This was a gentle lovemaking, one she rejoiced in as the new person she had become. Chloe’s mouth found his as they both reached their peak. Pleasure washed through her, stealing her breath, stopping her heart. Gideon had breathed life back into her heart and soul.
He tucked her under his arm and pulled a quilt up over them. As Chloe drifted off, safe in the arms of the man she loved, she knew she had found where she belonged. In the arms of a Devil named Gideon.
About the Author
Beth has never been able to escape her imagination and it led her to the craft of writing romance novels. She’s passionate about purple, books, and her family (not to mention long cruises). She works full-time and writes romance novels evening, weekends, early mornings and whenever there is a break in the madness.
She is compassionate, funny, a bit reserved at times, tenacious and a little quirky. Her cowboys and western romances speak of a bygone era, bringing her readers to an age where men were honest, hard and honkin’ built.
For a change of pace, she also dives into some smokin’ hot contemporaries, bringing you heat, romance and snappy dialogue.
To learn more about Beth Williamson, please visit www.bethwilliamson.com or send an email to Beth at [email protected].
Look for these titles by Beth Williamson
Now Available:
Hell for Leather
Marielle’s Marshal
Branded
Devils on Horseback
Nate
Jake
Zeke
Lee
Gideon
Malloy Family
The Bounty
The Prize
The Reward
The Treasure
The Gift
The Tribute
The Legacy
Private Lives
On His Knees
What happens when a bounty hunter finds his prey only to discover she’s his mate?
The Bounty
© 2006 Beth Williamson
The Malloy Family, Book 1
Nicky Malloy is on the run—from guilt, fear, and a murder charge. After three years, the notorious bounty hunter Tyler Calhoun catches up with the elusive lady outlaw. The intensity of their dislike for each other is only matched by the growing passion they cannot seem to control.
A loner by nature, a cold hard hunter by choice, Tyler fights his feelings for his prisoner the only way he knows how—by denying them. He’s not prepared for how deeply his feelings will run, or how hard it will be to hold her life in his hands.
Pursued by two hapless cowboys bent on taking Nicky in themselves, Nicky and Tyler are forced to turn to each other for aid, trust, and comfort as their journey progresses on its rocky road. Caught in a web of lies and murder, they hold on to each other as they travel to Wyoming to confront the man that brought them together. Tyler has to decide if his love for her is worth more than the bounty he was sent to find.
Warning, this title contains the following: explicit sex, graphic language, some violence.
Enjoy the following excerpt for The Bounty:
Three months later, Tyler grudgingly accepted the fact that hunting a woman was not as easy as he first thought. Not quite on his knees, he was hanging by his bloodied wrists, strapped to two solid wooden poles, in the middle of nowhere. The relentless heat of the summer sun beat down on his back, criss-crossed with shallow knife marks. The blood had long since caked and baked on his skin. The pain had turned to numbness for the moment. He couldn’t feel his arms, shoulders, hands, or fingers. Hell, he didn’t think he could even stand up anymore.
“So, gringo,” came the rough voice from behind him. “You are ready to tell me, no?”
Using a well of strength he didn’t know he had, Tyler lurched to his feet, rising to his full height. Ignoring the screaming agony of his shoulders as the weight was lifted off them, he looked out at the horizon.
“Told you no before, amigo, but I guess since you’re so stupid, I need to repeat myself,” Tyler rasped, hoarse from three days without water. Turning his head, he looked at the man behind him. “No. You want me to say it in Spanish? No.”
The bandito, known as Hermano to everyone, smiled at Tyler. “You dig your own grave, señor. I just want to know why you’re asking questions about a woman, and who sent you. Not hard questions to answer, I think. You are not a bandito, or an outlaw, so me, I think you hunt for bounty, no?”
