Adult reading
Letitia wanted the treasure - a dagger given by a Chinese Emperor to his favourite concubine, and worth a fortune. Kasper Temple couldn’t let Lettie trek off alone into the Burmese jungle in search of a cursed dagger. He would give his life to keep safe the woman he loved.

They sat on the floor, facing each other. The wine bottles were empty and the cartons licked clean.
“That was damn good,” Kasper said, giving a light belch of appreciation.
Letitia smiled. “My headache is gone and my eyes don’t hurt. Can I take some of that wine home? Drat,” she said, giving a hiccup. “I’ve forgotten what it’s called.”
“Thibu,” Kasper replied, thoroughly aware and totally unrepentant that his eyes were roving Letitia’s body, right from her lovely blonde hair all the way down to her cute, slim ankles.
“I feel drunk,” she muttered, “and very hot.”
“Yes, it’s damned hot. I’d open the windows except it might let in insects and mosquitoes.”
“I imagine we’ll meet plenty of those tomorrow,” she said, undoing the top button of her blouse. “I have packed some mosquito repellent and antihistamine tablets.”
Kasper stared at the rivulet of perspiration that ran down her neck into her cleavage. He wanted to lick it away with his tongue. “Lettie, maybe we should talk about Beau and what he said to you regarding me and…”
She moved across to him on her knees and put her finger to his lips. “Shush, we’re having party. I don’t want you to talk about Beau.”
“Okay, we don’t talk about Beau. Should we talk about your eyes and the operation to stop you going blind?”
“Definitely not,” she mumbled, collapsing onto his chest. “Oh, I’m sozzled, but it’s a nice feeling. It feels good to relax. You know, it feels really good to be with you.”
Kasper leaned forward and kissed the top of her head. It pleased him to know that she actually wanted to be with him.
“Mmm, you smell nice. I always loved the way you smelled.”
“Lettie, I’m sweating buckets.”
“So, am I.”
She glanced up at him and he saw how flushed her face was. “You look hot, Lettie.”
She giggled. “Do you mean hot as in temperature, or hot as in sexy?”
“Both,” he laughed, stroking her cheek. “You know we’re both drunk. That thibu was obviously very strong.”
“I’m glad. I needed it,” she sighed.
“So did I.”
Letitia pushed herself away from Kasper and sat facing him. “I can’t take this heat. Do you mind if I take my blouse off?”
He felt his heart quicken at that suggestion. “Hell, take everything off.”
“I may just do that.”
He thought that was a joke, but it damn well wasn’t. Transfixed he watched as she stood up and unbuttoned her blouse. Shrugging it off, she turned to her skirt and let it drop to the floor. He thought that would be it but she didn’t stop there. Her bra and briefs joined the pile of clothes and soon, she stood before him naked. His mouth grew dry and his groin grew hard.
“That is much cooler but not really cool enough,” she said, stretching her arms above her head.
“Not cool enough?” he gulped, gaping at her pink-tipped breasts.
“Yes, see if you agree. Take off your clothes, Mister Temple.”
“I think I will, Missus Temple,” Kasper said as he tore off his tee shirt and jeans.”
“And those,” she insisted, pointing to his boxer shorts.
He obeyed, unquestioningly, yet his eyes remained glued to her beautiful toned body.
“So, are you cool now?”
“Lord, no, not in the slightest,” he moaned, feeling as though he might spontaneously combust.
“Me neither,” she said, pointing to the door to the en suite bathroom. “You know, there’s a shower in there.”
“I imagine there is.”
“Care to share it with me?” she grinned.
“I imagine I would,” he growled, striding towards her and sweeping her off her size four feet.

I am a writer from the UK and I have stories published with Melange Books, LLC, DCL Publications and All Romance ebooks LLC. I write in various genres. Anything from fantasy and paranormal to historical. I have stories about pirates, highwaymen and knights and I hope to be able, via excerpts, to give you a taste of them. I hope you will enjoy reading about my characters as much as I enjoyed creating them!

Or so she thought.

She soon discovers Daniel kept secrets:  an alias, mob ties, a list of numbers, a mysterious beach house in Florida….and a girlfriend who looks like Grace.

Swallowing her fear, she flies to Miami to claim the house Daniel left her.  But the price of her curiosity is peril.  Underworld figures stalk her.  The other woman has left a damning trail of evidence pointing her way.  And handsome, troubled FBI agent Jack West has crossed precarious paths with Grace before.  He could be her savior or her damnation.  All she knows for certain is that she longs to be in his arms.

With little to go on and danger at every turn, Grace must depend on Jack to help her navigate the criminal world of south Florida, and find the truth behind the Ring of Lies.

