SAVE YOUR HEART FOR ME --#freebook

By Caroline Clemmons

I have such a great deal for you today in celebration of the upcoming St. Patrick's Day! How about a FREE e-book? March 12-16, SAVE YOUR HEART FOR ME is free!

There's a later cover, but this 

is the one showing on Amazon

As I grew up (with my nose stuck in a book), my mom thought too much reading damaged a person's eyesight. The fact I had to start wearing glasses at age nine only cemented her opinion. She wasn’t a reader until she retired, but then she fell in love with books. The first book she read was one her sister loaned her, THE THORNE BIRDS. Later, Mother said she was so sorry she’d missed all those years of reading.

This was before I was published. When I began writing and publishing books, she was thrilled. One day I decided it would be fun to use my mom’s name in a book. Her maiden name was Lena Mae Phifer and her family and my dad called her Mae. I wanted her being the heroine's mom in my book to be a surprise, so I didn’t mention my plan.

Sadly, before I could finish SAVE YOUR HEART FOR ME, my mom passed from a heart attack. I never thought of myself as a ‘mommy’s baby.’ Even though she had told me that she was prepared to die, I was devastated without her. So, I had to put away that story and work on other things for quite a while. I’m sure she knows and she and my dad laugh about my writing. Daddy taught me to read and always wanted me to write. Unfortunately, he had died before I sold my first book. Mother was a super fan of my books.

She had moved near me, and we were close. I talked to her at least once a day, saw her several times during the week, and Hero and I attended church with her on Sundays. There are still occasions when I catch myself thinking, “I’ll bet Mother would think that’s funny,” or “Mother would know.” I don’t actually try to phone her, but the thought crosses my mind.

Be warned that unlike many of my books, this one is lightly sensual. I love this story because it does remind me of my sweet mother. Also, I just like the story. What can I say? Authors find some of our stories please us more than others.

If you haven’t read SAVE YOUR HEART FOR ME, I hope you’ll read it now. If you have read it, please leave a review!

https://www.amazon.com/Save-Your-Heart-Caroline-Clemmons/dp/1495942651  

 

After fleeing an abusive husband six years ago, Beth Jeffers wants nothing more than to protect her son Davey and to help her mother operate a boarding house. The women in her family have had no luck with men, and she has no intention of letting any man influence her son. Not even Matt Petrov, no matter how much her lonely heart urges otherwise.

Federal Marshall Matt Petrov, also known as Lone Wolf Peters, fell in love with Beth the first time he saw her. Then she was another man’s wife, so he kept his longing a secret. He’s saved his love for her for six horrific years. Now, the lovely widow and he have crossed paths again. This time, he intends to risk all for a chance at happiness. First he must rescue his distant kinsman from an assassin’s clutches. Will Matt succeed before his kin is killed? And will his secrets shatter the love he and Beth share?

 

 

“Nice.” He held her hand to his chest.

She tugged free. “You need sleep.” She turned out the lamp then came back to pull the sheet over him. Light from a full moon poured in the window to outline her. “I folded the quilt back so that if it turns cool toward morning you only have to pull the edge and it will slide right up.”

“Beth?”

“Yes?” She set his boots beside the bed and hung his shirt and jacket on the chair back.

“Please…don’t go yet.” He didn’t deserve it he knew, but he needed her near him. He’d made an error tonight and almost died because of it. Knowing it was mostly his own fault didn’t ease the pain or make the experience any less frightening.

She reached for the chair. “Well, I guess I could sit with you a while.”

“I mean stay.” He patted the bed. “Here. Just for tonight.”

“Matt, what will people think? It’s not proper, even if you’re injured.”

“Who’ll know…or care? I’m wearing my britches and you’re all bundled up. I’m so stove up I can barely move.” He must have lost his mind. Sounded like he begged.

“I-I guess I could sit a bit. Maybe you could tell me about Lionel?”

“Not now. Shut the door and stay beside me.”

Just this once he wanted to experience being in a real home with a good woman. A sample of how life should be, something he could take with him to savor on all the lonely nights to come. He closed his eyes and prayed.

Lord, give me one night and I’ll never ask another thing. 

The soft click of the door sent his eyelids open. Had he disgusted or insulted her so she left the room? No, she padded silently around the bed and slid beside him.

Thank you, God.

