First Kisses: a Book+Main Bites anthology

by Book+Main Inc.

  “This hallway, madam, leads to my bedchamber.”

  His words were ice chips scattering through the air. She shrugged, and one of the sleeves of her gown slipped off her shoulder. Frustrated, she tugged it back into place.

  “You’re upset because I picked a room that happens to be next to yours?”

  Arms folded across his chest, the earl remained silent, his expression indicating he expected some sort of explanation from her. Completely at a loss as to what he wanted her to say, Victoria shrugged again. This time she was forced to pull both sleeves back up to her shoulders. She returned his glare, irritated they were arguing about what room she should be sleeping in when she could be soaking in a hot tub.

  “What?” she snapped. Dark eyebrows arched in a disdainful sneer, Nicholas pointedly slashed his gaze toward her bed then returned his derisive look to her face.

  “I have no intention of sleeping in your bed after all the lies between us, madam.” His cold declaration made Victoria’s mouth fall open before she narrowed her eyes at him.

  “Of all the arrogant, egotistical…I didn’t have any idea this room was next to yours. Not that I care, because I have no intention of sleeping with you either,” she snapped as her own anger flared. The man was crazy if he thought she was interested in sleeping with him. In the back of her mind she heard a cackling laugh. She ignored it.

  “Now this is the Vickie I’m accustomed to seeing.”

  Smug satisfaction crossed his face as he mocked her. Infuriated by his condescending tone, Victoria fought back the urge to respond with a scathing retort. If she got angry, she might say something that would get her locked up in that asylum. She whirled around to stalk back to the bathroom, stumbling over the hem of her gown as she did so.

  “Damn it,” she muttered as she regained her balance. She’d almost reached the bathroom when strong hands caught her arms, and she was tugged backward into a hard chest. Heat swept across her skin like wildfire then sank through her pores into her blood until it spread through every inch of her. Swallowing the knot about to close her throat, she tried to shake off his grip.

  “Let me go,” she said, her words clipped as she tugged against his grasp.

  “Why, Vickie?” he murmured. The warmth of his breath singed her earlobe. “Perhaps I should take advantage of our close proximity to each other. After all, you are my wife.”

  The caustic remark made her go still. Did he really expect her…with a violent twist of her body she freed herself from his grasp, tugging the straps of her sleeves back up to her shoulders. Her gaze met his, and heat skimmed over her skin once more as she stared up at him. God help her, the only smoldering looks she’d ever seen were in the movies, but this one outdid all of those. It took her thoughts in a dangerous direction. She gulped then drew in a deep breath.

  “You can wish all you want, but it’s not happening, because I’m not your wife,” she said as a huff of frustration blew past her lips. “And stop calling me Vickie.”

  “What exactly do you propose I call you?” he asked with more than a hint of sarcasm. She ignored his mockery.

  “Victoria. It’s my name.”

  “You hate being called Victoria. You think it makes you sound like a dowager countess,” he said coolly, but with a distinct note of confusion in his voice.

  “What your wife prefers, and what I prefer are two different things. I’ve never liked being called Vickie.”

  She lifted her chin in defiance, determined to make him use her real name. She’d hated being called Vickie all her life. It had always made her feel as if she’d done something wrong. Speculation darkened the eyes pinned on her before he nodded abruptly.

  “Very well. Victoria.”

  “Thank you,” she said. Surprise crossed his face, and she released a soft sniff of disbelief. “Let me guess, your wife never says thank you.”

  “I don’t believe it’s in your vocabulary…Victoria,” he said with a small smile that hinted he was baffled by her behavior.

  The moment he spoke her name, her skin tingled as if she’d just been shocked. There was a seductive quality to the deep timbre of his voice that made her heart race and released butterflies in her stomach. Even his green-eyed gaze made her heart jump in her chest. God help her if he decided to unleash the full force of his good looks and charm on her.