Excerpt:

It was dark when Grace left the solicitor’s office. Numbness had finally set in. She moved without thinking, without emotion as if she were one of the stick figures at a theme park—flagging down a taxi and giving the driver her address.

Flicking on the hall light in her home, the home she and Daniel had shared and loved, the pain returned in a torrent. She dropped her purse on the table, and went straight to the study. Daniel’s study, the one room in the house she never entered, not even to dust.

Grace rested her hand on the door knob, and half expected to hear his deep-timbered voice reminding her not to enter. She’d ignored his warning only once, the ensuing argument had left her reeling. Ever since then she’d respected his wishes. All of them.

But Daniel was no longer here to wish for anything.

She pushed open the door and stepped inside. The air smelt stale. She told herself that the lingering aroma of pipe tobacco was permanently embedded in the furniture, but her feelings told her otherwise—that he was here, alive somehow, yet invisible to her. She fumbled with the catch on the window and threw it open, impervious to the frigid air that flooded the room. An old leather chair, which had once belonged to Daniel’s father, stood next to the soot-stained limestone fireplace where ashes of a half-burned log lay in the grate. A large oak desk, its surface covered with a faint film of dust, filled the bay window. The date on the desk calendar showed the seventeenth of November, the day Daniel had left for the conference. She tore off the pages without bothering to read the proverb printed underneath, and threw them into the wastepaper basket.

Daniel’s face, and that of her own, smiled back at her from a small silver framed photograph on the corner of the desk. She picked it up and wiped the dust from the surface with her fingertips.

“What other secrets have you kept from me?”

Daniel’s brown, unfathomable eyes seemed to stare everywhere but at her. With a heavy heart she replaced the photograph on the desk. She collapsed into the chair and rested her aching head in her hands. Their marriage hadn’t been perfect; they’d had their fair share of ups and downs like every other couple, but she’d never thought of Daniel as being secretive. Yet the last few hours had proved that he was just that.

She leaned back and rubbed her temples. Nothing the solicitor had told her made any sense. They weren’t rich. Their joint checking account, which last time she’d looked, held less than two thousand pounds. When they’d purchased Applegate Cottage four years ago, they’d put down the minimum ten percent deposit and borrowed the rest from the bank. So where had the money come from to purchase a house in America? And more importantly, why hadn’t Daniel told her about it?

The desk held seven drawers; three in each pedestal and one in the centre. Her fingers hovered over the small brass handle of the centre drawer. Feeling like an intruder, she pulled it open. It was empty. One by one she opened the remaining drawers. Apart from an assortment of envelopes, a few credit card receipts, a letter opener shaped like a dagger, and some spare batteries for the hand-held dictating machine Daniel occasionally used, she found nothing connected to the beach house.

Daniel’s briefcase, which the police had found in his car, and the personal items from his office, sat in a box next to the door. She slipped out of the chair, picked it up, and placed it on the desk. Item by item she removed the contents: a desk diary, a box of post-it-notes, a calculator, and a framed photograph of her and Catherine. The desk diary she put to one side, replaced everything else, and then put the box on the floor.

She’d given Daniel the Raffaello briefcase for his thirtieth birthday. It had cost two weeks housekeeping money, but it had been worth it to see the smile on his face when he opened the box. She ran her fingers over the now scuffed and torn calfskin.

Grace pressed the locks to open the case, but nothing happened. She dug the fingertips of her right hand into the frame and tugged at the handle. The catch on one side gave, and she realized that the force of the impact had warped the frame. With great care she eased the blade of the letter opener into the lock on the opposite side and twisted sharply. There was a loud click and the case popped open. Inside lay Daniel’s MacBook and a number of manila folders. One by one, she went through the internal compartments, but found nothing else of interest.

Part of the silk lining had come away from the frame. When Grace ran her fingers along the edge she felt something underneath. She pulled back the fabric and found an envelope taped to the bottom of the case. She tore it free and turned it over in her hand.

Why go to so much trouble to hide something as innocuous as an envelope? She slipped her fingernail under the flap and opened it. A passport and a tiny piece of paper fluttered on to the blotter. A series of numbers, written in Daniel’s unmistakeable scrawl, covered the surface. Perplexed, she counted the digits. Twenty-four. Daniel was fascinated by numbers and frequently designed puzzles as a way of relaxing. Were these something he was working on, or the combination to the safe at the office?

The latter seemed the most likely explanation, yet Daniel had an eidetic memory. There was never a need for him to write anything down.

Grace opened the passport at the photograph on the back page. Daniel’s face stared up at her. Only the name in the passport wasn’t his, but that of Lionel Lattide.

