“Come with me,” she said.
He did. He shot his release into her, feeling the pleasure rip through him all the way from his balls to the tip of his toes. When their aftershocks had passed, he cupped her face and kissed her deep.
“Tell me again,” he said, “that this is real.”
“This is real.”
“Tell me again, that this is forever.”
“I’m never leaving you, Jacob.”
He closed his eyes and savored the words. “I’m glad I found you, Lily.”
“So am I.”
His arms went around her. “That’s good, sweetheart, because I’m never letting go.”
She lifted a cocky brow. “Are you sure? I’m dangerous to be around.”
“Yes. Yes, you are.” He moved closer, their lips almost touching. “Very, very dangerous,” he said in a low voice.
She squealed when he flipped her over. He wasn’t done with her yet. He had a lot of loving to make up for. It was going to take just about the rest of his life, and forever and another day.
Now available
Pyromancist
(Book 1, Seven Forbidden Arts)
At the same time as mysterious fires commence to rage through Clelia d’Ambois’ home village in Brittany, France, she starts sleepwalking. Daughter of a Japanese orphan, Clelia’s heritage is riddled with dark secrets that threaten anyone she loves. In a recurring nightmare she sees Josselin, the haunted man who abandoned their village nine years earlier, come for her, but she doesn’t know why. All she knows is that she has to run. As fast as she can.
Leader of a paranormal crime taskforce, Josselin de Arradon is called back to his hometown with a mission–find and kill the firestarter responsible for Larmor-Baden’s blazing destruction. Sensing that Clelia is the key to solving the crime, Josselin kidnaps her to use her as bait. The battle doesn’t turn out quite as he expected. Nothing could have prepared him for the truth, or the depth of his desire for his prisoner.
This is Book 1 of the Seven Forbidden Arts series, but also reads as a standalone. There are no cliffhangers. It follows the prequel, Loving the Enemy.
* This book contains adult content with explicit language and consummated love scenes. Reader discretion is advised.
Excerpt:
Josselin had only spoken to her once. It was on a summer day after school. She had wandered to the dense forest at the back of the schoolyard because she knew that was where she would find him. She stood behind a tree and watched him–studied him–the movement of his hand as he smoked a forbidden cigarette, the manner in which he pulled his fingers through his dark hair, and the way he laughed loudly into his gang of friends, even if his eyes cried, or blazed.
That day, however, he wasn’t with his friends. He was with a girl. Her name was Thiphaine and she was the most popular girl in school. She was blonde and slim and beautiful with blue eyes and red painted fingernails. Clelia watched from her hiding place as Josselin slowly backed Thiphaine up until her body pressed against the trunk of the witch tree. It was a thuja occidentalis but the townsfolk had baptized it so because of its twisted and crippled branches. The setting was eerie for a romantic adventure, and yet, it suited Josselin. He seemed right at home, while Thiphaine looked around nervously. His hand went to her cheek, his palm huge and dark and rough against the porcelain paleness of Thiphaine’s face, while his other hand slipped under her blouse. His gray eyes looked like melted steel when he lowered his head.
His shoulder-length black hair fell forward when he pressed his lips to Thiphaine’s and he moved his hand from her cheek to brush it back behind his ear. Clelia remembered the deliberate movement of his jaw, the way the muscles dimpled in his cheek, the hand under Thiphaine’s blouse, all the while maintaining his composure while Thiphaine came undone under his caress. The beautiful girl made low moaning sounds. Her knees buckled, but Josselin, without breaking the kiss, grabbed her waist, pulling her so tightly into him that her back arched, keeping her up with his arm while he made her weak with his touch and his tongue.
Watching them ignited both yearning and pain inside of Clelia. The hurt she felt speared her heart. The aching in her soul was suddenly greater than the heat in her pores and on her cheeks, but she couldn’t tear her stare away from the forbidden sight. It was Iwig, a boy from her class, who broke the painful spell when he discovered her behind the tree.
