Get Cozy

Adult (sexy)

“And he did kiss me good night. On the cheek,” Trudy added quickly when she saw the fury in his eyes. She brushed a finger against the right side of her face. “Right here.”

“Right where, exactly?” Levi stepped closer so that she had to tip back her head to see his face. He was suddenly so solemn!

“Here.” She touched her fingers to the spot.

“I’m going to erase that kiss,” he stated.

“What?” she asked, looking up into his face and laughing nervously. Oh. He wasn’t kidding!

“I’m going to obliterate it.”

Her mouth went dry and she couldn’t have moved if a bomb went off right beside her. Passion uncoiled in her belly and spread down to between her thighs as he dipped his head and his lips hovered above the spot on her cheek.

“Did you say . . . right here?”

“Yes.” She could barely make a sound, her heart thundered and her knees suddenly began shaking.

His lips touched her cheek with feather lightness. The tip of his tongue wet the spot and then he sucked gently before his mouth lifted. “All gone,” he whispered against her fevered skin. But he wasn’t finished. His lips found the spot again and then slipped sideways until they covered hers. She moaned and brought her hands up to clutch his forearms, using his strength to keep her upright as his kiss flamed from longing to voracious in the space of a breath.

He framed her head between his hands, holding her still so that his tongue could slip inside and ravage her mouth. She moaned again, her emotions whirling, swirling around inside her head and then spiraling down to her belly. He gave an answering moan and rocked his hips into her, making her blazingly aware of what she was doing to him. And, oh! What he was doing to her. How could this be happening to her? So fast! Around men, she’d always moved slowly. But not with this man. With Levi, he couldn’t move fast enough to suit her. She wanted him naked and inside her. Not now. But ten minutes ago.

When he lifted his mouth from hers, she was breathless. So was he. He leaned his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. “I don’t want to share you, Trudy.” His hands fell away from her and he stepped back. Then took another step back, as if for good measure. “I won’t share you.”

“Share?” she asked, her head still buzzing. She was fairly certain that he kissed better than most men made love. “Do you have the right to make that demand?”

He seemed confused, uncertain. “It’s never been an issue with me before. With others . . . well, I didn’t give a damn, but you—.” He shook his head and his mouth firmed in a line of determination. “If we take this further, I don’t want another man touching you.”

The buzz was gone. She pulled herself up and felt her lips part in astonishment. “And what about you? How will that work for you? Will you tell every other woman to keep her hands off you? That you’re taken?” When he didn’t answer immediately, she knew she’d made him think, made him reassess his stipulation. “You’re not going to answer my question?”

He drew in a deep breath and shut his eyes, suddenly looking defeated. “Look, just keep your phone ringer on and make sure you charge it every night.” His voice was hoarse. “I never again want to experience what I just went through during the past few hours. Never. Never again.” Then he turned away from her and pushed open the door.

“That’s it?” she asked, making him pause in the doorway.

“That’s it for now,” he rejoined. “I need to sleep.” He stepped out into the night and it swallowed him. “Lock this door behind me.” His voice floated into the RV, but Trudy stood still, irritation rising in her at his brusque command. “Now, Trudy. Lock it now.”

She held her ground. “I’m waiting for a ‘please.’” Tense, stubborn seconds ticked by.

“Oh, fuck it. Please.”

She turned the knob on the door, sending the bolt home.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00J39TSLQ/

Author of more than 45 novels, Deborah lives in Oklahoma. She has been a full-time writer since she graduated from the University of Tulsa. She worked for a few years as a reporter for newspapers before becoming a freelance writer. Deborah's first novel was published in the late 1970s and her books have been published by Jove, New American Library, Harlequin, Silhouette, and Avon. She has been inducted into the Oklahoma Authors Hall of Fame and she is a charter member of the Romance Writers of America. She is also a member of the Author's Guild.

Deborah likes to write about strong, independent women and the men who are their equals. Her books are available on Amazon and she’s an Amazon best-selling author.

Website: www.deborah-camp.com

E-mail: deborahcampauthor@yahoo.com

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Blog: http://deborahcampwritersdesk.blogspot.com/

YouTube Book Videos: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCySHBg4OJZRLv5Q9xVybraQ

To Be a Spy: A Christmas Spy Series Short Story by Jessie Clever

Samuel Black must make a decision: to be a spy like his father or follow his heart.