A flicker of apprehension coursed through her. She tried to catch her breath, but couldn’t get air. The more she struggled to control her breathing, the more terrified she became. Beads of perspiration dotted her forehead. She willed herself to relax, just as the doctor had told her to, but it was impossible.

She staggered into the kitchen. Her medication lay on the shelf next to the fridge. Standing on tiptoe, she reached for the bottle, but her hands shook so much it slipped from her grasp, the contents spilling out along the shelf and onto the floor.

She could get through this, she told herself. It was only a panic attack—she wasn’t about to die. It wasn’t real. Crying with frustration, her fingers trailed along the floor until she finally pinched a wayward pill between her thumb and forefinger. She popped it in her mouth, and washed it down with a glass of water from the tap.

Leaning against the sink for support, she forced herself to breathe deeply—in, out, in, out. The pill started to do its work, and the room began to steady itself. As her heartbeat slowly returned to normal, she tried to ignore the questioning voice in her mind, but couldn’t. She pressed her hands over her eyes in an attempt to blot out her fears.

What have you been up to, Daniel, that you needed a second passport?

She took another sip of water. The passport lay on the drainer next to her hand. With trembling fingers, she opened it and turned to the visa section.

It was stamped.

She froze. Her mind and body benumbed.

She peered at the faint impression and could just make out the words ‘Department of Homeland Security’. America! She turned to another page, and found that too, had been stamped. During the last six months alone, Daniel or whoever he was, had travelled to the United States on five occasions.

Why?

She wrenched the calendar off the wall, and compared it to the passport. Every entry visa coincided with a date when Daniel had been away on business.

Waves of panic and nausea overwhelmed her, and she sank to her knees and sobbed. The man to whom she had trusted her heart had lied to her. Not once, not twice, but least four times.

Pain yielded to anger.

Who was her husband?

It seemed that the only way to find out was to fly to Miami and meet with the attorney, Zachary Parous.

It sounded so easy when she said it quickly. But the thought of such a journey aroused old fears and anxieties. She wasn’t a traveller—and certainly not alone. What if she had a panic attack mid-Atlantic? Who would help her? And then there was the small problem of getting from Miami to some place called Gasparilla Island and locating the mysterious beach house. How hard would it be to find? Would she be safe?

She’d heard such things about Florida, stories of gangs, drug lords, and even worse. She snatched up the phone before she could change her mind and booked a seat on the nine-thirty flight to Miami the following morning.

Then there was only one call left to make.

Contemporary, contemporary romance, Romance, romance excerpts, romantic suspense, SuspenseContemporary, contemporary romance, Romance, romance excerpts, romantic suspense, Suspense]]> http://www.romanticobserver.com/romanceexcerpts/17/romantic-suspense/ring-of-lies.html/feed/ http://www.romanticobserver.com/romanceexcerpts/52/romance-excerpts/lord-devilment.html http://www.romanticobserver.com/romanceexcerpts/52/romance-excerpts/lord-devilment.html#comments Wed, 23 Feb 2011 00:41:52 +0000 Ellen Margret Romance ExcerptsHistoricalromance excerpts http://www.romanticobserver.com/romanceexcerpts/52/romance-excerpts/lord-devilment.html Lord Devilment

A Spicy Historical Romance

“Hand over your watch, and those gaudy rings glistening on your fingers.”

Jonah cursed under his breath, but removed the watch, and two of the rings.

Saxon took them. “There is a third ring. Take it off, and give it to me.”

“The ring is tight. I doubt I can get it off.”

Saxon doubted that to be the truth. He guessed that the ring was the most valuable of the three, which was why he wanted to hang onto it. “I have a dagger on my person. Although it might prove a tad messy, ‘twould be no trouble to cut off your finger.” He heard Lottie, who sat opposite Jonah, give a shriek. “Oh dear, I seem to have upset the lady. I daresay she does not like the sight of blood. I apologise, milady, but I shall have that ring. Now, where did I put my dagger?”

“Give it to him! Your finger is worth more than a ring,” she gasped.

“Curse you for the blackguard you are,” Jonah growled as he easily removed the ring.

Saxon took it, and popped it into his pocket. “I see a purse bulging from that pocket. I shall have that also.”

“Bastard,” Jonah grunted, taking out the purse, and handing it over.

Saxon pocketed it, and waved his pistol at Ariadne. “I shall take the necklace, madam.”

Ariadne touched her neck. “Please, nay, I am so fond of it.”

“I think I may grow fond of it too. ‘Tis a pretty piece. Take it off.”

“Offer him a kiss, Ariadne. That might suffice instead of the necklace,” Jonah suggested.

