Sinful Rewards 1
Page 9
He turned before she could read his expression and then sat down on the sofa, affording her a view of the top of his head. “I know nothing of broken hearts, or their mending.”
“Pity,” she said, distracted by the dark silken locks that unexpectedly brushed her fingers. “Neither do I.”
However accidental the touch of his hair had been, now her fingers threaded through the fine strands with untamed curiosity and blatant disregard for propriety.
Lord Knightswold let his head fall back, permitting—perhaps even encouraging—her to continue. She did, without thought to right, wrong, who he was, or who she was supposed to be. Running both hands through his hair, massaging his scalp, she watched his eyes drift closed.
Then, Merribeth Wakefield did something she never intended to do.
She kissed a rake.
An Excerpt from
INTOXICATED
A Billionaire Bachelors Club Novella
by Monica Murphy
It’s Gage and Marina’s wedding day, but wedded bliss seems a long way off: Ivy’s just gone into labor, Marina’s missing her matron of honor, and Bryn’s giving Matt the silent treatment. It’s up to Archer, Gage, and Matt to make sure this day goes off without a hitch. But between brides and babies, there’s the not-so-little issue of the million-dollar bet to attend to. If only they can figure out who won . . . and who’s paying up. Is everyone a winner? Or will someone leave broke—and brokenhearted?
Gage
I’m a freaking mess.
“Calm down, dude,” Matt whispers out of the side of his mouth. We’re standing so close our shoulders are practically touching. Wonder whether he’d catch me if I fell. “You look like you’re gonna drop.”
“I feel like I’m gonna drop,” I tell him, sounding like an idiot but not really caring. He’s my new best man, so I need him to step it up. If I pass out, it’s on him.
“Your girl is going to make her appearance at any minute.” Matt nods toward the beginning of the aisle, where no one stands. Where are the girls? We already made our walk down the aisle, Matt taking Marina’s mom to her seat, me leading my mother.
“Hope she shows up soon,” I mutter, meaning it. I feel antsy. My suit is too tight. My throat is dry. I’m dying for a drink. Preferably booze.
Probably not a good idea.
The flower girl suddenly struts down the aisle, cute as can be in a white lacy gown. Louisa is one of Marina’s cousins. She has about a bazillion of them.
Almost all of them are sitting in the crowd, watching me. Probably pissed because Marina and I both agreed that we didn’t want a huge, ridiculous wedding party. We blew their chance to wear bridesmaids’ gowns.
Then Bryn appears, a freaking vision in pale yellow. She walks down the aisle slowly, a coy smile on her face as she shoots me a glance, then trains her gaze on Matt. As her smile disappears, her eyes widen, and I look at Matt, who’s staring at Bryn like she’s the most beautiful creature he’s ever seen in his life.
Poor dude is straight up in love with Bryn. Like, a complete and total goner. I get what he’s feeling.
The music fades, and a new song starts, a low, melodic tune played to perfection by the small group of musicians set up off to the right. I straighten my spine, clasp my hands behind my back as I wait for my bride to make her appearance.
And then . . . there she is. Her arm curls around her father’s, he looking respectably intimidating in his tuxedo. A frothy veil covers her face, and the skirt of her gown is wide, nearly as wide as the aisle they’re walking down.
Tears threaten, and I blink once. Hard. Damn it, I’m not going to cry. I’m happy, not sad. But I’m also overwhelmed, filled with love for this woman who’s about to become my partner in life.
They approach and stop just before us, turning to each other so her father can lift the veil, revealing her face to me for the first time. He leans in and kisses her cheek as the minister asks who gives this woman to this man, just as we rehearsed yesterday. Her father says, I do, his deep voice a little shaky and my sympathy goes out to him.
I’m still feeling pretty shaky myself.
Marina steps up to stand beside me and I take her hand, unable to stop from leaning in and brushing a quick kiss against her cheek. “You look beautiful,” I murmur, my voice just as unsteady as her dad’s.
