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Prologue

What is it about the tease that’s so hot?

You know what I’m talking about. That tingle you get between your thighs when someone exciting catches your eye, or when you catch his. The lingering looks, the hair toss, the silent communication. That time when your blood heats up and your body awakens as you feel the magic of ‘what if?’

It’s almost ‘ intoxicating.

I used to flirt a lot. Men used to flirt with me. Then I got married. I haven’t gained weight or let myself go, but somehow, I’ve changed. I know it, and they know it. I think it’s because the chase is over. The magic of flirting, the heightened awareness that arcs between two people, the building of anticipation’ it’s gone.

And I don’t know exactly when, or how, it disappeared.

The sad thing is, it also seems to have disappeared between my husband and me.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I love my husband. Grant is still very attractive in every way, and leaving him has never occurred to me. I’d never cheat on him, either.

Yet, I can’t deny that a certain restlessness has been building in me for some time.

Chapter One

The bed shifted beneath me, and my hand stretched out over the cotton, seeking warm flesh. When I found only empty space, my eyes cracked open and I saw Grant’s muscular back as he perched on the edge of the bed, running his hands through his thick dark hair.

Inching closer, I reached out and stroked my hand over those delicious muscles, all the way down to the small of his back. The sigh that broke the early morning silence as my fingers ran through the fine dusting of hair there was soft.

My body warmed, waking up slowly. With a lazy touch, I walked my hand around his waist, heading for that morning hard on that could be used to really wake me up and start my Monday off right. But as I reached him, the alarm clock sounded off and Grant smacked it.

He flopped back onto the bed and wrapped his arms around me. Soft lips touched my forehead in a loving kiss before he spoke regretfully, ‘Sorry, babe. I’ve got a big meeting, and I can’t be late.’

He gently rubbed his stubbled cheek against my jaw before pressing his mouth to mine. His tongue darted out for a quick swipe across my lips and I parted them, eager to take things further.

With a tortured groan and a sharp pat on my backside, he stood up and went down the hall to the bathroom. I tried not to think about it, tried not to let my body’s disappointment invade my brain. Instead, when I heard the shower come on, I rolled over and went back to sleep.

Fresh from the shower and, wrapped in a silk kimono style gown fresh from the shower, I strolled into the bedroom with coffee cup in hand. Ugh! Monday mornings were never my favorite. Mornings in general were hell, but Mondays were the worst. Which is why I liked my job at the boutique so much. As manager, I didn’t need to be in the store until ten and that gave me the extra time to become human before facing the public.

Only one thing really wakes me up with a smile on my face, and that’s morning wake up sex. I’d tried to get Grant into it that morning, but he hadn’t been interested. It sort of felt that way a lot lately. Like I was a little kid trying to get attention from her favorite teacher.

I stepped back from the mirror and studied my reflection. Married almost four years and still looking good. I hadn’t gained any weight, and I certainly didn’t look thirty-four years old, so that wasn’t why the spark had gone out of our sex life. And by no spark, I don’t mean we don’t have sex. We do, it’s just not’exciting anymore, or often enough.

When I was single, two weeks without sex wasn’t a big deal. I was used to it. But sleeping next to the sexiest man I knew night after night, and not being touched and teased or set on fire the way I knew he could’ it was hell. A sneak up on you long slow roasting hell.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a movement. I spun around and saw a man on the roof of my neighbor’s house. Hmm. That’s what that nagging pounding was. I’d thought it was just my brain protesting its awakened state.

I couldn’t see the roofer’s face very well, but even at a distance I could tell he had a killer body. And as usual, the sight of bulging muscles made my pulse kick up a notch.

Shoving the image of the roofer’s hard body to the back of my mind, I went to work on my makeup. Ladies weren’t supposed to drool over men who weren’t their husbands.

Unfortunately, my eyes wouldn’t listen to my brain. I kept glancing in the mirror and checking him out. That was when I noticed he was glancing my way too. Adrenaline started to ease into my blood stream, a long absent awareness settled in, and a naughty idea sprouted in my half-awake mind.

Exaggerating my primping in the mirror, I piled my russet curls on top of my head and let the belt of my robe work itself loose. I stuck pins into my hair randomly so it had the sexy ‘just tumbled’ look to it, and bent deeper over the dresser.