“Matt? I’m sorry I yelled at you because I thought you’d been drinking.” She laid her hand on his arm.

“S’all right.” He moved her arm to his chest and exhaled. “Good. You’re here, I feel better now.”

She nestled her head against his shoulder. “Then go to sleep.”

“Beth?”

She raised her head. The moonlight played across her skin and reflected in shades of silver and gold on her hair. “What now.”

“I always thought you were beautiful, but the moonlight makes you even prettier.” He skimmed his hand up her arm. “Kiss me goodnight.”

“Matt Petrov, you are not only the nerviest man, you’re plain out of your head. Go to sleep.”

He pulled her to him and claimed her lips. Softly, so he didn’t scare her. After her treatment from Jeffers, he figured she’d be skittish. She resisted for an instant then leaned into him. He deepened the kiss and she parted her lips for him.

Sweet heaven, he’d never known a more satisfying kiss. He tugged her until she stretched along his body.

When she broke the kiss, she moved her legs back to the mattress but laid her head on his chest. “Why’d you do that?”

“Needed to. For six years. Can’t say I’m proud of wanting you when you belonged to another man, but I won’t deny I thought about you.”

He felt her shudder with sobs, her tears ran wet on his chest. Caressing her back, he cursed himself for as big a fool as Jeffers. “Beth? Aw, honey, I didn’t aim to make you cry. Forgive me. I’d never willingly do anything to hurt you.”

“You didn’t. Matt, I’m ashamed. I hated the person I was when I knew you before. You saw me weak and abused. Heard Lionel yell awful things at me. When you came here, I was mean to you because you’d known me then. I didn’t want to be reminded of those times.”

She sobbed again. “As if I could ever forget them. Then, when you told me about him being dead, I—I felt relief. I’m sorry, but only what you’d be if you read there’d been a train wreck and people you never knew died. I must be a terrible person not to mourn him.”

“No, you’re a wonderful person and it’s not like you lived with him long or had seen him recently.” What a hell of a position to be in. How could he tell her how Jeffers died? He stroked her silky hair. “I’m sorry you’re upset, but I’m glad I found you. You’re a different person in a way but you were a sweet woman then and you are now. And a good mother and daughter.”

He thanked God he’d given Jeffers the money for her ticket home, but he’d never let her know about that. She’d hate him for sure if she learned her no-good former husband had borrowed the money from Matt to send her away in disgrace. It’d done her a world of good, though, and had probably saved her life.

She sniffed and rubbed her sleeve at her face. “I’m glad you came, too. I-I’d wondered what happened to you and where you were and if-if you’d met someone.”

He couldn’t tell her where he’d been, at least, not right now. “I didn’t meet anyone.”

“I’m glad. I, um, I mean, I’m sorry you’ve been alone all this time, but I’m glad you don’t have a woman waiting for you to come home.”

“Don’t have a home.” He didn’t add that he didn’t deserve one, that he’d had one once and lost it.

“Where will you go when you leave here?” She trailed her hand across his skin to rest it at the base of his ribs. He wondered if she knew how that touch affected him and if his erection showed in the moonlight. He bent a knee to conceal it.

“Don’t know yet. Guess it depends on how this thing with Ivan plays out.” He hoped Ivan was alive and pain free. Dang, maybe it was the sweetened tea, or maybe it was her being next to him. His own pain receded a little and life surged in him.

“I hope he’s all right. He’s a nice man.”

“Beth, I’m not a nice man.” No point in her thinking different or him trying to pretend. “I might have been once, long ago, but no longer.”

“You’re kind to Davey, and Mama, and all the other people here. You’re trying to help Ivan. Sounds pretty nice to me.” She sniffled again, and he wanted to comfort her, but she had to understand.

He pulled her up, so he could see her face in the light from the window. “No. I’m here because I have a job to do, not because of any higher intentions. And I’ll do whatever it takes to get the job done.”

“A job? You mean helping Ivan is like a job?”

She didn’t get it. “No. Beth, listen to me. I’ve been assigned to help Ivan. Paid. It’s not something I chose to do because I have a kind or generous nature.”

“Assigned?” She pulled away and sat up. “You mean it really is your job? Who are you working for?”

“Never mind. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Instead of any reaction he could have imagined, she laughed. “Whatever it is, at least you have a job.” She settled back beside him, her body touching his from her head at his shoulder to her toes at his ankle. “I thought you were up to no good.”

