Wild Cards and Iron Horses (31 page)

Reluctantly Lee takes on the job, the widow’s smart-mouthed daughter and his growing attraction to a woman who stubbornly refuses to see him as anything less than whole. Slowly, his bitterness begins to fade under the light of their blooming love.

Warning: Y’all will fall in love with this stubborn cowboy, cheer for his strong woman, and get caught
up in plenty of fightin’, lots of makin’ up, bone-meltin’ sex and forever kinda romance.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Devils on Horseback: Lee: As she dried herself, Genny resisted the urge to linger over her painfully hard nipples. After hearing the noise outside, she had the silly fantasy that Lee had been observing her bathe. She even took extra time getting undressed to prolong the game for herself. The foolish thing was, she wanted him to actually be there. Her body still throbbed with the hum of arousal from watching him, fantasizing about him.

Playing sexual games really wasn’t like her, and that’s what bothered her the most. There weren’t many things throughout her life that were under her control, but one of them had always been her physical reactions, particularly to men. Henry was a shitty lover, selfish and clumsy. Genny hadn’t gotten a single moment of pleasure from having sex with her husband at all. It was like one of her farm chores, boring but necessary. Her experience before Henry had been horrific, the stuff of nightmares she still experienced now and again.

She shook her head to dislodge the dark feelings that always overtook her when she started thinking about Camille. She’d promised herself when she moved to Tanger that she’d stop thinking about her life before Texas, the squalor she’d been used to, and the disregard for human beings she witnessed daily as a child. Nothing about the farm reminded her of the dark street in New Orleans so there was no need to dwell on it.

No, she’d much rather remember why she’d been aroused in the bathtub in the first place. Truthfully, she had never experienced pleasure with a man, only by her own hand.

Right now though, she ached for release. One day with Lee and she was fantasizing about being intimate with him, without even a smidge of interest from him. He grunted, answered in one syllable or ignored her. There was no rhyme or reason to her body’s apparent infatuation with the man. It should set off warning bells inside her.

Genny couldn’t risk being distracted by a man when she needed to focus on getting the wheat crop in.

Too much depended on her keeping her mind and her body on that task and not on Lee Blackwood. She knew her options with men were limited, even if widows had the freedom to choose a bed partner. Until the blond one-armed man had swaggered into her life, there hadn’t been a man she would choose.

As an intelligent, strong woman with needs, sometimes she just had to let herself feel. And at that moment, she was feeling quite a bit. As the towel rubbed across her skin, it pebbled up, sending shivers through her. God how she wished it was a calloused hand instead of the rough material. She could look for him, but knew it wasn’t a good idea even if her mind raced with the possibility of what would happen if she found him. What would happen if he was just as willing as she was.

A shiver wracked her body at the thought. No matter how much she wanted to, it just wasn’t a good idea, and that was that. With something like remorse, she picked up her nightdress to put it on. A small knock at the door had her jumping out of her skin.

Heart pounding, she had to swallow before she answered. She knew who it was, yet she called out anyway. “Who is it?”

There was a pause. “It’s Lee Blackwood. I, uh, wondered if you were done with the tub. I can empty it and take it out for you.”

He sounded strange, almost talkative, and she hadn’t yet heard him speak so fast either. Perhaps her fantasy wasn’t hers alone. Tingles raced through her at the thought and a single heavy throb resounded in her lower belly.

“Not yet. About five more minutes.”

The sound of boots scraping on the wooden porch sounded outside the door. “Well, okay. I’ll just sit a spell out here and wait then.”

Her pulse pounded through her veins as she stared at the door, knowing he stood on the other side. All she had to do was open it and ask him in, her nude body the only invitation required. Dampness coated her pussy as she trembled with a nearly overwhelming arousal. She needed him quite badly at the moment.

What would be the harm? She was a widow and he wasn’t married—a perfectly acceptable arrangement done all the time, discreetly of course. Folks in town, including Hettie and her posse, had to know Lee was there with her alone. They’d never openly shunned her, but they also never opened their arms to Genny or Sophie. Part of that was because Henry had been such an ass he put people off. However, part of it was the fact Genny appeared one day at his side, wide-eyed and angry with a wedding band on her

finger. She had not been exactly friendly to the people in Tanger that first year, and she was sure they had long memories.