Pulling his knife from its scabbard, he caressed it as if it were a pet. The dirty chaps he wore over his pants bore a multitude of old bloodstains, and other things that Tyler didn’t want to think about. The bandito’s gray shirt was open at the throat, which was tied with a bandanna of an unidentified color that resembled dirt. Tyler’s fingers itched to grab hold of that filthy bandanna and teach Hermano a lesson in hospitality.
Pushing back his sombrero, a hank of black hair fell over his forehead as he surveyed Tyler. “You will not last past tomorrow.”
“Too bad, isn’t it?” Tyler wasn’t about to give this piece of shit the satisfaction of seeing him break.
Shrugging his broad shoulders, the bandito sheathed his knife and walked around Tyler. “Your choice, gringo. Tell me what I want to know and you can go free.” He spread his arms wide with another smile that never reached his black eyes. Tyler knew he’d never go free, no matter what he confessed to. To an outlaw, a bounty hunter was as much an enemy as a lawman. To a bandito, he wasn’t worth the space he took up on this earth. Better off dead and buried beneath it.
Tyler remained silent. Hermano’s lips curled back to bare his teeth as his fist smashed into his prisoner’s stomach, stealing the breath from Tyler’s body. With a muttered curse, the bandito strode away toward the cluster of crude dwellings that the outlaws lived in as they passed through the valley.
His brief well of strength depleted, Tyler saw stars as he desperately tried to suck air into his lungs, then all was black.
It was dark when Tyler woke. Someone was crouched beside him, silently watching. Without moving, he opened his eyes to narrow slits to see the stranger. It could have been a child, a woman, or a man for all he saw. A cloud had spread its wings over the moon.
“I know you’re awake. I’ve done my share of playing possum, mister, so don’t keep it up on my account.” The soft whisper floated across the night air.
It sounded like a young boy, an American boy in a bandito hideout in Texas.
“What do you want, kid?” he ground out through parched lips.
“I’ll set you free, mister, but you’ve gotta tell me something first.”
Tyler was instantly, completely awake. He struggled to his feet and willed away the spots that danced in front of his eyes and the agonizing shafts of pain blossoming in his arms and shoulders. “What?”
“I need to know if you’re looking for somebody in particular.” The boy stood and lifted a skin of water to Tyler’s mouth.
After lapping greedily at the cool liquid, Tyler felt like a baby denied his mother’s breast when the stranger took it away almost immediately. It was near agony.
“All right, who?” he snarled, desperate for the water.
“Are you looking for a woman?”
At the boy’s question, Tyler forgot his thirst completely. Who was this boy? And why would he ask a question like that?
“I don’t need to get laid, kid, so peddle your sister’s skirts somewhere else.”
With an impatient huff, the dark form stood. His head reached past Tyler’s shoulder, so he wasn’t short, but he didn’t look like there was much to him from what Tyler could see.
“Don’t play games with me, mister,” he hissed. “You know what I meant. Are you looking for Nicky Malloy?”
Nicky was good, but Tyler Calhoun was better. He’d tracked her to Hermano’s hideout and then had stupidly gotten himself strung up like a Christmas goose.
“What’s it to you? Is this Hermano’s latest trick?”
The dark figure shook i
ts head. “Hermano doesn’t know I’m here. Let’s just say that Nicky and I look out for each other. I need to know if Owen Hoffman is still sending bounty hunters after her. You sure look like a bounty hunter to me, and Hermano is convinced that’s who you are. So, I’m asking you again, are you looking for Nicky?”
Tyler weighed his options. If he said yes, would the kid let him go? Or would he let the banditos finish him off in the morning?
“Yeah, kid, I’m looking for Nicole Malloy. For nearly three months now.”
The boy let out a sigh that sounded desperately sad. “That’s what I thought.”
“You gonna let me go?”
“You’ve got to tell Hoffman that you couldn’t find her. Promise me that you’ll do that and I’ll cut you free,” came the boy’s ragged whisper.
Was he kidding? Did this boy actually believe that a bounty hunter would follow through with a promise made in the middle of the night to a faceless, nameless stranger? And how in the hell did he know who had hired him?