Dang, she made him feel like a man-and-a-half. He laughed in spite of himself. “Guess I am up to no good, but I’m being paid for it. Not much, but enough to get by.” He turned to face her. “You know that kiss?”

“What about it?”

He raised himself on his right elbow and leaned over her. “Let’s try that again.”

 

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In case you're not familiar with my books, here's a bit about me:

Through a crazy twist of fate, Caroline Clemmons was not born on a Texas ranch. To compensate for this illogical error, she writes about handsome cowboys, feisty ranch women, and scheming villains in a small office her family calls her pink cave. She and her Hero live in North Central Texas cowboy country where they ride herd on their two indoor rescued cats and a dog as well as providing nourishment outdoors for critters who visit.

The books she creates in her pink cave have made her an Amazon bestselling author and won several awards. She writes sweet to sensual romances about the West, both historical and contemporary as well as time travel and mystery. Her series include the Kincaids, McClintocks, Stone Mountain Texas, Bride Brigade, Texas Time Travel, Texas Caprock Tales, Pearson Grove, and Loving A Rancher as well as numerous single title and contributions to multi-author sets. When she’s not writing, she loves spending time with her family, reading her friends’ books, lunching with friends, browsing antique malls, checking Facebook, and taking an occasional nap. Find her on her blog, website, Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads, and Pinterest.

Click on her Amazon Author Page for a complete list of her books and follow her there.

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Have a great St. Patrick’s Day! 

WHERE HAVE I BEEN?

Where have I been? Yes, I missed blog days. All my fault because I was completing edits on O'NEILL'S TEXAS BRIDE, which will be released on May 16th. The book is edited, polished, and ready for release now. Then I went to lunch with friends and came home with stomach upset which knocked me sideways.

This book required so much research! I keep a lot of research books handy and have memorized tons of nineteenth century Texas history. In this book, Finn O'Neill goes undercover to capture the person or persons causing catastrophes at a coal mine southwest of San Antonio. As the saying goes, what I knew about coal mining you could put in your eye and it wouldn't hurt.

That has changed in a big way. Mining research is not that easy because all the documents talk about twentieth century mining. Not a help for my book. Excuse the pun, but I had to dig deeper and deeper to determine mining in 1886 Texas.

First of all, much of the work currently done by machines was done by men and horses. What the men did was what I needed to learn. Let me tell you, they worked hard and in appalling conditions. As hard as it was for my hero Finn O'Neill to work in those conditions, it was almost as hard for this claustrophobic writer to describe. I get shivers thinking about a mine.

If you read THE TEXAN'S IRISH BRIDE, you'll remember that Finn O'Neill is the older brother of that books heroine, Cenora Rose O'Neill. She married Dallas McClintock, and O'NEILL'S TEXAS BRIDE is book two in the McClintocks.

You may also figure out that I've always wanted red hair just like that on the cover above. So many of my mom's family had red hair--except for her and for me. We have the brown hair of her father's German ancestry. That's why many of my heroines have lustrous, thick, red hair. Or blonde hair like many of my nieces and cousins. Sigh. I have thin, brown hair. Mother Nature is so unfair.

I hope you'll forgive me for missing my post date and check out the book when it's released. There is a lot of action and danger and romance waiting for you if you do.

The next book, McCLINTOCK'S RELUCTANT BRIDE will be released at the end of June. I love the McClintock family, as you may have guessed.

Thanks for stopping by!

A READING SUGGESTION IN PRINT AND E-BOOK

Do you have or want an E-reader, or are you a die hard paper fan? Whichever you answer, let me tell you about one of my books available in both print from Amazon and and as a download from Amazon and other online sources. I hope you’ll read and enjoy this romance.

I am currently writing the third of the Kincaid series, THE MOST UNSUITABLE COURTSHIP and will release it in October. Right now, the Kincaid series consists of THE MOST UNSUITABLE WIFE (book one) and THE MOST UNSUITABLE HUSBAND (book two). Today, I want to tell you about the latter.

When I was thinking about the plot and naming characters, I wondered what to call this hero. I saw him clearly in my mind as a bit of a rascal, or thought he was, but changing throughout the book. Talk about character arc! I was sitting in church one Sunday and the minister mentioned that Bartholomew and Nathaniel were the same person, but his name changed to show his life’s change when he became a Christian. Aha! Nathaniel Batholomew would be my hero’s name. But he uses a long string of aliases, one of which is Nate Barton, and that’s how he introduces himself to the heroine, Sarah Kincaid.