Either is likely to give his mother chest pains.

For Samuel is no longer a lad with the ambitious and noble wish of being a lamplighter to keep the seedy streets of London safe.  About to embark on university, his mind stirs with the thoughts of creating a policing force in London to safeguard its citizens.  Held back by his family’s legacy as spies, Samuel does not make his ideas known.

But when he stops a would-be purse-snatcher, his path unexpectedly veers into that of one Miss Penelope Paiget, and suddenly, Samuel must make a choice.

Excerpt: 

London, 1822

It happened on Marlborough Street a little past two o’clock two days before Christmas.

Samuel had just returned from Eton the day before as his Greek studies had compelled him to stay longer than the rest of the students.  It all sounded rather dull, but honestly, it was quite thrilling as one of his tutors believed he had stumbled upon an undiscovered Biblical text.  The ramifications could be enormous, and so when asked to assist him in analyzing the text, Samuel had stayed on, of course.  It wasn’t as if he would miss the opportunity.

And thus two days before Christmas, he found himself on Marlborough trying desperately to find a present for Jane and Elizabeth.  He wondered briefly if any other man of ten and eighteen was stricken with not just one headstrong sister but two for whom to shop, and if those sisters were raised by an equally headstrong mother.  All three of them would not settle for the customary ribbons or baubles or fabrics that other ladies would surely drool over.  If it were anything less than divine, the Black women would not find it at all appealing.

Samuel stared in one window after another hoping inspiration would strike.  It was while waiting for inspiration that the crime was committed.

He was standing innocently enough outside of Rugbottom’s Books admiring a particularly ornate illustration of Shakespeare’s sonnets when the commotion began behind him.  Having been raised in less than ordinary circumstances, the time that lapsed between when the commotion began and when Samuel noticed it was rather exaggerated.  But commotions were quite common in the Black family, and he thought nothing of it.

Until Lady Delia Witherspoon screamed.

“He’s stolen my reticule!”

Samuel turned at this in time to see Lady Witherspoon pointing at a fleeing figure clutching the offended reticule under his arm.

And then Lady Witherspoon screamed again.

“That man!  He’s stolen my reticule!”

The fleeing man charged at Samuel directly, as it was previously noted, Samuel merely stood in the middle of the pavement staring into a window.  He was obviously ripe for any interaction with a passerby on the pavement, even should that passerby be a thief.

As he watched the thief approach, Samuel’s mind took that opportunity to think on matters.  He wondered briefly if other gentlemen stepped out of the way of fleeing criminals or if they advanced.  He wondered if they cowered at the thought of getting their waistcoat ruined.  And then he wondered what the wives of said gentlemen would think if their noble husbands did not act to avenge the slight against a lady.

Samuel thought none of that likely as the gentlemen of the ton that he had had the pleasure of meeting were all sopping idiots.  The apprehension of criminals was not something that suited such personalities.

And then Samuel sighed.

He sighed because he quite liked his waistcoat.  It was a fine cranberry color that went well with his breeches, and if he had learned anything from his Uncle Alec, it was that a man who showed care for his dress showed care in every aspect of his life.  And that was why Samuel was rather despondent to put his cranberry waistcoat in danger.

The short stories in the Spy Series: 

The Spy Series short stories take place after the conclusion of the Spy Series.

Goodreads Link: 

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Purchase links: 

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About the Author:

Jessie decided to become a writer because the job of Indiana Jones was already filled.

Taking her history degree dangerously, Jessie tells the stories of courageous heroines, the men who dared to love them, and the world that tried to defeat them.

Jessie makes her home in the great state of New Hampshire where she lives with her husband and two very opinionated Basset Hounds.  For more, visit her website at jessieclever.com.

Connect with Jessie…

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About Eleanor Webster

Eleanor Webster has a passion for many things, the most ardent likely being shoes.

But she’s also passionate about a story well told.  With the help of some debutantes and viscounts and a twist of the unknown, Eleanor’s stories weave a tale of enchantment, hope, and most importantly, love.