“What have we here?” he said.
His eyes darted to the distance where Josselin and Thiphaine were embracing. He knew what she had been doing. He was a tall, blond boy with a strong build, and Clelia disliked him for his habit of hunting abandoned cats with his pellet gun.
“A peeping tom,” he said, taking a step toward her.
When she tried to back away, he grabbed her long braid and tugged it painfully, causing her to yelp.
“Not so fast, witch.” He grabbed her arm and hauled her so that she stumbled into him. “You like to watch, don’t you?” He grinned. “How about a taste of the real thing?”
She opened her mouth to scream, but he had already brought his down and kissed her so hard that his teeth split her lower lip. In reflex her free hand shot up, aiming for his cheek, and collided with its target. The force of the blow shot Iwig’s head back and froze him in his action, but only for a second, before Clelia saw his arm lift. Not able to free herself from his grip, she cowered instinctively, but instead of his fist coming down on her, another pair of arms grabbed Iwig by his shoulders and flung him to the ground.
When she looked up, she stared into the face of Josselin, and what she saw was frightening. His features were twisted into a terrifying expression, and before she could say anything, Josselin bent down and lifted Iwig by his jacket lapels. Iwig’s legs dangled, flapping like fish on soil, while his arms flayed in the air as if swatting flies. Josselin let go of one side of the jacket, his fist arching and hooking under Iwig’s chin, while at the same time unknotting his other hand from the fabric of the jacket. The impact sent Iwig flying through the air. When he hit the ground, she could hear the loud thump as the air was knocked from his lungs. Josselin moved forward, his arms away from his body, his fingers flexing, his shoulders pushed forward, until he stood wide-legged over the submissive body of Iwig. Iwig lifted his hands in front of his face, mumbling pleas for mercy.
“If you ever touch a girl in that way again, I’ll hang you from a tree under a pack of wild boars and watch them eat you from your feet up to your useless dick, until they rip your stomach open and your insides fall out and you beg me to die,” Josselin said.
He spoke very softly, but the woods had suddenly gone quiet. His voice all but echoed in the absence of the sound of birds and wind. From the corner of her eye, Clelia noticed Thiphaine who stood to the side, hugging herself.
“And if you ever lift your hand to a woman again, I’ll cut off your balls and make you eat them and then I’ll feed you to the boars. Do you understand?”
Iwig tried to scurry away on his elbows, but Josselin stepped on his jacket.
“I asked if you understand.”
“Yes. Yes,” Iwig said. He had started crying.
When Josselin lifted his boot, Iwig scrambled to his feet. He didn’t look at Clelia before he ran down the path in the direction of the school. Only then did Josselin turn to her. She shook from head to toe while Josselin studied her quietly. After a moment he walked to her, took her chin in his hand and tilted her head.
“You’re bleeding,” he said, trailing his thumb over her lower lip.
And then he did something that shocked her wildly. He brought his thumb to his lips, slowly, his gray eyes holding hers while he slipped his finger into his mouth and licked it clean, tasting her blood.
Clelia couldn’t move. She stood still, unable to speak or blink.
He took a white handkerchief from his coat pocket and wiped it over her mouth before pressing it into her hand.
“He won’t bother you again, but you’d better go home.”
>
She only nodded. He was much taller than her, so that she had to crane her neck to look up at him. He shifted and then his face was obscured by the shadows with the sun at his back. She remembered wondering if he had forgotten about Thiphaine, who still stood to one side, silently observing, her eyes wide. Clelia looked from Thiphaine to Josselin. When life finally returned to her legs and she started to hurry down the path, he said, “What’s your name, girl?”
She stopped. “Cle … Cle…” Her teeth chattered.
He frowned. “Take a deep breath. You’re in shock.”
She did as he instructed, and found her jaw relax slightly.
“That’s better. Now, tell me again.”
“Clelia.”