Satah Kincaid

Sarah is the younger sister of the heroine in THE MOST UNSUITABLE WIFE. These are stand-alone books (authors always say that) but you will enjoy them more if you read them in order. Sarah is a shy young woman very conscious of appearances and has gone from Texas to St. Louis to her dying mother. Due to her unfortunate childhood, she always acts with propriety to overcome her origin. She needed a strong character arc too. What could possibly cause this proper young schoolteacher to interact with a man she suspects is up to no good? Nothing short of orphans who must be rescued from an evil man following them could effect the change. One snowy day in Memphis, Tennessee, Sarah finds three cold youngsters, one of whom is seriously ill. She enlists Nate to help her get the youngsters safely to her home. She also hires a lovely Irish woman, Fiona, to act as her companion for the rest of the trip.

Book three is Sarah’s brother Storm. I also plan a novella for Nate’s friend Michael “Monk” and Fiona’s daughter. I love this family and the characters surrounding it, so you can be certain I’ll be publishing more books about the Kincaid family and friends.

In the meantime, here’s an excerpt from THE MOST UNSUITABLE HUSBAND:

That man in black--he'd introduced himself as Nathaniel Barton--had been at the cemetery. He was always around on the boat, too, and now he was here in their hotel in Memphis. He trailed behind her as if he hadn't a care in the world. Surely it was coincidence. Lots of people traveled from St. Louis to Memphis every day.

The porter stopped in front of a room and opened the door. He stood back for her to enter, but not before she saw Mr. Barton at the next door. He even glanced her way and smiled as he nodded his head in greeting.

My stars, he's staying in the very next room to mine.

What kind of hotel would allow a single man on the same floor as a single woman? She fought down panic as she dealt with the porter, then locked the door behind him and slid the bolt. Alone in her room, her imagination ran its course as she paced. Had she strayed into a den of iniquity?

No, that couldn't be. Mrs. Welborn assured her this was a family hotel suitable for a young woman. After all, the Welborns registered here, too. How did Mr. Barton come to be in the very room next to her? It wasn't proper. What would people think? What would they say?

She caught herself. The Welborns were the only people here she knew, and she hardly cared what they thought other than their reports back to the Vermillions and Aunt Lily. Even they could hardly blame her for the hotel's room assignments.

This Mr. Barton could not mean her harm. There'd been ample opportunity on the paddle wheeler had he intended to hurt her. They'd never had a conversation on a personal level. His comments had centered on the trip and the weather, not a hint of anything improper and always with others nearby. Perhaps his constant presence was a coincidence. Just the same, he made her nervous. She felt like a rabbit waiting for the wolf to pounce whenever Mr. Barton was near.

In the midst of her concern, she admitted his presence offered reassurance to her that she was protected from others. Surely he would rush to her aid if she needed assistance. Her instincts proved right regarding Mr. Welborn. Perhaps she should rely on intuition in this instance. She wished she were more decisive, not a victim of warring emotions.

She raised her skirt and checked the little double-shot derringer given her by her brother, Storm. Best to be prepared. The little gun still rested securely in its garter holster on her thigh. Storm had insisted she practice until she was a fair shot. Would she have the courage to use the weapon against a human? She doubted it, but its weight reassured her.

Sarah spied the door connecting her room with the one in which Mr. Barton resided. Rushing to check the lock, she stopped. She must not let him know she suspected him of following her. Very slowly she turned the knob of the connecting door. Locked. She released a heavy sigh.

Curiosity nudged her. Kneeling, she peered through the keyhole. The opening framed him as he pulled a fresh shirt from an open valise on the bed. Shucking his jacket and waistcoat, he took a pistol from his waistband and placed it on the bed beside the satchel. He unbuttoned his shirt.

She knew she should move away but couldn't. Oh, my stars!  He might dress like a riverboat dandy, but this gorgeous man was no weakling. Trouser fabric pulled taut against trim hip muscles when he turned and bent over the things on the bed.

Her mouth went dry as a Texas dust storm. She watched him turn back to face her. He removed his shirt and tossed it behind him on the bed. Then she saw the bandage across his shoulder and another at his waist. She wondered which side of the law he was on when he got those, but thought she knew. The wrong side, of course.