  “If thank you isn’t in your wife’s vocabulary, and I refuse to let you call me Vickie, how much of a leap is it to accept that I’m Victoria Ashton, not your countess?”

  “An impossible one.” The impassive, unyielding mask had returned to his face. “I admit your performance is quite remarkable, but I doubt I’ll ever be convinced you’re anyone other than my wife.”

  “What would it take to convince you?”

  The quiet sincerity and frustration in her voice seemed to touch a nerve in him. A strange look crossed his face, and he closed the distance between them. Victoria struggled to keep her pulse under control as his quizzical gaze warmed her skin. With a swift movement, he captured her chin in his strong fingers, his thumb tracing the fullness of her bottom lip. The unexpected caress made her quiver as her heart pounded a fierce rhythm inside her.

  “I wonder,” he murmured, almost as though speaking his thoughts aloud. Mesmerized by his hooded gaze, anticipation sent a delicious warmth racing through her body. She licked her lips and drew in a quick breath as the earl’s head descended toward her mouth.

  The instant his lips met hers, a wave of desire swept her out into the depths of a sea she’d never swum in before. Fire blazed its way through her limbs, and she trembled with an unexpected need.

  Base instinct took control as she returned his kiss, her tongue teasing his lips apart until it danced with his. The growl reverberating in his chest sent a frisson tingling through her as she pressed her body into his. God, her knees were actually rubbery from his kiss. None of the other men she’d dated had ever made her feel wobbly like this.

  Warm hands pushed the sleeves of her gown downward until she heard a soft ripping sound. The sleeves fell away from her arms, and the gown’s bodice fell to her waist. A low moan rose in her throat as his hand caressed the top of one shoulder before he wrapped his arms around her to pull her tight against him. Their kiss deepened as his tongue mated with hers in a furious dance of desire.

  Victoria murmured a protest as his lips slid away from hers to glide down the side of her neck to her shoulder. Lost in the fire of his touch, she didn’t realize he’d undone the laces of her corset until his mouth caught the tip of her breast in his mouth. She shuddered as he sucked on her nipple then gently bit down on it before swirling his hot tongue around the hard peak.

  An ache latched itself to her insides, and she realized she was wet between her thighs. The heat melting through her tugged another moan from her, and her hands slid through the black thickness of his hair. Oh God, she wanted him. She wanted him now. On the floor, on the bed, she didn’t care, as long as he eased the intense longing clutching the lower half of her body.

  He’d not changed out of his riding clothes, and her hand slid downward across his chest to his erection. It was hard and thick beneath his breeches. A dark rumble sounded in his throat as she stroked him through the fawn-colored material. Trembling with a frightening need for him, Victoria uttered a soft cry as a shudder rippled through her, and she recognized it for the small climax it was.

  If the man could make her have an orgasm with only a kiss, heaven help her when he actually entered her. Lost in the heated pleasure of the moment she vaguely heard the knock at the door. The knock sounded again, and with a sharp movement, Nicholas released her. Quickly stepping away from her, he tugged her corset and dress up before he issued an authoritative command to enter. As a young woman entered the room, Nicholas was already heading toward the connecting door between their room.

  “Molly, see to it that the countess is downstairs in the salon within the hour,” he ordered brusquely over his shoulder then disappeared from th
e room.

  Denied what her body craved, Victoria experienced a strong wave of disappointment. She immediately drew in a swift breath as she realized what had almost happened. Simply because everyone thought they were married didn’t make it right. The real countess could return at any moment. Sharp and abrupt, a dark certainty swept through her. The Countess of Guildford wasn’t coming back because the woman was dead.