His lips twitched. “The witch?”
She flinched. That was what her classmates called her.
He didn’t show any kind of emotion. Only his smile became a little bit more pronounced. “How old are you?”
“Fourteen,” she said through parched lips.
“You’re too young to wander alone in the woods.”
When he said that, his voice became soft and dark again, like when he had spoken to Iwig, and without sparing either of the lovers another glance, Clelia sprinted home and curled into a ball on her bed with his bloody handkerchief in her hand.
Pyromancist is available from all leading internet book retailers.
Buy on Amazon.com: http://bit.ly/pyromancist
Coming in May 2015
Aeromancist, The Beginning
(Prequel to Book 2, Seven Forbidden Arts)
All he could offer was thirty days of passion.
He condemned her to an unimaginable fate instead.
Now he’ll do everything in his power to save her.
He is known as the Weatherman. Lann Dréan is the last of his kind. A price on his head, chased for a power he should not possess, all he can offer Katherine White is thirty days of passion. But his uncontainable desire comes with an unforeseen cost – at the end of their thirty-day contract, Lann learns that his lust will cost Kat everything. Now he will do all he can to save her from the fate he has brought upon her.
* This novella of 46 000 words contains adult content with explicit language and frequent, consummated love scenes, including light bondage, sex toys and breath play. Reader discretion is advised. This is a prequel to Book 2 and contains a cliffhanger.
Excerpt:
She knew where this was going and she couldn’t do it. Lann was a keeper, but he didn’t keep. She knew it from the gossip snippets, but also from intuition. She got up abruptly. “It’s getting late.”
“Of course.”
He immediately pushed back his chair. His compliance both surprised and disappointed her, and the latter sentiment scared her. But Lann acted oblivious to her turmoil. He took her hand and led her down the dimly lit hallway past the garden that was dark now, except for two spotlights that cast the trees and shrubs in a veil of green light. Every part of her body was aware of his strong fingers folding around hers. Her nerve endings came alive, making her skin tingle with an electric crackle. Even if she wanted nothing more than to escape the disturbing sensations, pulling away would only demonstrate that she was affected, so she did nothing but to experience it in silence.
At the library door he stopped, took a key from his pocket and unlocked the door.
“What are you doing?” she said.
“I want to show you my library.”
“I’ve had the tour.”
“But not by me.”
He ushered her inside until she stood in the center of the room. During the day the broad windows let in plenty of natural light, but now they were dark, and the dim ceiling spots cast the wood in a warm glow that washed over her with the welcome scent of the ink and leather. Lann flicked on the light, and, as always, she looked at the spines with the embossed gold titles in awe.
He led her to the back of the room where the most fragile books were displayed in a glass cabinet, and surprised her by unlocking the door with a cylinder key from his keychain.
“Would you like to touch them?” he said very softly, close to her ear.
She put a bit of distance between them and dared to glance at him. “You’d let me?”
He opened a drawer under the cabinet and pulled out a box of white gloves.
“Here.” He handed her a pair.
She started to pull them on, but her hands were shaking and she battled to fit her fingers in the holes. Suddenly, his hands were on hers, finishing the task with sure, strong movements.
“Thank you,” she mumbled, trying to appear casual.
“Old verses about magic. One of my favorites.” He placed her palm on the page, his big hand covering her gloved one. Her heart and breath started to do funny things. Kat should have only wanted to lift the book from the padded interior, to turn the pages, to hear the crackling of the paper, but all she could focus on was the tall Russian who manipulated her hand, working her fingers to gently turn the pages. Her body felt hot, her mind fuzzy.
“Why the interest in old books?” she said in an attempt to steer her thoughts away from this touch.
He gripped her chin and turned her face toward him. “Do you always talk your way out of situations you feel uncomfortable in?”
Her eyes widened at his arrogance. And at the truth of his observation. She opened her mouth but found no words of defiance.