He picked up a fresh shirt and she caught the ripple of muscles across his chest as he slipped the shirt on. His movements were swift and powerful, not the sluggish ambling she had witnessed in public.

Occasionally in summer she had caught glimpses of her brother, her brother-in-law, and the hands at the ranch with their shirts off. Unlike their tanned torsos, Mr. Barton's pale skin made her fingers tingle to touch the brown chest hair that converged in a vee at his belt. She wondered how far below his waist the pelt descended. A pool of warmth gathered at the base of her stomach.

My stars, what disgraceful thoughts.

Where did they come from? They weren’t proper. No, not at all suitable. Being away from home must be having a poor effect on her.

Never before had such scandalous ideas entered her head about any man. She didn’t have these thoughts about Peter Dorfmeyer, and everyone expected her to marry Peter. Mr. Barton was the most attractive man she’d ever seen, but she must get her wayward thoughts under control.

Buttoning his shirt, Mr. Barton stepped from her view. When he returned and glared at the keyhole, she froze. Surely he couldn't know she watched him. She sank further to the floor and sat with her back against the door.

Sarah pressed her hands to heated cheeks, shocked at her own behavior. She was no better than a window peeper. What on earth had come over her?

A sudden thought assailed her. What if he planned to look through the keyhole as she had? Taking a hanky from her cuff, she draped it over the doorknob so it hung across the tiny opening. No, that wouldn’t do. It kept sliding off. She rose and opened her traveling bag and took out a shirtwaist. Hanging it on the knob, she stepped back. Perfect. It looked as if she used the handle for a hook.

She crossed to the vanity. Not taking time to change from her traveling suit into a dress, she contented herself with pushing stray hair back into her chignon and grabbing her shawl. With any luck, she could purchase her train ticket while her neighbor had his dinner.

Sarah walked briskly to the train station. A line greeted her at the ticket window. Oh, well, she loved watching people, so she wouldn't mind the wait. Taking her place in the row, she surveyed the other prospective passengers wandering to and fro. She studied the clothes of other women, compared them to her own black clothing. In her head she made up stories of who they were and where they might be headed.

A young boy bumped with a wham into the man in front of her. The child's hand darted into the man's pocket and out with a flash and secured the lifted wallet under his shirt. Probably no more than seven or eight, the lad wore the dirtiest clothes Sarah had ever seen. His hair might have been blond at one time, but it and his skin had gone a long time without touching soap and water.

"Oh, excuse me, sir." The boy's large blue eyes were the picture of innocence when he gazed up at the man.

Sarah gasped. What should she do? She couldn't bring herself to cause a scene by screaming, but neither could she stand by and let the child rob this man.

"Steady, you little ragamuffin.” The victim placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Slow down and see you're more careful next time.”

"Yes, sir, sorry. I will, sir.” The boy moved swiftly away into the crowd.

Sarah took off after the little thief. He looked over his shoulder and she motioned to him. His eyes widened in alarm and he ran. She gathered her skirts and rushed after him, weaving around groups of people.

When she had almost caught up with the light-fingered boy, she thudded against a solid wall of chest.

Mr. Barton grunted and clutched Sarah's shoulders, then dropped his hands and made a slight bow. "Why, I believe it's Miss Kincaid, is it not? Are you in some sort of distress?"

"No, it was nothing.” She peered over his shoulder but the thief was nowhere in sight. "I thought I saw someone I knew, but I was mistaken.” She felt her cheeks flush again with guilt. Their collision must have jarred his injured chest, but she couldn't ask him about it. How could she explain that knowledge?

"Your traveling companions--Welwoods or Welworths--are they with you?"

"No. The Welborns were tired and planned to have dinner sent to their room.” She thanked heavens for that. Eating with the odious Mr. Welborn soured her stomach. But now this man who, for all appearances, followed her everywhere had neatly trapped her. A shiver of apprehension skittered down her spine, but she stood mesmerized by his tawny eyes.

As if he sensed her fear, he offered a crooked smile and proffered his` arm. "May I escort you back to the hotel?"

"I was..." she stopped. Her nerves jangled with alarm, but she strove to appear calm. She preferred buying her ticket in private. If he hadn't yet learned where she headed, she didn't want him to know her exact destination. "That would be very kind, um, Mr. Barton.”