The next time he glanced my way, if he was paying attention, he’d see the bottom of my butt cheeks peeking out from below the edge of my robe. After applying my mascara I straightened up and flicked a glance at his reflection. He was still working, but slowly. In the ten seconds I watched him, he glanced my way three times.

‘Yes!’ I hissed under my breath. A tingle of pride, of awareness, whipped through my body.

Then I realized what I was doing and my spirits fell. Flashing a stranger was the sort of thing Ginger would do. She was the ‘wild one’, not me. That’s not to say I was an angel, but when it comes to wild and crazy things, my tattooed and pierced spirit sister beat me out by a mile.

However, when I saw the roofer pause in his work and look my way again, I spun around quickly so my robe flared out, and gave him a quick glimpse of my naked body. I couldn’t stop myself. Pulling a casual sundress from the closet, I tossed it on the bed with a flick of my wrist and went back to the dresser.

A quick glance in the mirror assured me I still had the stranger’s attention, and arousal burned low in my belly. With a shrug of my shoulders, the robe fell to the floor and I stood naked. Trying to look natural, I reached into the dresser drawer and pulled out a pair of panties. With slow teasing movements, I slid them up my legs and adjusted them on my hips, then snatched my dress from the bed.

Once the material had settled loosely over my curves I gave myself a last critical look in the mirror.

A flush had bloomed on my cheeks and my blue eyes sparkled. Squelching a tinge of discomfort at my behavior, I peeked over my shoulder and saw that my audience was still enthralled. Energized, I picked up my unneeded coffee and strolled from the room, ready to start the week with my long lost sense of allure back in full force.

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Excerpt from THE STRANGER I MARRIED - Brava - Jan. 07:

She closed her eyes as her abigail swept her hair up, and arranged it in the popular style of short curls around her face. There was a slight knock at the door, and then it opened without further ado. The presumptive move was slightly disturbing, but what bothered her most was the direction from whence the sound came. Opening her eyes, she looked to the side, and watched Gray enter from the adjoining master bedroom.

“What…?” she sputtered.

He took a deep breath, and then sprawled on her favorite chaise. “You look ravishing,” he said, as if it were perfectly normal for him to enter from the master suite. “Or more aptly, ravishable. Is that a word, Pel? If not, it should be, with your likeness rendered next to it.”

From the time they had married, he had kept a room down the hall and around the corner from hers. She had offered to take a room in the guest area, since this was his home and their marriage a sham, but he had pointed out how much more time she spent at home than he did. Which was true. She slept in her bed every night. Gray sometimes did not sleep in his room for days on end.

The thought sparked her temper. “What were you doing in there?”

He blinked innocently. “Whatever I felt like. Why?”

“There is nothing in there besides empty furniture.”

“On the contrary,” he drawled. “Most of my possessions are in there. At least the ones I use on a regular basis.”

Her fingers curled around the edge of her vanity. The thought of Gray sleeping mere feet from her, with only a door to separate them, was instantly arousing. She pictured his body nude, as she had seen it in the tailor’s. She wondered if he slept face down, with those powerful arms wrapped around a pillow and that luscious, tight ass bare to her view. Or perhaps face-up? The feel of his cock was imprinted on her derriere from last night. The long, hard heat of him… Bare… Gray’s beautiful body sprawled in sleep… Tangled in sheets…

Oh Lord…

Swallowing hard, she looked away from him before he could read her thoughts or see her turmoil.

“Bartley inherited a chicken.”

“Beg your pardon?” Isabel’s eyes moved to her husband’s again. As he had the night before, he was dressed in loose trousers and shirtsleeves, a tempting sight, which she was certain he knew. They would have to deal with his changing rooms eventually, but she did not have to heart to get into an argument right now. She already had one of those ahead of her when she met with Hargreaves.

“Bartley’s aunt was an Eccentric,” he replied, his voice directed upward as he moved to lie on his back. “She kept a chicken as a pet. When he last visited her, she was so pleased with her chicken he felt it best to agree and say that it was the handsomest chicken he had ever seen.”

“A handsome chicken?” Her lips twitched.

