Sunday, 18 June 2017

The very nicest rake in France and England

For charm - and kindness, Arnaut has no equal.

The Paperback edition of  The Rake And His Honour  is now available at this link

In the window embrasure near the door of the boudoir, Arnaut was waiting. He turned to watch her approach, his smile growing wider as she came near. It was like being a fish on a hook. In spite of all her warnings to herself, she could not resist those gleaming almond eyes, that charming smile. You must not, her mind screamed, but her heart screamed back, Just this once.... Fool, fool! her mind warned even as she quickened her step.
‘Alone at last,’ he breathed, seizing her hand and turning it over to press a kiss on her wrist. The last shreds of her common sense vanished at the sensations this caused. To hide her hurried breathing, she made a show of turning him towards the window. Taking his right hand, she examined it thoroughly. The puckered scars were paling but still very obvious. She shook her head sadly. ‘I fear you will carry these marks always.’
His mouth curved in a grin. ‘No matter, it still works properly.’ He reached the scarred hand up to stroke her hair. ‘See?’ His face softened as his dark eyes dropped from hers to focus on her mouth. He glanced quickly up again then slipped his free hand to the back of her neck, drawing her closer. The fragrance of his cologne added to the sensory pleasure of his touch and the caressing murmur of his voice. She was lost. Her breathing quickened and a quiver ran through her. She clutched at the lapel of his jacket.
He angled his head. His lips were about to touch hers when there came the pounding of feet on the stairs.