lamp and then opened his trunk and pulled out several shirts, two of which he tossed to her. “Change.”

That was it. One word. Just “change” and then he presented her with his back. She huffed a breath, but did as he asked because she was really rather cold. The feel of the cloth falling over her chilled flesh warmed her. Because it was his shirt. It had touched his skin. She wasn’t sure why the thought sent heat scudding through her belly.

Use the other shirt to dry your hair,” he suggested, as he began toweling off as well.

She huffed a laugh. “All of your clothes will be wet.”

They’ll dry. Are you clothed?”


He turned. And froze. His gaze locked onto her bare legs. “I-I thought you said you were clothed.” A squawk.

I am.” But the intensity of his stare made her self-conscious, so she slipped into the bed.

Close your eyes,” he said as he unbuttoned the damp linen clinging to his chest.


I need to change as well. I’m f-freezing.”

Okay.” She did. But she peeked.

He ripped off his wet shirt and her breath caught at the sight of his broad back. Muscles rippled as he moved and she swallowed. He was beautiful. He tugged the fresh shirt over his head and she nearly whimpered as that magnificent vision disappeared. But then, he unfastened his trousers.

All pretense of not peeking evaporated.

He sat and took a moment to work off his boots. And then he stood. His trousers were tight, as was the fashion, and he had to peel them off. As he bent, she caught a flash of his bare behind.

She must have made a noise because he whirled around. His cheek bunched when he saw her watching. “You’re supposed to have your eyes closed.”

She hunkered in the covers, as though that would disguise the fact that her eyes were open wide.


It was probably wrong to grin at him, but she couldn’t help it.

Sophia Fiona!”

Stop calling me that. It always makes me think I’m in trouble.”

You are in trouble. You have no idea how much trouble you’re in.”

She tipped her head to the side. “We both know Ewan will be so relieved to see me, he’ll forget how angry he is—”

Ned stilled and fixed her with a dark glare. “What makes you think I’m talking about Ewan?”

I… ah…”

I’ve a mind to bend you over my knee.”

Why a shiver rippled through her, she had no idea. She’d been spanked once or twice as a child and she hadn’t cared for it in the slightest. But something dark and domineering in Ned’s tone made her womb warm.

You-you wouldn’t.”

Wouldn’t I? Now, look away. Your brother would skewer me if I gave you the education you’re about to have.”

She attempted not to snort. Ned—and everyone—thought her a prim and innocent miss on account of the polish she’d acquired at Lady Satterlee’s. Nothing could be further from the truth. As a child, before Ewan had made his fortune, they’d lived a hand-to-mouth existence in the slums of Perth. She’d seen more than one couple rutting against a wall in a dingy alleyway. And at one point, she and her brother had taken refuge in a bordello. She’d been only seven, but if she’d had an education, she got it there. She could probably teach Ned a few things.

Still, because he seemed to expect it, she squeezed her eyes tight and didn’t hardly peek at all as he finished changing. Besides which, the spot she was interested in was mostly shadows.

With a great huff, he threw himself back into the chair. “Now, go to sleep.”

Don’t you want me to put out the light?”

No. I want to be able to see where you are.”

I’m not leaving again tonight.” Probably. Unless her despair overcame her once more.

Leave it on.” A grunt, and not a very nice one at that. Why he had call to be annoyed, she couldn’t fathom.

Blast and damn, he was an annoying man. Sophia grunted as well and rolled over, facing the wall of the cabin. She studied the patterns the swinging lamp made for a long while, listening as he shifted one way and then the other.

It was really unfair for him to have to sleep in the chair. This was his room. But he would never share her bed. She grimaced at the way the words came out, but it was true. He wouldn’t. Unless…

She rolled over again and watched him twist in the chair. He caught her eye and frowned.


An impatient groan. “Yes, Sophia?”

Ned, I’m cold.”

He stilled. Then barked, “Put on another blanket.”

There aren’t any more.” She faked a shiver. She wasn’t cold in the slightest. She never was. Ewan said she ran hot. “Brr. My teeth are chattering.”

His glower became a frown.

I hope I don’t get ill.”

He paled. “You shouldn’t have gone out in the rain. Why did you go out in the rain?”

She sneezed. Or something like it. “I don’t know.”


Am I running a fever?” She put her palm to her forehead. “I think I’m running a fever.”

His brow wrinkled. He stood and made his way across the tiny chamber as though on his death march. He set the backs of his fingers to her cheeks. His frown darkened.
You are warm.”

No. I’m cold.” She shivered and peered up at him, her eyes as wide as she could make them. “Won’t you warm me?”

He wrenched his hand away as though she’d burned him. “What?”

Lie here beside me and warm me up?”

There’s not enough room for both of us.”

I’m small.”