“Quite.” She couldn’t miss the smile in his voice. “When she passed on, she bequeathed portions of her estate to her many relatives and–”

“Bartley got the chicken.”

“Yes.” Gray’s laughing eyes met hers in the mirror as she stood to don her gown. “No, don’t laugh, Pel. This is serious, you know.”

Her abigail smothered a giggle.

“Oh, of course,” Isabel said gravely, schooling her features.

“The poor creature is mad for Bartley. But then I do believe chickens have pea-sized brains.”

“Gray!” she cried, laughing.

“Apparently he cannot go into his rear garden any longer. The moment he steps outside, she begins screeching for him.” Gray leapt to his feet in a fluidly graceful motion, and held out his arms. “She runs at him with her wings spread in joy, and flies into her lover’s arms.”

Both she and her abigail laughed aloud.

“You are making that up!”

“I am not. While I do admit to having a wild imagination,” he said, coming toward her, “even I could not imagine any female mad for Bartley, poultry or otherwise.”

Gray smiled at her maid. “I can take over from here.”

Her abigail curtsied, and left.

Isabel’s smile faded as he came up behind her and began to work on the tiny row of cloth-covered buttons that ran up her spine. She held her breath, trying not to smell him. “We were doing so well, Gray,” she complained. “For a moment, I felt the friendship we had before. Why ruin it by reminding me of this damned attraction?”

His fingertips drifted over her chemise-covered upper back. “Goose flesh. You have no notion of how difficult it is for a man to stand this close to a woman he desires, to feel that desire returned, and then not act upon it.”

“Friends,” she insisted, secretly amazed at the steadiness of her voice. “That is the only way to make this marriage work.”

“I can be your friend, as well as your lover.” His hot, open mouth pressed against the top of her shoulder.

“And what will become of us when we are no longer lovers?”

Wrapping his arms around her waist, Gray set his chin on her shoulder and stared at their reflection. He was so much taller than she was. He had to hunch over her, surrounding her completely.

“What do you want me to say, Isabel? That we will always be lovers?”

His hands pushed down her loose bodice and cupped her breasts, kneading gently, his hips swirling against her derriere. The fierce evidence of his desire was unmistakable, and heat spread instantly across her skin. She was primed for sex, her body repeatedly aroused by his seductions, and her eyes slid closed on a low moan…

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*******

Isabel took a deep breath at the sound of the soft knock, and then called out permission to enter. Gray came in, pausing on the threshold, a telling moment of hesitation she’d not seen from him before. Lord Grayson never waited. He leaped into action the moment he thought of something, which is how he often landed into mischief.

He stared at her, long and hard. Enough to where she regretted her decision to receive him in her dressing gown. She had debated internally for almost half an hour, and in the end had decided to act as much as possible like she had before. Surely, the sooner they settled into their usual routine, the more comfortable they both would be.

“I believe the water is most likely cold by now,” she murmured, turning away from the gilded vanity to sit on the nearby chaise. “But then I was always the one who drank tea.”

“I preferred brandy.”

He closed the door, giving her a brief moment to savor the sound of his voice. Why she should notice its slight rasp now, when she hadn’t before, puzzled her.

“I have it here.” She gestured toward the low table where a china tea set, brandy decanter, and goblet waited.

Gray’s mouth widened in a slow smile. “You are always thinking of me. Thank you.” He looked around. “I am pleased to find the space exactly as I remember it. With the walls and ceiling draped with white satin, I have always felt like I am standing in a tent when I am in here.”

“That was the effect I wanted,” she said, relaxing into the low back and curling her legs next to her.

“Is that so?”

He sat across from her, tossing his arm across the back of the settee. Isabel couldn’t help but remember how he used to do the same to her shoulders. At that time, she had thought nothing of it. That version of Grayson had merely been exuberant.

He also hadn’t been quite so large.

“Why a tent, Pel?”

“You have no notion of how long I’ve waited for you to ask that,” she admitted with a soft chuckle.

“Why didn’t I ask before?”

“We did not talk about such things.”

“No?” His eyes laughed at her. “What did we talk about then?”

She moved to pour him a brandy, but he shook his head. “Why, we talked about you, Gray.”