“I can’t promise you that, kid.”
The boy turned and took a few steps away. For a moment, Tyler thought he was going to keep walking.
“Your horse is over by the trees, saddled and ready. There’s some food, and you can have this water.” He dropped the skin to the dusty ground by Tyler’s feet.
The moonlight burst through the cloud as the boy stepped next to him. Tyler was completely captured by the young, agonized face illuminated by the moon. He would recognize it anywhere. The faded tintype he’d studied for the past three months didn’t do her justice. She was dressed as a man, with dirty cheeks and shapeless clothes, but it couldn’t hide her. It was Nicky. He leaned toward her to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating, but she stepped back quickly. The moonlight glinted off the knife, a well-used looking instrument, which sat comfortably in her hand. It had a beautiful pearl handle with intricate detailing. He wondered where she’d stolen it from.
“Nicole.”
Her eyes widened. “Don’t come looking for me.”
“You know I will.”
“You won’t find me, bounty hunter.”
“Yeah, that’s what they all say.”
His breath caught in his throat as the knife glided toward him. She turned to cut the leather strap binding Tyler’s right wrist. “You’ll have to free the other hand yourself.”
“Why are you letting me go?” He was completely flummoxed by her act of kindness.
“Human beings should never be bound, mister, pure and simple. I don’t want to see you die like a dog, even if you are a mangy bounty hunter.”
Before he realized what she was doing, she grabbed the back of his neck and kissed him hard. He tried to grab her, but all he caught was air. She moved quickly, like a shadow in darkness. She touched her fingers to her lips, then turned and disappeared into the darkness.
The woman outlaw he’d chased for three months had just kissed him, then saved his life. She knew he was going to continue to chase her until he caught her, yet she let him live.
What the hell?
Tyler stared after her for several minutes, before he shook himself mentally. He had to get his wrist untied and get his ass out of there as quickly as he could.
Life is cheap. So is death.
Maiden Lane
© 2011 Lynne Connolly
Richard and Rose, Book 7
With Rose expecting again, it should be a joyous time for her and Richard. Yet old enemies and new come out of the woodwork, seemingly intent on using whatever means possible to destroy their happiness. Not only is the legitimacy of their marriage called into question, a young man steps forward claiming to be a by-blow of Richard’s dark, wild past.
Closer to defeat than he has ever been, Richard musters all his friends and allies to defend against this attack on his own ground. However, no amount of incandescent lovemaking and tender care seems to keep Rose out of harm’s way.
Then a mutilated body turns up on their doorstep—and all fingers point at Richard. Rose has no choice but to emerge from his near-smothering concern to do what she must to save the love of her life. Even if she must appear to work against him.
As she lays her heart on the line, Richard fights to keep the violence that marks his past from claiming her life. For if he loses Rose, with her will go his humanity.
Warning: Rose gets her mad on, and Richard gets turned on. Contains married love, married sex and married fooling about. And pink coats with lace ruffles. And swords. And wicked goings-on.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Maiden Lane:
Warm, held close and safe, I opened my eyes. Sunlight streamed through the windows in our bedroom, sending a shaft of pure light across the patterned carpet. Morning already. I could tell without turning over that Richard was still asleep. His breath heated the space between my shoulder blades and one arm lay heavily around my waist. The baby, or babies, moved sluggishly inside me and then quieted down once more. For now, and to avoid complications, I thought of the child in the singular. For all I knew and despite my suspicions that I harboured more than one child, my larger size could simply be a larger baby.
I liked to feel the gentle movements. It reassured me my child was safe and well. It must be so tiny. My belly was swollen, but not greatly so, and much of that was the water he swam in, keeping him safe. I refused to think of the baby as “it”, and tended to apply a sex to the child arbitrarily, one day deciding on “he”, another on “she”.