“Would it?” Ariadne asked, smiling.

Saxon scratched his chin. “Would I rather have a kiss than the necklace? Now, give me a while to think about it.” His eyes locked onto Ariadne’s lips.

She sat up, and pouted. “So, a kiss it is?”

Saxon chuckled. “I’d rather kiss my horse. Remove the necklace.”

“A pox on you,” Ariadne fumed, removing the item.

Saxon soon had it in his pocket. He looked at Lottie.

“I know, you wish to have my necklace, too.”

“Nay, I do not. Give me your hand, lady.”

“My hand?”

“Aye, your hand. Offer me your hand through the door.”

“I don’t understand. Ah, you desire my bracelet. Do you intend to remove my bracelet yourself?” she asked, extending her hand.

“Nay, I do not desire the bracelet. I desire something much warmer, and softer,” Saxon declared, taking her hand and swiftly kissing the back of it. He smiled. “That is all I require from a woman of such beauty.” He heard Ariadne give an almighty huff, and he chuckled. He had meant to insult her, and he had been rather successful.

“Damn you to hell,” Jonah growled.

“I’ve been there already,” he snapped back, thinking of Newgate, and then the pain of hangman’s rope around his neck.

“Who are you?” Lottie asked.

He saw that she stared at him intently, but the mask hid his features, and the hat hid his dark hair. His voice he had made deliberately gruff, in order to fool her.

“Aye, tell us your name, you brigand,” Jonah hissed.

He thought about that. What name should he use?

“The Devil take you,” Jonah growled. “Why do you do this? Are you poor, or do you do it for devilment?”

Saxon touched his hat. He had his name. “My name is Lord Devilment,” he chuckled, “and I bid you good evening. He laughed, and, turning his horse around, galloped off into the night.

3 Flames

The midshipman looked dashing in his uniform and she felt drawn to him,

and that was why she had agreed to take a stroll with him in the

gardens. But, the gardens had only too quickly led them the barn.

He smiled thinly. “What is wrong with being in here? Would you rather I

have you in the manor house? I fear that in there we would run the risk

of being heard or seen by your father.” He gave a deep belch. “I suppose

it would not matter if he did discover us. After all, my elder brother

has already finalised the purchase of the estate. The manor house now

belongs to him. ‘Tis a shame that your father got himself into such

financial difficulties and had to lose everything. A once powerful man

brought so low. Ah well, such is life, for he is but one of many

gamblers who never knew when to stop.”

She turned to leave. “I should go. It was foolish to come in here with

you. I was not thinking clearly.” She had not expected him to grab her

arm. “How dare you! Let me go at once!”

“You don’t really want me to let you go. Women like me, wench. What is

there to dislike? Consider yourself fortunate to be in my company.”

“Do not call me wench. I am Lady Iona Irvington.”

He rubbed his eyes and swayed slightly. “Right now, I need a woman,

wench. You are a woman.”

His hold on her arm intensified. He held her fast. His eyes had taken on

the look of frosted glass, and she realised that he most likely wasn’t

even focussing on her properly. “You have been drinking.”

“Of course I’ve been drinking. I drank the night away with my brother.

We didn’t even get to bed and I had another half bottle of brandy with

breakfast. I am well topped up, wench.”

“You don’t sound that drunk. You even sound sober.”

He laughed harshly. “We hold our drink well. ‘Tis a family trait.” He

belched again. “I’ve lost whole days, and nights,” he chuckled. “Wenches

have come up to me and thanked me for giving them a bloody good time.

The thing is, half the time I didn’t remember fucking them, and I

certainly never remembered names. Women are good for only three things.

Fucking, cooking and cleaning, and they don’t need names to do that.”

Her jaw dropped. “You conceited chauvinist.” His response to that was to

slam her against his rock hard chest and give her a very bruising kiss.

She tried to push away, but he held her fast.

“Wench, you came in here of your own free will. I saw the way you looked

at me when I arrived here yesterday evening. It was the way all women

look at me, and I do mean all women. Even grannies give me a second

glance. Why shouldn’t they? I’m everything a woman could desire. I am

tall, dark, handsome and I’ve got a big cock.”

“In addition to that you are an arrogant, overbearing, conceited dandy.”

“You liked what you saw. I know you did. You eyed me up and down and you

licked your lips and pouted.”

“I did not mean to encourage you.”

“I’ve seen those signs hundreds of times before. Wenches in every port

look at me the way you did this morning. The dairy maid gave me the same

look a half hour ago. If I can remember, I’ll have her after I’ve had

you.”