But I don’t care. I have no shame. I’m getting married, damn it. I’m allowed to cry. To smile. To laugh. I’m making this woman mine.
Forever.
An Excerpt from
ONCE UPON A HIGHLAND AUTUMN
by Lecia Cornwall
Legends say a curse lurks among the shattered stones of Glen Dorian Castle. Will the love that is beginning to grow between Megan and Kit be able to withstand fate? For only the living, those with bold hearts and true love, can restore peace to Glen Dorian at last.
Megan scanned the valley once more and ignored her sister. “I’m just saying goodbye to Glenlorne. At least for now.”
“Better to say farewell to people than places,” Sorcha said. “I’ve already been to the village, telling folk I’ll be back come spring.” She grinned mischievously at her sister. “You won’t, though—you’ll be in London, bothered by the attentions of all those daft English lairds at your first Season.”
Megan felt a rush of irritation. “Lords, Sorcha, not lairds—and stop teasing,” she commanded, and flounced down the steep path that led back to the castle.
Sorcha picked a flower and skipped beside her sister like a mountain goat. One by one, she plucked at the petals. “How many English lords will Megan McNabb kiss?” she asked, dancing around her sister. “One . . . two . . . three . . .”
“Stop it,” Megan said, and snatched the flower away. She wouldn’t kiss anyone but Eachann. But her sister picked another flower.
“How many English lords will come and ask Alec for Meggy’s delicate hand in marriage?” she mused, but Megan snatched that blossom too, before Sorcha could begin counting again.
“I shan’t go to London, and I will never marry an English lord,” she said fiercely.
“We’ll see what mama says to that,” Sorcha replied. “And Muira would say never is a very long time indeed.”
Megan stopped. “What exactly did Muira say?” she asked. Old Muira had the sight, or so it was said.
Sorcha grinned like a pirate and rubbed a dusty hand over her face, leaving a dark smudge. “I thought you didn’t believe in the old ways.”
Megan rolled her eyes, let her gaze travel up the smooth green slopes of the hills to their rocky crests, and thought of the legends and tales, the old stories, the belief that magic made its home in the glen.
Of course she believed.
She believed so much that she’d decided to become the keeper of the old tales when Glenlorne’s ancient seannachaidh had died the previous winter without leaving a successor. She loved to hear the old stories, and she planned to write them down so they’d never be lost. But for now, in Sorcha’s annoying company, she raised her chin. Now was hardly the time to be fanciful. “Of course I don’t believe in magic. I think being sensible is far more likely to get you what you want—not counting flower petals or relying on the seeings of an old woman.”
“Muira foresaw an Englishman, and a treasure,” Sorcha said, not deterred one whit by talk of sense. “Right there in the smoke of the fire, clear as day.”
Megan felt her mouth dry. “For me?” she asked through stiff lips.
“She didn’t know that. For one of us, surely.”
Megan let out a sigh of relief. Perhaps she was safe. If only Muira had seen Eachann, riding home, his heart light, his purse heavy, with a fine gold ring in his pocket. “That’s the trouble with Muira’s premonitions. She sees things but can’t say what they mean.”
“Still, a treasure would be nice,” Sorcha chirped. “A chest of gold, or a cache of pearls and rubies—”
“Not if it comes with an Englishman attached,” Megan mu
ttered.
An Excerpt from
THE GUNSLINGER
by Lorraine Heath
(A version of this work originally appeared in the print anthology To Tame a Texan, under the title “Long Stretch of Lonesome”)
Chance Wilder never wanted to be a hero. That is, until a young boy offers Chance everything he owns to rescue his sister from a couple of thugs. But after he saves her, Lillian Madison awakens in him long-buried dreams and possibilities. Facing the demons of his past, Chance is forced to question his next move. Dare he risk everything by following his heart . . . and trust that the road to redemption begins with Lillian?
“Why do you want me in the house?”