“Me?” he asked with raised brows. “Surely, not all the time.”

“Nearly all the time.”

“And when we weren’t talking about me?”

“Well, then we were talking about your inamoratas.”

Gray grimaced, and she laughed, remembering how much fun she used to have in simple discourse with him. Then she noted how he looked at her, as if he could not quite put his finger on something about her. Her laughter faded away.

“How insufferable I was, Isabel. How did you ever tolerate me?”

“I quite liked you,” she said honestly. “There never was any guessing with you. You always said exactly what you meant.”

He looked past her shoulder. “You still hang Pelham’s portrait,” he mused. Gray returned his gaze to hers. “Did you love him so very much?”

Isabel turned, and looked at the painting behind her. She tried, truly tried to dredge up some remnant of the love she’d once had for him, but her bitter resentment was too deep. She couldn’t reach below it. “I did. I cannot remember the feeling now, but once I loved him desperately.”

“Is that why you avoid commitment, Pel?”

She turned back to face him with her lips pursed. “You and I did not discuss personal things either.”

Gray’s arm left the back of the chair and he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Could we not be better friends now, than we were then?”

“I am not sure that would be wise,” she murmured, once again glancing at her wedding band.

“Why not?”

Isabel rose and stood at the window, needing to put distance between herself and his new intensity.

“Why not?” he asked again, following her. “Do you have other, closer friends that you share things with?”

He set his hands atop her shoulders, and it took only a moment for his touch to heat her skin, and his scent to reach her nostrils. When next he spoke, his voice came close to her ear. “Is it too much to ask that you add your husband to your list of trusted friends?”

“Gray,” she breathed, her heart racing with her distress. Her restless fingers brushed the satin billowing beside the window frame. “I do not have friends like you describe. And you say the word ‘husband’ with an import we never gave to it.”

“How about your lover, then?” he pressed. “Does he hear your thoughts?”

Isabel attempted to pull away, but he held her fast.

“Why a tent, Pel? Can you tell me that, at least?”

She shivered at the feel of his exhale against her nape. “I like to imagine it is a part of a caravan.”

“A fantasy?” Gray’s large hands slid down her arms. “Is there a sheik who goes with this fantasy? Does he ravish you?”

“My lord!” she protested, thoroughly alarmed by the way her skin was prickling with sensual awareness. There was no way to ignore the hard male body that bracketed hers.

“What do you want, Gray?” she asked, her mouth dry. “Have you suddenly decided to change the rules?”

“And if I have?”

“We would end up apart, our friendship ruined. You and I are not the type of people who find love ever after.”

“How would you know what type of man I am?”

“I know you kept a mistress while professing to love another.”

His hot, open mouth pressed against the side of her throat, and her eyes slid closed at the seductive touch.

“You said I’ve changed, Isabel.”

“No man changes that much. Regardless, I…I have someone.”

Gray turned her to face him. His hands around her wrists were hot, his gaze hotter. Lord, she knew that look. It was the look Pelham had brought her to heel with, the look she made certain none of her lovers gave to her. Passion, desire–she welcomed those. But carnal hunger was something to be avoided at all costs.

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Excerpt from HER MAD GRACE:

Rotting.

To Hugh La Coeur’s mind that was the most apt description for the moldering mansion on the hill. Usually the bright white of newly fallen snow brought a peaceful serenity to the landscape. Not so with this property. Even the pristine beauty of winter could not hide the neglect apparent in everything about the place.

He hesitated a moment, taking in the view with a disgusted snort. Ominous clouds roiled above him, but the sky was darkening for another reason–the day was ending. Thoughts of returning the way he’d come, through the snow and without light, forced Hugh to proceed. If his need were less dire, he’d ride on in search of a more hospitable looking home. But he was desperate and the curling smoke rising from the manor’s chimneys told him the place was inhabited. Help was at hand and he couldn’t ignore it, no matter how much he desired to.

He tied his mount, one of his prized carriage bays, to the metal ring protruding from a nearby stone pillar. At one time the pillar had held up the park gate, but not any longer. One side of the gate remained upright, while the other leaned precariously atop the frozen ground.

“Atrocious,” Hugh muttered to his horse, as he edged his way through the opening and started the long walk up the drive to the main house.

