A seductive Welsh earl on the brink of ruin. A wealthy cit in search of a hero.
Miss Evelina Franklin reads too many romance novels. She’s certain a handsome duke—or dashing highwayman—is in her future. In the meantime, Evie entertains herself with the admirers vying for her fortune.
The Earl of Brecken needs cash. His late father left their Welsh estate in ruin, and his mother will not let him rest until it is restored to its former glory. Notorious for his seductive charm, he searches the ballrooms for a wealthy heiress. His choices are dismal until he meets Miss Franklin. Guileless and gorgeous with an enormous dowry, she seems the answer to his prayers. Until his conscience makes an unexpected appearance.
They made their way down the center aisle, seats flanking them in rows of four. As Lord Brecken stopped at the third row, Lady Franklin reached out, clasped Fenella’s wrist, and pulled her toward the chairs. Then she stepped out of the aisle and sat next to her eldest daughter, leaving the earl next to Evelina. Evie closed her eyes at her mother’s audacity and wondered whether to pinch her or hug her. The voice in her head screamed in embarrassment; her heart leapt with joy.
She kept her gaze lowered, the white beaded reticule in her lap suddenly of great interest. Her eyes slipped sideways when his hand moved to rest on his lap, his thumb laying on his… fall. She sucked in a breath as he crossed one ankle over a knee, brushing her dress. Stop staring, you hoyden. It was too late. She couldn’t have dragged her eyes away if someone had shouted, “Fire!” The hem of his trousers hitched up, and he reached down to pull it back over his boot. Evie watched his fingers grip the material, a square gold ring with a B studded in tiny diamonds adorning the right fourth finger. The stones seemed to wink at her with his quick movement, and she imagined the pads of his fingers lightly tracing her cheek.
Breathe! she reminded herself for the second time that hour. Gracious, it was stifling in this room. Were there no windows to open? She licked her lips, her mouth as dry as a stone in the Sahara.
“So, are you enjoying your first season, Miss Evelina?”
His voice made her jump, guilt singing her cheeks as she forced her gaze away from his lap and up to his face. She wasn’t sure which was a sweeter torture. What would his beard feel like? Would it tickle? His lips would be soft, just like in her dreams. A sigh escaped.
“Is that a yes?” The amusement in his voice snapped her back to reality.
“Heavens, where did my mind wander?” she said, snapping her fan open. Perhaps Papa should invest in ladies’ fans. Evie might need several replacements this season.
He bent low, his eyes flashing with challenge, and whispered, “I don’t know, but I’d like to come along.”
Bestselling and award-winning author Aubrey Wynne is an elementary teacher by trade, champion of children and animals by conscience, and author by night. She resides in the Midwest with her husband, dogs, horses, mule, and barn cats. Obsessions include wine, history, travel, trail riding, and all things Christmas. Her Chicago Christmas series hasreceived the Golden Quill, Aspen Gold, Heart of Excellence, and the Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence and twice nominated as a Rone finalist by InD’tale Magazine. Aubrey’s first love is medieval romance but after dipping her toe in the Regency period in 2018 with the Wicked Earls’ Club, she was smitten. This inspired her spin-off series Once Upon a Widow and the Scottish Regency series A MacNaughton Castle Romance with Dragonblade Novels.
Meira Amon is the most reserved of the phoenixes, finding computers easier to deal with than people and their messy emotions. But she wants revenge against the Rotting King Pytheios for the murder of her parents just as much as her sisters. Offering herself as a queen for their ally, dragon shifter King Gorgon of the Black Clan, only makes sense.
Just one problem…
Samael Veles worked his lowborn ass off to become the fiercest warrior of the Black Clan. He has pledged his life to protect his king at all costs. Yet somehow, in the middle of war, he took one look at a woman in a reflection and gave up his heart. When that woman turns out to be the phoenix promised to mate his king and help bring peace to their kind, he has no choice but to accept it.
Until her fire unexpectedly destroys the king after they’ve wed. Now Samael must choose between his loyalty to his clan and protecting the queen who might be his mate from his people’s wrath, one of which will unlock a destiny no one could have ever imagined…
Her breath caught in her throat when he covered her hand with his own and squeezed. “It will get easier for you,” he said. “The memories. For a long time, you won’t want to think of your mother at all. Then one day when you do, it won’t hurt so much. Eventually, you’ll be able to think of her and smile.”
This from a man who never smiled. At least not that he let her see.
The unexpected offer of comfort unfurled inside her, wrapped around her. Gods above, she wanted to kiss him. Lean forward and steal that unexpected understanding from his lips. Lips Meira could only describe as sensual, saving his face from harshness.
And more. All different sorts of kisses. A soft brush of her lips as a thank-you. A kiss that lingered, taking its time to weave a spell around them. Something hot and openmouthed that let her taste him and generated enough heat to scorch every part of her. She was already on fire.
Except she shouldn’t be wanting this. Any of it.
More guilt. She’d suffocate under the heaps if she wasn’t careful.
Meira slid her hand out from beneath his, the cold air of the room rushing against her palm making her shiver after the heat of his touch and her thoughts.
“So, do you have any friends?” Curiosity prompted her to ask. Gods, why couldn’t she shut up around him? This conversation was already a thousand words more than she usually shared with people.