  For more Bites by Monica Burns, visit her at https://bookandmainbites.com/MonicaBurns

  If you loved this Bite, read Forever Mine on Amazon or on iBooks

  About Monica Burns

  Monica Burns is a bestselling author of spicy historical, contemporary, and paranormal romance. She is also the winner of the 2015 Gold Medal International Book Award, 2016 IPPY Bronze for FOREVER MINE. At the age of nine, Monica displayed an aptitude for psychic abilities. It was then she wrote her first romance and signed it with the pseudonym she uses today—Monica Burns. She’s bought four houses based on her dreams and been within $500 of all sale/purchase prices. No she hasn’t been able to predict lottery numbers, although she sure wishes she could. Her historical book awards include the 2011 RT BookReviews Reviewers Choice Award and the 2012 Gayle Wilson Heart of Excellence Award for Pleasure Me. She is also the recipient of the prestigious paranormal romance award, the 2011 PRISM Best of the Best award for Assassin’s Heart. From the days when she hid her stories from her sisters to her first completed full-length manuscript, she always believed in her dream despite rejections and setbacks. Monica is a survivor, and it’s a topic she has become well versed in. A survivor of date rape at the age of 19, writing erotic romance has aided her in the life-long process of healing. Her writing has helped her reclaim some of her self-worth. A workaholic wife and mother, Monica is a survivor who believes every hero and heroine deserves a HEA (Happily Ever After), especially if she’s writing the story.

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  A Little Taste of Rebellion

  Sorcha Mowbray

  By the time the first strains of the final waltz sounded, Theo was certain her heart would explode. Caught between her earlier indignation and an inexplicable fear, she had to force her slippered feet to remain rooted to the parquet floor of the ballroom as Stonemere approached.

  “I believe the final waltz belongs to me, Lady Theodora.” He offered a stiff bow over her gloved hand and then tucked it into his arm as he escorted her to the dance floor.

  “Yes, my lord.” She hated the uncertain breathiness of her response. He turned her into his arms so his hand rested against her upper back, searing her flesh through the interminable layers of fabric. Without conscious thought, her spine stiffened and her nipples pebbled as they pressed against the confinement of her corset. Heat suffused her face, leaving her to wonder if her cheeks would be in a perpetual state of pinkness.

  Her partner studied her with an uncomfortable intensity. “Is anything amiss, my lady?”

  “No, not at all.” She uttered the shameless fib as she attempted to regain control of her physical and emotional reaction. Everything was wrong. She was betrothed to a man who was all but indifferent to whether or not she took her next breath, he had a scandalous reputation for being a Lustful Lord, had proved to be overbearing to an oppressive degree—and they had yet to even wed—and her body reacted to him in the most confounding fashion.

  “Well then. As you indicated earlier this evening that you had some interest in an outing or two so that we may have an opportunity to become better acquainted, I took the liberty of gaining your father’s permission to take you driving Sunday at five.”

  Why she should have been shocked was hard to say, but Theo ceased dancing in order to comprehend how utterly totalitarian her future husband appeared to be. Anchored in place by her sudden stop, he cursed as another couple crashed into them. “I beg your pardon, the lady seems to be feeling faint.”

  He then turned and dragged her from the dance floor. “My lord,” she hissed as he towed her to the closest balcony. “Stonemere!” she tried again, louder.

  The cool night air swept over her sweltering flesh, causing goose pimples to ripple over her skin. He hauled her around putting his back to the open doorway and pressed her crinoline-draped bottom against the balustrade. “Explain yourself.”

  Heavy hands rested on her upper arms, a most effective means of dashing any hope that she might escape. Inner turmoil wreaked havoc with the frayed threads of her ability to reason, which in turn made forming a response impossible. “I-I…”

  When had she developed a stutter? This man infuriated her. He ran roughshod over her and all her plans. He made her pulse race and her body flash hot and cold, with little rhyme or reason. How could she ever marry him?

  “Please, explain whatever the issue is that drove you to a complete stop in the middle of a ballroom.” His eyes were lost in the shadows even as the lights of the soiree illuminated him from behind.

  Her anger surged to the fore. Very well, if he wanted to know she would be happy to oblige. “You, sir, are intolerable.”