I lay content, still dreamy, happy to count my blessings. Soon I would get up and visit my daughter upstairs in her nursery before going out shopping and socialising, while Richard visited the coffeehouses and the clubs, both of us collecting gossip, being seen, doing our jobs.
Sometimes I wished we could forget everything and spend the whole day in each other’s company, as we did sometimes in the country. I loved him now as much as I had when I met him, and I had full proof of his devotion to me. I accepted it now. He could have had anyone for his wife. He was the scion of one of the greatest houses of England, leader of fashion, accomplished, sophisticated but he chose me, shy, ordinary Rose Golightly, and helped me to gain all the confidence and assurance I needed to prove myself worthy of him and the position I’d married into. Underneath his sophisticated exterior he was all man, warm, loving, with as many self-doubts as anyone else, and he loved me.
I’d woken up this morning dreamily content. I wanted to stretch, but Richard was still asleep, and I would wake him if I did that. I could wait.
It was broad daylight, but early yet. The birds in the garden outside hadn’t yet subsided, the excitement of spring filling their tiny bones, urging them to go about their business. There were two large double windows in my bedroom, framed by the same dark gold silk that hung at the corners of the bed. Knowing Richard would spend more time here than in his own room, I’d chosen the colour to be flattering, but not too feminine. I wanted him to be comfortable in here. My husband might wear lilac, but he wore it over decisively male anatomy.
I thought of the heavy, stately furniture in Southwood House and sighed. So depressing to live in that mausoleum, as one day I would probably have to do.
A gentle kiss between my shoulder blades informed me he had woken. The weight of his arm on my waist lightened. He smoothed his hand over my stomach, pulling me closer, but I rolled on to my back.
We smiled at each other. Waking in the mornings constituted one of my favourite parts of the day.
“Good morning, my love.” I adored the light in his eyes when I used the endearment he so richly deserved.
“Good morning.” He kissed me, lingering over the greeting, gently caressing my lips with the tip of his tongue. When I returned the favour, he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding inside my mouth with languorous certainty. He lifted up on one elbow and moved his other hand to caress my breast. His cock hardened against my thigh, and I went closer, enjoying his protective warmth.
He broke the kiss and lifted his he
ad. “Every morning and every night I give thanks. If I’d married anyone else, I’d be waking up in my own bed, alone. But I have you.” He twined one hand in my hair, drawing me to him for another kiss. The other hand lay on my breast, caressing with an increased urgency that heated me, sent tingles through every part of my body. “And every morning I want you with the same desire as on the first. Something else to give thanks for.”
Small kisses on my jaw and my throat, his breath heated my collarbone, then his mouth replaced his hand on my breast, kissing, drawing on the tip, his tongue curling around my nipple, sending delicious thrills through to my groin. When he heard my “Ah!” of pleasure, he increased his efforts, moving to the other breast, his long, slender fingers delicately caressing the one he wasn’t kissing. He knew I had said yes, although not out loud. I didn’t need to.
His mouth followed his hand and he kissed the new line between my navel and the dark curls below. “Nice of it to show me the way,” his wicked voice muffled through the bedclothes covering him. I pulled them aside so I could watch him and reach my hand down to twine my fingers in his short, golden hair. He lifted his head and looked up at me, past the gentle swell of my belly and the heavy mounds of my breasts. His smile filled my soul. Never had blue eyes appeared so warm.
Propped up on one elbow, he gazed down at me, his free hand touching me, caressing me, and he inserted two fingers inside. I was wet enough to take him and he knew it, but he caressed, rotated his fingers and touched me so intimately I gasped in response.
“You want me,” he said softly.
“Yes. Oh yes, I want you, Richard, my love.” I caught another quick breath when he moved his hand again and sent sensations of rising excitement through my very heart. “How do you do it? Make me need you so much?”
“Years of dedicated practice,” he said, coming back up the bed after one particularly soul-wrenching twist of his hand. “But you—you are the culmination. I’ll never get over you. I never want to.”
Gideon: Devils on Horseback, Book 5 Page 21