Samael heaved a sigh with an edge to it and turned his head to face her again. “Do you always have this many questions?”
She offered him a prim look, lips pursed. “My lawyers say I don’t have to answer that.”
Samael gazed at her blankly, then turned his face back up. “Was that you trying to be funny?”
“Did it work?” She bit her lip, waiting for his answer. Most people didn’t get her sense of humor.
“That depends.”
“On what?” she prompted when he didn’t continue.
“Your intent. Were you genuinely trying to make me laugh? Or were you trying to change the subject?”
“I guess I’m nervous.” Now why had she gone and admitted that?
Rather than turn his head again, Samael shifted to his side to face her, his smoke and sand scent swirling around her, soothing her when she should’ve been bracing for whatever he was about to ask. His hand lay on the mattress beside hers. Not touching. What would he do if she hooked her little finger around his, as though he was her anchor?
Maybe he’d been right to want to avoid sharing the bed. This was too close, too intimate. Too damn confusing.
“Are you afraid of me?” he asked.
She should lie and say yes. Any person with an ounce of common sense would be wary of him. His danger evident in the simple way he moved—a prowling, rolling gait—screamed perilous predator.
Meira slowly shook her head. “No.”
Nervous of giving her unfortunate thoughts away? Yes. Of the lash of his volatile emotions? The answer would have been yes before they’d come here. Now…
“You should be,” he said, voice going rougher, harsher.
Multi-award-winning paranormal romance author, Abigail Owen, loves plots that move hot and fast, feisty heroines with sass, alpha heroes with heart, a dash of snark, and oodles of sexy shifters! Other titles include wife, mother, Star Wars geek, ex-competitive skydiver, spreadsheet lover, Dr. Seuss quoter, eMBA, organizational guru, Texan, Aggie, and chocoholic.
Abigail grew up consuming books and exploring the world through her writing. She attempted to find a practical career related to her favorite pastime by earning a degree in English Rhetoric (Technical Writing). However, she swiftly discovered that writing without imagination is not nearly as fun as writing with it.
Abigail currently resides in Austin, Texas, with her own personal hero (who she totally married!) and their two children, who are growing up way too fast.
“This. Book. The characters. You will fall in love with them, and you will devour this book so quickly, you’ll end up wanting to read it all over again. I loved it!” – New York Times bestselling author Monica Murphy
When I signed up for the nanny agency, I didn’t expect a remote mansion on a windswept isle. Or a brooding billionaire who resents his new role. His brother’s death means he’s now in charge of a moody seven year old girl. She’s lashing out at the world, but I can handle her. I have to. I need the money to finish my college degree. As long as I can avoid the boss who alternately mocks me and coaxes me to reveal my darkest secrets. “An incredible five star read! Skye Warren delivers an unconventional, yet utterly explosive romance in Private Property.” – USA Today bestselling author Jenika Snow
PRIVATE PROPERTY is a full-length contemporary novel from New York Times bestselling author Skye Warren about secrets and redemption. It’s the first book in the emotional Rochester trilogy.
“Your eyes,” he mutters, sounding almost angry about it.
“What about them?”
“They’re alight. I could drown in them.”
“Like the man in the song?”
He leans on the wall, hand by my head. His other hand traces my arm, the curve of a forearm, the dimple of my elbow. The goose bumps rising on my shoulder. I lift my chin as if to shrink away from his touch. No, as if to give him access. And he takes it. The backs of his knuckles run over my chest. It’s a strange place, those few inches. Not overtly sexual, but neither are they someplace a man like him should ever touch.
It awakens me. I feel like what he said I was—alight. His thumb moves to the hollow at the base of my throat, and I suck in a breath. “You shouldn’t be—you shouldn’t—”
“I shouldn’t touch you,” he murmurs.
“You’re my boss.”
“And you’re the nanny.”
His thumb continues its rhythm. “Why don’t you stop?”
“I told you, sweetheart. Life is unethical.”
He’s looking at my lips in the dark hallway, and I lick them. His body turns tense against mine. I can feel the way his muscles harden. There’s maybe an inch between us, but we’re connected by invisible strings. I can feel every line of tension, every point of wanting.
His head descends, a dark shadow.
“Tell me to stop,” he mutters against my lips.
It’s already a kiss, those words. I close my eyes. A tear leaks down the side of my cheek. It’s not sadness. It’s more than that. It’s desire. It’s feeling anything at all after being numb for so long. I’m more afraid of this than a free fall down the cliff. “Don’t stop.”
“Fuck,” he says, wrapping his hand around my throat. Choking me, but without the pressure. It doesn’t hurt, but it makes me feel strange, as if I’m being possessed. “You’re too innocent for the things I want to do to you.”
“What do you want to do to me?”
“Everything.”
There’s fear. Of course there is. He can make me feel things.
I don’t know if I can ever close Pandora’s box again after this. What does everything even include? He’s too much for me in every way, but I still want a taste. I want to open the lid and peek inside.
Skye Warren is the New York Times bestselling author of dangerous romance. Her books have sold over one million copies. She makes her home in Texas with her loving family, sweet dogs, and evil cat.