"Bit cool this evening, isn't it?"

My stars, didn't the man ever talk about anything but the weather? Maybe he was one of those gorgeous physical specimens with the brain of a rock.

She sighed and answered, "Yes, there's a chill in the air. I suppose we're in for more winter.”

What should she do? Panic turned her stomach in knots. She should send him on his way, but didn't know what to say or do. Hating herself for her timidity, she once more flowed with the easiest course and allowed herself to be escorted back to the hotel.

Buy links for THE MOST UNSUITABLE HUSBAND are:

Amazon for print and e-book

http://www.amazon.com/MOST-UNSUITABLE-HUSBAND-Kincaids-ebook/dp/B004M8T1D8/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1323636066&sr=1-1

Smashwords for e-books 

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/37792?ref=CarolineClemmons

Also available for Nook, Kobo, and iTunes.

Reviews for THE MOST UNSUITABLE HUSBAND include a 4 1/2 star Top Pick from Romantic Times Magazine. This book was also a finalist in the National Readers Choice competition but came in a fraction behind the winner. But it’s impossible to please everyone. Two people have left very mean-spirited reviews on Amazon. If you read this book and enjoyed it, would you please leave a kind review on Amazon?

Thanks for stopping by!

WOO HOO! RE-RELEASE OF THE TEXAN'S IRISH BRIDE

When an author's rights on a previously published book reverts to him/her, the  process of publication begins anew. This time, I wanted to self-publish. Please don't think I have any complaints about the previous publisher, The Wild Rose Press. In fact, the staff and other authors at The Wild Rose Press are wonderful people. However, I'm trying to view my writing as a business, and I can make more money by self-publishing.

Hero and I planned the cover and Hero put it together. I love the result.What do you think?

Here's the blurb:

Cenora Rose O’Neill knows her father somehow arranged the trap for Dallas, but she agrees to wed the handsome stranger. She’d do anything to protect her family, and she wants to save herself from the bully Tom Williams. A fine settled man like Dallas will rid himself of her soon enough, but at least she and her family will be safely away from Tom Williams.    

Texas rancher Dallas McClintock has no plans to wed for several years. Right now, he’s trying to establish himself as a successful horse breeder. Severely wounded rescuing Cenora from kidnappers, Dallas is taken to her family’s wagon to be tended.  He is trapped into marrying Cenora, but he is not a man who goes back on his word. His wife has a silly superstition for everything, but passion-filled nights with her make up for everything—even when her wild, eccentric family drives crazy. 

Here's and excerpt from the first night on Dallas's ranch:

Her rose scent filled him, and he thought he would never tire of it. She fumbled with his shirt buttons then pushed it from his shoulders. 

“Yours is a very broad chest.” 

Her fingers skimmed across him, and his need for her magnified. When she traced the whorls of his nipple, he thought his knees might give way. He stilled her hand.

“There’s something I want from you, have wanted since we met.”

Fear sprang into her widened emerald eyes and she paled. Dang, he cursed himself for frightening her and her for not trusting him. 

Her voice trembled. “Wh—What would you be asking?” 

“Dance for me.” He knew it sounded crazy, but he’d imagined this for days.

She looked askance. “Here? But ‘tis your bedroom, and not a note ‘o music playing.”

“This is our bedroom, and you can sing or hear the music in your head to keep time.”

“But—” 

“Please? Not for coins or where others can see, but only for me.”

A slow smile spread across her face, and she cocked her head to one side. “Aye, I see now. If ‘tis for your pleasure, then ‘twill be mine.”

After she took off her shoes and stockings, she spun away. But not in the regimented dance he’d seen when other women accompanied her. This time she took the red scarf from her waist and used it as an instrument meant to entice a man. 

Her man. 

Him.

She twirled as if to a measured rhythm only she heard. Her green skirt and white petticoats billowed out to reveal long, perfect legs. Legs he wanted around him. She slid the scarf in imitation of a caress along her slender arms. Then she moved the red silk along her body. 

Dang, he was hot as a gunslinger’s pistol and just as hard. His manhood strained against his britches until he thought he’d pop through the fabric. He loosened the buttons and stepped from his clothes, never taking his gaze from her. Reaching behind him, he turned back the bedding and sat on the sheet.