So why should she care if they knew Lee was at the farm? Gabby must’ve told the townsfolk about her need for a farmhand, and everyone knew Henry had passed on. After all, he died at Aphrodite’s saloon with a beer in one hand and a whore’s tit in the other. No one would blame Genny for turning to another man for solace in her bed.

Her nipples ached to be touched and her body craved a release, one that didn’t involve her hand.

Growing up, she had been witness to the ways men and women could be together, and many of them were still crystal clear in Genny’s memory. She wanted to try them with Lee, even if it meant she was a loose woman, because she sure as hell wasn’t a whore. No money was changing hands between them, simply work and trade for goods.

She wanted him, that was for certain. The question was, how much? Water puddled on the floor around her feet as she stood there, heart thumping like mad, and continued to stare at the door. Genny knew she wasn’t pretty but she’d been told her raspy voice was nice by several men. Her breasts were large and she was curvy, if not particularly tall. If she offered herself to Lee, he might say no. Was she willing to take that risk?

Genny stepped toward the door and reached for the knob.

Lee stood on the corner of the porch and stared up at the night sky. Stars winked in the velvety blackness, reminding him of just how different things were in Texas than Georgia. Even the sky looked different. He sometimes wished so hard life was like it had been before the war. It was an ache deep in his chest that could bring tears to his eyes.

He scratched at the stump of his arm and recognized the stark reminder that life would never be the way it was, no matter how hard he might wish for it. God couldn’t give back an arm, and he sure as hell couldn’t make life from the ashes of Lee’s soul.

The door to the house opened and he turned, expecting Genevieve to wave him inside for the tub. His melancholy meanderings must’ve made him slower than molasses because he had to blink twice before he realized that she was only wearing a towel.

Holy shit.

His arousal, partially sated by his own hand, roared to life like a locomotive. He stood frozen in place, unsure of exactly what he should do. She saved him the trouble of deciding when she turned to look at him.

The first thing he noticed was she was flushed, and he wasn’t sure if it was entirely from the hot water. The second thing was, her mouth was slightly open as if she was breathing hard. His heart slammed against his rib cage and he swallowed hard.

“Miz Blanchard?” he managed to croak.

“Genny please, call me Genny.” She fiddled with the towel under her arm, but she kept her focus on him. “Do you want to come inside now?”

Jesus, please us, that was a question with a hundred meanings. Lee’s body, however, knew what meaning he wanted it to be.

Genny.

Yes, that fit her better than Genevieve, a mouthful of French name he had trouble wrapping his tongue around. No doubt he’d have no trouble with her breasts though. They strained against the towel, the nipples obviously hard beneath the material.

“Mr. Blackwood?” She cleared her throat. “Lee?”

Without a sound, he strode toward her and she backed into the house. By the time she was through the doorway, he was right in front of her, his body more than ready. After he closed the door behind him, he wasn’t sure what to do next, until she dropped the towel and he dropped to his knees.

Secrets can destroy you—and the one you love most.

Hareton Hall

© 2010 Lynne Connolly

Richard and Rose, Book 6

As Richard returns with Rose to her childhood home of Darkwater for two weddings, romance is in the air—but so is trouble. It begins with Rose’s stolen watch. Tensions rise when they learn their old adversaries, the Drurys, have taken a house nearby. A series of attacks on those they love, plus a rise in smuggling activity, only add to the threat of violence.

Then illness strikes at the worst possible time, threatening everyone in the district—especially the children. Questions abound: Was the infection deliberate? Is someone striking at Richard through Rose, or are their enemies targeting Rose for information she possesses?

Richard calls on his resources, public and private, to counter an enemy that threatens to destroy his beloved Rose. Rose is no helpless victim, however, and refuses to let anyone—even Richard—take away her independence. She finds ways to fight that aren’t in his armoury. Whether he likes it or not…

Warning: When Richard uses a topaz necklace to give Rose hot shivers, it might give you ideas, so
keep a man handy to experiment on. But you can’t have Richard.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Hareton Hall:

“Would you like me to get Nichols back for you?” he murmured. “Or will you accept me as your lady’s maid?”