  His eyebrows shot up, and could his lip have quivered?

  “Please elaborate.” His neutral tone slashed at the frazzled edges of her temper.

  She drew herself up to her full five-foot-seven-inch stature. She had never considered herself a shrewish woman, but this man pushed beyond all bounds of reason. Social niceties be damned! “You are an insufferable, pompous, overbearing lout. I shall not be bullied into showing you my ledgers, nor into taking a drive with you at your whim. I may be female, but I have both the intelligence to manage my investments and a schedule to keep.” In a huff, she pushed his shoulder and attempted to break his hold to make good her escape.

  Stone was so stunned by the previously shy and remote woman’s sudden and thorough about-face that he bloody near let her slip away. Instead, he reached out and clasped her wrist in his hand. All momentum lost, she came to a halt but refused to turn and face him. Was this brazenness what he had sensed earlier beneath her typical bland façade? Her defiance sparked his interest as nothing else could have. “We are not quite finished, Lady Theodora. Do stay a moment more.”

  Rebellion was familiar territory for him, a known quantity. And hers was easily controlled. Without relinquishing his hold on her, he circled around to further block her escape. His gaze snared hers as surprise, or perhaps wariness, caused her eyes to widen and her breath to grow choppy. As her breasts heaved against her bodice in protest, he took a step toward her. She countered his advance and retreated to maintain the space between them.

  With each step, the shadows slowly swallowed them until they were as good as alone. Pressed once again to the balustrade, she had nowhere else to go. He stopped with little more than a sliver of air between them. In some places, her gown eliminated the space altogether.

  “My lord, what are you about?” Her voice trembled, betraying her uncertainty.

  “I have done nothing but seek to ensure you are well cared for and to accede to your wishes.” The soft puffs of her mint-laced breath teased his skin and caused his nostrils to flare as though seeking more of her sweet scent. The reins of his control drew tight. Damn women and their fastidious ways. “I am curious about your business dealings—intrigued by the notion of a woman in business, particularly a lady—and wish to see how you’ve fared. If there is nothing amiss, I plan to let you continue as you see fit.”

  “Oh.” The lack of trust evident in her stilted gaze cut him to the quick, though he knew the reaction to be outright ridiculous. When had he become such a nodcock?

  “As for the outing, we have so little time, I assumed an expedient result was desired. I am, after all, a decisive man. It comes from long years of military training.” There, a reminder for them both that he was th
e one in command.

  Her gaze dipped. “My apologies, my lord.”

  Her acquiescence, simple and elegant as it was after such fiery defiance, ignited a conflagration of need deep within his loins that obliterated rational thought, along with the infinitesimal kernel of concern for propriety that he had heretofore retained. Without warning, the reins of his control slipped from his fingers like the fog wafting across a battlefield. Without hesitation, he hauled her into his arms and pressed his lips to hers.

  The softness of her breasts pressed against his chest, the zing of citrus and roses teased his nose, and the sweetness of mint from her lips all conspired to inflame him. His cock hardened, though her skirts shielded his evident interest. His tongue drove past her lips to tangle with hers. He explored the warm recesses of her mouth as she clung to him. A soft whimper escaped her when he pulled back to nibble on her plump lower lip.

  Without warning, something akin to interest rushed through him in a startling flood. An inexplicable need to sink into her body, command her responses, and have her at his mercy rocked him. He broke from her heat and stepped back even as his breath heaved.

  Fresh air swept through the desire-induced haze and cleared his head. Another deep inhale allowed him to slow his heartbeat. And a third gulp restored some semblance of his discipline. He fisted the reins of his control once more as his heart pounded a steady tattoo in his chest. What might have come next had he continued to kiss her? This woman could only be described as a detriment to his wellbeing.

  “Stonemere?” The sound of his name on her lips threatened his tenuous grip. She must think him a candidate for bedlam with his wild swings in behavior.