“You shall not have me. I must leave immediately. I have no wish to be

in the company of a drunken sot.” She observed the muscles bunch up in

his jaw, and the next instant he kissed her throat as his hand delved

into her bodice and groped a breast. Suddenly, her fear turned into

excitement. He was a handsome man. Likely the most handsome man she had

ever seen. She wondered if his body would be every bit as glorious as

his face. She realised that she truly wanted to find out.

“I will have you, and you cannot stop me.”

“Nay, I do not think I can. Sir, you are a rake.”

“I know, and maybe that is why you are drawn to me. Wench, I shall ask

you this. Do you want me to stop?”

“Aye, I do.” In response, he stood back and raised a dark eyebrow. It

made him look so dashing.

“That is a damn lie. You want me.”

“Very well, I admit that I want you, but only if you agree to court me

afterwards. I must have that commitment from you.”

“Why the hell not? Aye, I’ll court you.

Pursuing a man known as the King of Hearts, five tough operatives fall for a woman they’re supposed to eliminate. When the team discovers Paige Lambert is in fact the Queen of Hearts, they can’t ignore their handler’s orders. Is the bed and breakfast owner destined to die for her past crimes or will she end up under the protective custody of the men hired to kill her?

Excerpt:

He felt like he’d just laid eyes on her for the first time. He started at her chin, noticing the way the dark brown hair curved under her jaw, a lock of hair so delicate but there nonetheless, like it was clinging for dear life. Was that what Paige was doing? Was she frightened? Was she running scared?

His gaze traveled down her long, slender neck. He admired how she held her head high, the structure of her slender collarbone leading to a bare chest with plenty for a man to enjoy. Before he indulged too much, Paige knelt down and retrieved her clothes, shrugging into a sports bra, one she had to yank over those full mounds in order to secure them.

Damn. She was right. Snapping that neck of hers would be a terrible waste.

That’s when his mouth watered. Why hadn’t he gawked when she’d been topless? And why did he find her sexy as all fucking hell right then?

Her flat stomach made him itch. He’d love to kiss around her sunken belly button and insinuate a slow sex act, make her arch for him, beg him for more.

Finally, he studied the band of her shorts. What he’d give to lick and tease his way a little lower, strip away those shorts and show her what she’d been missing. Maybe in her body, he’d find what he’d been looking for all along. Perhaps he needed to fuck a woman he wasn’t later expected to kill. Then again, he couldn’t be so sure that order wouldn’t come.

Stop thinking!

“Is something wrong?” she asked, batting her eyelashes.

“No,” he replied, storming ahead of her. Suddenly, he wondered why she followed him then when she hadn’t trailed behind him before. He stopped, turned around, and shook his finger again. “Don’t you dare run. I’d like to have breakfast before we do that again.”

“Okay,” she said, catching up and walking beside him. “Want to answer my question now?”

“Which one?”

“How can you keep up with me?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he growled.

“I’m asking.”

“I’m in great shape.”

“I can tell.”

Jeff stopped at the bottom of the steps. “Is that you coming on to me?”

She sashayed by him. “No, Jeff. That was me trying to figure out how I can outrun you next time.”

“There won’t be a next time,” he told her, grabbing her from behind and slamming her against the steps, bracing her back with his large hands.

His breath matched hers. The move knocked the wind out of both of them.

“Now what?”

“I’m not going to kiss you,” he said, thinking he wouldn’t put up much of a fight if she laid one on him.

She moistened her lips. “I didn’t think so,” she whispered, arching her neck. “What if I kiss you?”

“Is that what you’re planning to do? You have the rest of these guys by the balls, and since I’m not turning tricks to taste the pudding, what ’cha gonna do, darlin’, offer me a spoon?”

“I don’t understand your riddles,” she stated flatly, licking those full, enticing lips once more.

“Let me give you a warning. I’m the real thing, sweetheart. I’m in Jekyll Island to work. It’s something all of us do very well when we don’t have a distraction. Now, since I’ve been assigned to you for the time being, I’m setting you straight. You’ll do what I tell you, and you’ll do it with a wide smile to boot. Understand?”

“Or you’ll what?”

“I told you what I’d do. If you want to see how much I enjoy skinny-dipping, pull one of your stunts again. I’ll drag you into that ocean and make sure every tourist within ten miles hears you when you scream.”

“I already heard the guys talking. You wouldn’t rape me,” she said, narrowing her gaze and proving then that she wasn’t so sure.

“Rape? Hell, no. You’ll respond to me like a bitch in heat. I have a way about me.”

“Really? Who would’ve thought?” she asked diabolically, moving her lips to his ear. “Who can I ask to verify this? Hmm? Have you left any of your past lovers alive? Because if you have, I’d love to give them a call and invite them to join me for tea.”