When not writing, you’ll find Eleanor dreaming of being a world traveler, reading, running, reading, hiking in the wilds of British Columbia, where she makes her home with her husband and two daughters, and – did we mention reading?

Connect with Eleanor

Website: https://eleanorwebsterauthor.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/ewebsterauthor

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Married for His Convenience

Tainted by illegitimacy, plain Sarah Martin has no illusions of a grand marriage. So when the Earl of Langford makes her a proposal that will take her one step closer to finding her half sister, she can't refuse! 

Sebastian's dreams of romance died with his late wife's affair, so now he needs a convenient wife to act as governess for his silent daughter. Yet Sarah continues to surprise and challenge him, and soon Sebastian can't deny the joy his new bride could bring to his life—and into his bed!

Available Now

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Excerpt

Dramatic events never happened to her. Ever.

‘If I remove my hand, do you promise not to scream?’ The voice was male. Warm breath touched her ear.

Sarah nodded. The man loosened his hold. She turned.

Her eyes widened as she took in his size, the breadth of his shoulders and the midnight-black of his clothes.

‘Good God, you’re a woman,’ he said.

‘You’re...you’re a gentleman.’ For the cloth he wore was fine and not the roughened garb of a common thief.

She grabbed on to these details as though, through their analysis, she would make sense of the situation.

‘What was your purpose for spying on me?’ His gaze narrowed, his voice calm and without emotion.

‘Spying? I don’t even know you.’ The rabbit squirmed and she clutched it more tightly.

‘Then why are you hiding?’

‘I’m not. Even if I were, you have no reason to accost me.’ Her cheeks flushed with indignation as her fear lessened.

He dropped his hand, stepping back. ‘I apologise. I thought you were a burglar.’

‘We tend not to get many burglars in these parts. Who are you anyway?’

‘Sebastian Hastings, Earl of Langford, at your service.’

He made his bow. ‘And a guest at Eavensham.’

‘A guest? Then why are you in the kitchen garden?’

‘Taking the air,’ he said.

‘That usually doesn’t involve accosting one’s fellow man.

You are lucky I am not of a hysterical disposition.’

‘Indeed.’

Briefly, she wondered if wry humour laced his voice,

but his lips were straight and no twinkle softened his expression. In the fading light, the strong chin and cheekbones looked more akin to a statue than anything having the softness of flesh.

At this moment, the rabbit thrust its head free of the shawl.

‘Dinner is running late, I presume.’ Lord Langford’s eyes widened, but he spoke with an unnerving lack of any natural surprise.

‘The creature is hurt and I need to bandage him, except Mr. Hudson, the butler, is not fond of animals and I wanted to ensure his absence.’

‘The butler has my sympathies.’

Sarah opened her mouth to respond but the rabbit, suddenly spooked, kicked at her stomach as it clawed against the shawl. Sarah gasped, doubling over, instinctively whispering the reassurances offered by her mother after childhood nightmares.

‘You speak French?’

‘What?’

‘French? You are fluent?’

‘What? Yes, my mother spoke it—could we discuss my linguistic skills later?’ she gasped, so intent on holding the rabbit that she lost her footing and stumbled against the man. His hand shot out. She felt his touch and the strangely tingling pressure of his strong fingers splayed against her back.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes—um—I was momentarily thrown off balance.’

She straightened. They stood so close she heard the intake of his breath and felt its whisper.

‘Perhaps,’ she added, ‘you could see if the butler is in the kitchen? I do not know how long I can keep hold of this fellow.’

‘Of course.’ Lord Langford stepped towards the window as though spying on the servants were an everyday occurrence. ‘I can see the cook and several girls, scullery maids, I assume. I believe the butler is absent.’

‘Thank you. I am obliged.’

Tightening her hold on the rabbit, Sarah paused, briefly reluctant to curtail the surreal interlude. Then, with a nod of thanks, she stooped to pick up the valise.

‘Allow me,’ Lord Langford said, opening the door. ‘You seem to have your hands full.’

‘Er—thank you.’ She glanced up. The hallway’s flickering oil lamp cast interesting shadows across his face, emphasising the harsh line of his cheek and chin and the blackness of his hair.

She stepped inside and exhaled as the door swung shut, conscious of relief, regret and an unpleasant wobbliness in both her stomach and knees.