Sophia.” She’d never heard her name in such a strangled voice, not even when Ewan was at his wit’s end.

Just for a bit? You can be on top of the covers. Surely that is decent.”

The muscle in his cheek bunched again, as though he were grinding his teeth.


He gusted a sigh. “All right, Sophia. Scoot over and make room.”

She did. With alacrity.

And roll over, facing the wall.”

She frowned at him “Why?”

Just do it. Please.”

Oh, all right.” But only because he said please. And because, when she was facing the other way, he couldn’t see her grin.

He settled in behind her and a shiver rocked her. He was warm. And he smelled delicious. Not fishy in the slightest. It was delightful, lying here with him. She closed her eyes and imagined he wanted this as much as she.

If only. If only.

Check out the other books in the Noble Passions Series from Sabrina York
Follow the decadent exploits of friends and enemies as they find love and passion in the glittering world of the Regency—and its dark underbelly.

2014 EPIC eBook Award Finalist
2013 Passionate Plume Finalist

Widowed and threatened with penury by her heartless in-laws, Eleanor--Lady Ulster--hatches a plot to save herself. Determined to produce the Ulster "heir", she seduces a stranger at a tawdry masquerade. Little does she know, this magnificent masked lover is none other than her husband's greatest nemesis. And God knows Ulster had plenty.

Ethan Pennington is mortified to arrive at a house party and discover Lady Ulster in attendance. He has wanted her and hated wanting her--his enemy's bride--for years. When he overhears Eleanor's predicament and her plans to place a cuckoo in the Ulster nest, he is more than willing to oblige. The opportunity to finally claim her--while taking the revenge he craves--is more than he can resist. Ethan strikes a bargain with Eleanor, promising to provide her with the heir she so desperately needs...if she will meet his needs in return. Every decadent one of them.

The sizzling prequel to Folly
2014 Winner of the Carolyn Readers’ Choice Award

When Lady Helena Simpson flees an unwanted marriage to a revolting lord, she finds refuge with James, a charming, handsome man unlike any she’s ever known. Helena concocts the perfect solution to her problem. She asks—begs—James to ruin her. Surely her betrothed will repudiate her if she is no longer pure. And if all her efforts fail and she still ends up married to a horrid man until the end of her days, she will at least once have known true passion.

But James is not all he seems. He is, in fact, a wicked lord with a dark fancy. When Helena awakens his desire, he becomes determined to take everything she has to offer and more. No matter the cost.

Edward Wyeth, the Dark Duke of Moncrieff’s life has been turned on its end. His well-ordered home has been invaded. By destitute relatives. From Scotland. How on earth can he write Lord Hedon’s salacious novels with hellions battling in the garden and starting fires in the library? But with the onslaught has come a delicious diversion. His cousin’s companion, the surprisingly intriguing Kaitlin MacAllister. He is determined to seduce her. Using her desperate need for funds and her talents as an artist, he convinces her to draw naughty pictures for his naughtier books…and he draws her into his decadent web.

But Kaitlin has a secret. She’s fled Scotland—and a very determined betrothed. When Edward’s cousin is kidnapped and held in her stead, Kaitlin is honor-bound to return to her homeland and rescue her—much to Edward’s chagrin.
Because suddenly he can’t bear the thought of Kaitlin marrying another man. He can’t bear the thought of losing her at all.

Kidnapped and held prisoner by menacing Scottish brigand, the notorious McCloud, Violet Wyeth does her best to persevere…and resist his rakish charms. But when she realizes The McCloud is really Ewan St. Andrews, the boy who once saved her life, the boy who once kissed her and made her heart flutter, she is lost.

Ewan has every intention of marrying Lady Kaitlin MacAllister. He desperately needs the entrée into the ton this bride can provide. But when his bride is delivered—bound and gagged—it’s not Kaitlin. It’s Violet Wyeth—the girl who betrayed him and ruined his life when he was a boy. He keeps her, determined to punish her for her sins. But when he discovers the truth about what really happened so long ago, and seething passion rises between them, he can no longer hold on to his rusty grudge. By the time he realizes how much he loves Violet—that he always has—he’s lost her.

All he can do is follow her. Follow her into the bowels of hell—and partake in the torment of the glittering London Season, where the harpies are far more dangerous than a Scottish brigand.

About Sabrina York

Her Royal Hotness, Sabrina York is the award winning author of over 20 hot, humorous stories for smart and sexy readers. Her titles range from sweet & sexy erotic romance to scorching BDSM. Connect with her on twitter @sabrina_york, on Facebook or on Pintrest. Check out Sabrina’s books and read an excerpt on Amazon or wherever e-books are sold. Visit her webpage at to check out her books, excerpts and contests. Free Teaser Book: And don’t forget to enter to win the royal tiara!