“Do you need to ask?”

He laughed and kissed me, his tongue caressing my mouth with a gentle insistence I could never tire of.

He unhooked my gown at the front, pushed it off my shoulders and let the garment fall to the ground, leaving me in my stomacher, stays and petticoats. The stomacher was easily got rid of, being attached to the stays by a few pins only. It fell to the floor with a heavy thump, as the topaz brooches were still fastened to it. He reached round to the back and began to loosen my stay laces, taking the opportunity of our proximity to kiss me again, sweet kisses over my cheeks and throat, pausing to nip at my earlobe. While he was performing these actions for me, I wasn’t idle.

I undid the buttons on his waistcoat, feeling the hard, nubby surface of its heavy embroidery, then I slid my hands under it and felt his body beneath the fine linen of his shirt. He chuckled softly, and I felt my stays give way. The drawstring of my outer petticoat proved no obstacle to his questing, skilled fingers and my under petticoat and side hoops swiftly followed.

“Why do you like to undress me? I could come to you in my night rail.” I ran my hands up his back, feeling the hard, lean muscle respond to my touch.

“Because, my sweet delight, it’s unwrapping the best gift in the world. Because it prolongs the moment in a delicious way. I love to touch you, to hold you, and this way I can touch every part of you.”

He kissed me and then bent his head to kiss my throat, and to push away the loosened drawstring of my shift, exposing my breasts to his caresses. I pressed myself against him, felt the buckles holding his stock at the back of his neck and unfastened them.

Then I put my hand up to undo the topaz necklace I still wore, but he lifted his hand and put it over mine. “Leave it. It looks lovely against your skin. Let me look.”

I let it be, instead pulling at the drawstring of my remaining petticoat and my pockets until they fell away. He removed his shirt in one smooth movement, so I could see and touch his chest and his back. The touch of my bare skin against his made me tingle, drew my nipples into peaks. The drawstring at the neck of my shift was now fully open, so I let it go all the way down my body to pool at my feet.

I was naked now, except for my stockings, and I knelt to help him with his breeches, unfastening the glittering buckles at his knee, the buttons at the sides, and the buttons holding the garment up at his waist, beginning to understand his meaning about unwrapping.

I touched, caressed, kissed him, and heard his sigh and murmur when I stroked the swollen, silken flesh before me. I bent my head, took him into my mouth, and ran my tongue around the tip.

He gasped and murmured, “Oh Rose, oh sweetheart,” and he touched me, digging his fingers into my hair when I deepened the caress. I loved the feeling of control doing this gave to me and I felt him moisten, tasted the pearl of liquid he granted me and knew he wouldn’t last too long if I did this. I wanted him inside me so I released him with some reluctance, watching the glistening member strain as I drew back.

I sat on the floor, on top of the discarded heap of clothes, and slowly removed my shoes and stockings, drawing out the moment, displaying myself to him. He watched me, before he put his hands under my armpits and pulled me to my feet.

His eyes, usually such a gemlike sapphire, had softened to the blue of the sky just after dawn, and the smile playing about his mouth was the one only I ever saw. “You’re a witch,” he whispered, as he sought my mouth with his. He thrust his tongue into my mouth, sensuously exploring, sending flutters of sensation through my whole body.

Then he took my hand and led me to the bed. I lay down and held out my arms to him. He hardly paused, only looking at me, with that smile curving his lips. “The best gift in the world.”

He kissed me, touched me, took my nipples into his mouth and teased them into pinpoint hardness with his tongue.

I caressed him, his firm, satiny skin heating under my hands, and kissed him again as he found his way home, sliding his shaft along my innermost folds, then deep inside my body. I’d never yet been

disappointed by Richard’s lovemaking, never been less than drowsily blissful when we had done. His long years of practice must have helped, but now that he was all mine he honed his skills, tailoring them to my pleasure, for my delight.