Thankfully, Lann let her off the hook by dropping the subject. For a while they looked at the books in silence, Lann waiting patiently until she had had her fill.
When she returned the gloves, he left them in a basket on the side, and said, “Come. I want to show you something.”
“There’s more?”
She followed him to a narrow staircase in the corner. At the bottom he turned to give her a smile, a gesture that almost seemed encouraging.
“What’s up there?”
“My den.”
She couldn’t help but be curious. He led the way to the top level where a landing broad enough to walk on ran around the shelves. There was a door in the corner. As she waited for Lann to unlock it, she took everything in–the smell of the books, the way the wood glimmered in the dim light, the feeling of being Alice in Wonderland, about to pass through a secret door. It was so low even Kat had to bend to pass through it. It made her expect something small, maybe a tiny storeroom with more books, but it was a big, comfortable room with a slanted ceiling and a skylight through which she could see the stars. The walls were covered with wooden panels and lined with shelves full of books. It was fitted with an oversized desk, a leather sofa and a wrought iron four-poster bed. The carpet was a rich burgundy color and the bed linen deep shades of red. Cushions were scattered everywhere, even on the floor. It looked like the perfect place to read. A den, just as he had said.
She smiled. “This is cozy.”
“It’s the vault. It’s fireproof, so this is where I keep the most precious books.”
She looked at the skylight. “Even with that?”
“It’s fitted with a metal shutter that closes automatically in case of a fire.”
Her eyes flittered to the bed. “You sleep here?”
“No, I don’t sleep here. Sometimes I read here, until late, but that’s what the sofa is for. The bed is for making love.”
Her insides scrambled like broken eggs. Her body flushed. He had stepped up to her, standing close to her now. If she took a deep breath, her breasts would touch his chest. She shook her head, making her curls tumble over her shoulders. “Why are you showing me this?”
“Why do you think?” he said softly.
She stood very still, aware of the silence stretching between them, until he lifted his hand, and with one finger gently traced the curve of her breast.
Kat took a step back. “I have to go.”
He tilted his head. “But do you want to?”
“Yes,” she said, battling to find her voice.
“I don’
t think you do.”
“How would you know?” She failed miserably at sounding annoyed. Instead, her sentence broke off on a needy croak.
“Your breathing is shallower.” He took her hand in his. “Your palms are sweaty.” His eyes lowered to her breasts. “And there are other signs.”
She gasped in horror, because he was right. “Shock provokes the same symptoms.”
“Whether it’s shock or need, the pleasure I’d give you would be no less intense.”
She turned on her heel and hurried down the stairs to the exit, eager to escape into the dark, cool night. She ran into the garden until she stood in front of the statue of Saint Teresa.
Lann followed her outside, but he did so in his own sweet time, leaving her alone for at least a minute to calm down, or maybe to sweat it out. When he stopped short of her, she took a step back.
He frowned at her. “I never force, Katherine.”
His proximity was disturbing. “I’m going home, Lann.”
He seemed to consider it for a while. “Give me one good reason why you won’t stay.”
“For starters, I’m serious about my studies. I’ve worked hard to get where I am. I don’t have time for relationships or casual flings.”
He nodded. “We can work around that.”
“No,” she said firmly, “we won’t work around anything. Thank you for dinner. I’m leaving now.”
“Alright,” he said, “I’ll tell my driver to take you home.”
The fact that he gave in so easily should have had her sighing with relief. Instead, it scared her.
To be notified when Aeromancist, The Beginning is released, join Charmaine’s mailing list:
charmainepauls.com/subscribe
About the Author
Charmaine Pauls was born in Bloemfontein, South Africa. She obtained a masters degree in Communication at the University of Potchefstroom, and followed a diverse career path in journalism, public relations, advertising, communications, photography, graphic design, and brand marketing. Her writing has always been an integral part of her professions.
Loving the Enemy (Seven Forbidden Arts Book 0) Page 23
