MUST LOVE CHAINMAIL has released!
I’ve set the price to 99 cents for a few days to reward friends and followers, and then it will return to $4.99…
Trapped in the wrong time, she needs a knight in shining armor, but this damsel in distress might be the real savior.
A damsel in distress…
With a day planner attached to her hip, the last thing Katy Tolson wants is a romance that threatens her well-ordered life. She’s set to marry the safe–but bland–guy, but something’s not quite…right. A careless wish thrusts her through time into medieval Wales and into the arms of…
A knight in somewhat shining armor…
Sir Robert Beucol, half-Norman and half-Welsh, lives with the shame of his father’s treason and vows to reclaim his family’s holdings and thereby his honor. To prove himself to his king, he must be more Norman than a full-blooded Norman. What better way to show loyalty than to fight his mother’s people? He has no desire to be sidetracked by the mysterious wench with pink toenails, peculiar habits, and passion smoldering behind her cool, collected exterior.
A rebellion that challenges both…
The Welsh uprising fits perfectly into Robert’s plans. Katy’s on the other hand? That’s a no. As they embark on a perilous journey through the heart of Wales, each passionate encounter pulls them closer together, but farther from their goals. When everything they value is at stake, can they save each other and their love?
Where to purchase
I’ve posted them on the major outlets, but most of them are still processing. Once a link goes live, I’ll update this post. Print versions should be available within the week.
I thought I’d share a scene you wouldn’t find in the Look Inside feature. Below is from the hero’s point of view, and comes almost near the middle of the story:
Robert stared into Kaytee’s richly textured eyes, a field of green flecked with rich brown, like the exotic spice cinnamon. She was exotic too, a spice. A rare spice. He pinned her to the tree with only the cage of his hand. He did not squeeze—he had no wish to mar such a beautiful throat. But he did need to scare her. A little. She was too calm.
His question—are you a spy?—echoed in accusation around the forest.
Her eyes widened. Good.
Jolting her out of her complacency could help him get at the truth. Her truth. Had she truly heard Madog’s name from Alfred?
“No,” she whispered.
He tilted his head and studied her features, the openness of her eyes, the set of those shapely lips. Dealing with men-at-arms under his command and unruly villeins made him sufficiently competent in detecting falsehood. None existed in that statement.
Very well. But she was hiding something—the sure knowledge an itch under his skin. But if her secret wasn’t a danger to him, or to his king, he could afford the time to coax it out of her, cultivate her trust. For he would know her secrets. Secrets were valuable. Especially if such secrets benefited the English crown, and thus himself.
Then an itch of a different sort tightened his skin and made his blood pound. She was breathing heavily through her nose, obviously struggling to regain her calm, but her chest rose and fell in the small space between. If he stepped forward, just an inch, those lovely breasts would be pressing against him.
He stepped forward.
The pulse visible in the pale column of her neck vibrated faster, her intoxicating scent washed over him, and he was dizzy with lust.
Even through his mail and gambeson, he could feel her womanly curves crushed against his hard chest. He uncurled his fingers from her throat and ran the tough leather of his palm’s mitten along her neck and to the enticing curve of her shoulder. He nudged her mantle an inch, exposing skin.
He cursed that his hand was covered in mail. How long had he wanted to taste, to touch her precious skin? Unable to resist, he bent and, with his tongue, touched, tasted the heat of the skin on her collarbone.
Oh, Christ, she was lovely. She shivered, and satisfaction roared through him. He dragged his lips up the soft skin of her neck and gently nipped her ear lobe, sipping on the soft flesh. Her hands splayed against his chest.
Expecting a shove, his senses careened when her fingers fisted his surcoat. Their ragged breath overloud in the forest, he eased his face away, nose rubbing against her jaw on his retreat, and sought her eyes. Hers darkened and—Lord help him—held no censure, only interest.
He stepped back.
Curse his newly recovered scruples. Why did she have to excite him physically and dredge up his long-dead chivalry? He dropped his hand, and her fingers loosened from his surcoat. He turned to glower at the approach to Harlech and slowly flexed his fingers.
Do you have a release this week too? If so comment below with a short blurb and a link!