“As payment,” she blurted, the heat flaming her face. “Payment for your kindness to Toby . . . and for saving me. I hate that you killed the man—” Tears burned the backs of her eyes. She despised the weakness that made her sink to the porch. She wrapped her arms around herself and rocked back and forth, memories of the glittering lust and hatred burning in Wade’s eyes assailing her. “He was going . . . going to . . . no one would have stopped him.”
Strong arms embraced her, and she pressed her head against the warm, sturdy chest. She heard the constant thudding of his heart.
“No one wants you here. Why don’t you leave?” he asked in a low rumble.
She shook her head. “This place was the only gift Jack Ward ever gave me. It’s special to me.”
“You loved him?” he asked quietly.
She nodded her head jerkily. “I shouldn’t have. God knows I should have despised him, but I could never bring myself to hate him. Even now, when his gift brings me such pain, I can’t overlook the fact that he gave it to me out of love.”
“Have you ever talked with John Ward, tried to settle the differences?”
“No. John came here one night with an army of men. He told me to pack up and get, then threatened to kill me as a trespasser if I ever set foot on his land. Delivered his message and rode out. Makes it hard to reason with a man when you can’t get near him.”
“It’s even harder to reason with him if he’s dead.”
Lillian’s heart slammed against her ribs. Trembling, she clutched Wilder’s shirt and lifted her gaze to his, trying to see into the depths of his silver eyes. But his eyes were only shadows hidden by the night. His embrace was steady, secure, his hands slowly trailing up and down her back. “Promise me you won’t kill him,” she demanded.
A silence stretched between them, as though he was weighing the promise against the offer that he’d cloaked as a simple statement. “If he’s dead, you and the boy will be safe.”
She tightened her fingers around his shirt and gave him a small shake. “I don’t want the blood of Jack Ward’s son on my hands. Give me your word that you won’t kill him.”
His hands stilled. “What are you willing to pay me to keep me from killing him?”
Her stomach knotted, and her chest ached with a tightness that threatened to suffocate her. Even though she couldn’t see it clearly, she felt the intensity of his perusal. She had no money, nothing to offer him—nothing to offer a killer except herself. And she knew he was aware of that fact.
Had she actually begun to feel sympathy for this man whose solitary life gave him no roots, allowed him no love? He was worse than Wade because at least Wade had barreled into her, announcing loudly and clearly what he wanted of her. The killer wanted the same thing, but he’d lured her into caring for him and trusting him, catching her heart unawares.
The pain of betrayal ripped through her, and she thought she might actually understand why one man would kill another. Tiny shudders coursed through her body, and tears stung her eyes as she answered hoarsely, “Anything.”
Beneath her clutched hand, his heart increased its tempo, pounding harder and faster. He cradled her face between his powerful hands. “Anything?” he whispered. “Even if I want all a woman can offer?”
She nodded jerkily. “I don’t want John Ward killed.” How could she warn the man when approaching him meant her certain death?
Wilder leaned closer to her. His warm breath fanned her face. He shifted his thumbs and gently stroked the corners of her mouth. “Give you my word that I’ll let the bastard live.”
He pressed his mouth to hers, demanding, claiming all that she’d offered to willingly pay: her body, her heart, her soul. She could not give one without giving the others.
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Excerpt from White Collared Part One: Mercy copyright © 2014 by Shelly Bell.
Excerpt from Winning Miss Wakefield copyright © 2014 by Vivienne Lorret.
Excerpt from Intoxicated copyright © 2014 by Monica Murphy.
Excerpt from Once Upon a Highland Autumn copyright © 2014 by Lecia Cotton Cornwall.
Excerpt from The Gunslinger copyright © 1999, 2014 by Jan Nowasky. A shorter version of this work was originally published under the title “Long Stretch of Lonesome” in the anthology To Tame a Texan.
SINFUL REWARDS 1. Copyright © 2014 by Cynthia Sax. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition JULY 2014 ISBN: 9780062354105
Print Edition ISBN: 9780062354112
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