Before his heat warmed the cool fabric, she pulled him to the middle of the room and circled around him. He pivoted, naked as a newborn, and watched her every move. Dipping, fluttering, and arching her lithe frame, she lured him with each sinuous flow of her body. 

Flush with the throbbing pulsating through him, he pictured himself plunging into her again and again as she wound around him. Her erotic gyrations set his already heated blood at a boil, but he stood mesmerized by her and the dance. 

Her flaming hair streamed around her in a fiery cloud. She looped the scarf over his head, and the red silk left a tingling trail across his shoulders and down his right arm. Then she threaded it around her own shoulders and sawed it while she shrugged first one shoulder up and then the other one. Fabric of her blouse pulled taut against her full breasts and pushed the peaked nipples into view. 

Dallas McClintock
iStock Photo

Dang, he couldn’t take much more of this, or he’d explode like fireworks on the Fourth of July. On and on she whirled and kicked, first coming near to brush against him, then moving back with a captivating smile. Teasing him with the piece of silk as she pulled it across his body, she seared him with her touch and made him part of her beguiling ritual. 

When he could stand it no longer, he said, “Come here, let’s dance together in bed.” To his ears, his voice rasped hoarse with the need that burned inside him.

She approached slowly, seductively, with fluid grace. As she moved, she drew off her remaining clothes. Twining the scarf around his wrists, she pulled his arms high until she slid under them, imprisoning him and herself in their circle.

“Now we are truly bound together,” she said, her voice breathy from her exotic dance.

“Am I your prisoner, then?” he asked, amused at her tempting play even as her touch fueled his need.

“Yes, and I am yours.” She met his gaze, but her jewel eyes held uncertainty. “Did I please you then, or was I too forward with meself?”

“You are beautiful and graceful, and your dance was even more special than I’d hoped.”

She breathed a big sigh. “Then you approve and will be taking me to bed now?”

“I suppose I must do as you say, since I’m your prisoner.” He nibbled at her neck, and she released the scarf binding him. The silk fell from his skin as her arms slid around his shoulders. 

Their lips met, and he delved his tongue to sample her nectar. She responded with fervor. He rejoiced that if he must be tied to this woman, at least she shared his apparently boundless passion. He pulled her with him across the bed, then scooted her until she lay cushioned in the center of the thick mattress. 

“Finally, I can see and taste all of you.”

“I’m hoping ‘tis all right for us to act so heathen.”

He lay propped on an elbow beside her, content for a moment to look his fill of her. “It isn’t heathen for a husband and wife to enjoy one another. Doesn’t it feel right?” 

In the golden lamplight, her skin gleamed like ivory. 

“Aye, it feels more than right. It’s as if being with you is where I was meant to be.”

He smoothed her auburn hair across the pillow. It looked even more glorious there than he had dreamed. Desire darkened her emerald eyes, and the pink of exertion tinged her cheeks. 

“No woman will ever be more beautiful than you are right now.”

“If you think that, then we’re well matched, for never lived a more handsome man than you are.”

He took her graceful hand in his and brought it to his lips. After he pressed a kiss to her palm, he suckled each fingertip. 

She pulled away and put her hands under her. “You’ll be driving me mad with wanting. Hurry.”

He smiled down at her and shook his head. “Nope. I’ve thought about this night since we wed. Reckon we might not get much sleep, for I intend to take my time.” 

“But ‘tis torture waiting.” She reached for his manhood.

He twisted away. “Let me give you something to think about, then.” Starting with her beautiful eyes, he rained kisses on her face, her neck, and her shoulders. He cradled one of her ample breasts while his mouth suckled the other. 

She moaned and clutched him to her. 

In spite of his throbbing need, he restrained his own urgency and slowly trailed kisses down her ribs, her stomach, to her mound of curls. He slid a finger inside her moist heat. 

“Now, Dallas, now. I can’t wait another second.”

Desire won, and he stretched himself over her. “Nor can I,” he said and slid into her. “Let’s begin our own dance.

If you haven't read this book, I hope you will. It's available in print and ebook from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and in ebook from Smashwords:

In print from Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Texans-Irish-Bride-McClintocks-Book/dp/1478351675/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1344613910&sr=1-2&keywords=The+Texan%27s+Irish+Bride

As an ebook from Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/TEXANS-IRISH-BRIDE-McClintocks-ebook/dp/B008V1UG54/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1344613991&sr=1-1&keywords=The+Texan%27s+Irish+Bride

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