He glanced around with morbid fascination. It was easy to imagine how beautiful the property must have been once, a source of pride for its noble occupants. But fate had dealt a cruel blow to the peer and family who owned the place. It had obviously gone without maintenance for many years. Vines, long dead, crawled over the brick exterior. Places where paint had once brightened the façade now peeled and warped from lack of care.

The wind picked up and soft, powdery snow began to swirl around Hugh’s polished Hessians. His hair blew across his forehead, his hat long lost in a ditch. The storm would be upon them soon. His legs lengthened their stride. He would have to hurry.

Reaching the door, Hugh banged the tarnished lion head knocker. The sound echoed eerily and he shook off the shivers. He was an earl, for Christ’s sake! The esteemed, if slightly scandalous, Earl of Montrose, an ancient title which carried a wealth of prestige. His station should place him above such childish fears. But frankly, the place looked haunted and the forgotten air that surrounded the hall filled him with foreboding.

He almost fled, blizzard be damned, when the door creaked open with torturous slowness. A stooped butler, as decrepit as the manse in which he worked, stood in the doorway.

“Aye?” the old man queried in a gravelly voice.

Hugh handed over his card. “Is the lord of the manor at home?”

The butler squinted at the lettering. He lifted the card to an oddly protruding eye, and then dropped his hand with a grunt. The servant gestured wildly behind him. “Ye’ll find ‘im in the cemetery out back.”

Before Hugh could blink, the door was swinging with lightning speed toward his face. Moving with a pugilist’s quick ease, he slipped into the hall before the door slammed shut. The butler turned, bumped into his chest, and shrieked in terror.

Rolling his eyes, Hugh steadied the frail man. “Listen, old chap. My desire to be here is far less than your desire to have me here. I require some assistance. If you provide it, I can be on my way.”

The butler studied him closely with his oversized blue eye. “What ye be needin’, gov’na?”

“You may address me as my lord,” Hugh corrected with a pointed look at his calling card, presently being crushed in the butler’s hand. “What is your name?”

The servant sniffled. “Artemis.”

“Very well, Artemis. Are there any other men about the place?” Hugh glanced around. “Men preferably capable of physical exertion.”

Artemis studied him with blatant suspicion. “’enry. ‘e’s a strapping lad what runs the stables. And Tom, ‘e ‘elps Cook wiv the vittles.”

“Excellent.” Hugh released a sigh of relief. “Would it be possible to find decent horseflesh around here?” Even as he asked, he knew it was asking too much, given the sight of the place.

“O’ course!” the old man cried, affronted. “’er Grace ‘as the finest ‘orses you’ll ever see!”

Hugh stilled, his mind rapidly disseminating the information he’d gathered so far. His Grace lay in the cemetery, which left Her Grace widowed. There weren’t many duchesses, hardly any that were widowed, and only one he was aware of that would claim ownership to a sorry place such as this—

“’Her Mad Grace’?” Of all the damnable luck!

“’ere now!” Artemis complained. “We don’t take kindly to that nonsense ‘round ‘ere!”

Hugh cleared his throat. He was leaving. Now. “Well, I’m certain Her Grace wouldn’t mind at all if I borrowed her-”

“Ye can’t just barge in ‘ere and run off wiv ‘er Grace’s ‘orses.” The old man straightened as best he could. “Ye’ll ‘ave to ask ‘er first!”

“Ask her? Good God, she’s in residence here?” The place wasn’t fit for man or beast, let alone a duchess.

“O’ course. Where else would she be?” Artemis snorted.

Hugh arched a brow. “Where else indeed.”

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Bree drifted into a state of half-awareness, imagining hypnotically dark eyes and erect fangs attached to the hands that were presently moving all over her back. The chip in her mind signaled her preferences to James’ whose motions went with her thoughts, facilitating the massage until she was completely relaxed.

Then suddenly he tensed, his body becoming a crushing pressure against her thighs. She felt him pitch forward and she screamed, knowing the droid’s heavy weight could kill her.

But before that could happen the burden was snatched away with a snarl. She rolled over, confused, and barely caught sight of James’ bent legs moving horizontally out the door.

“Hey!” she yelled, leaping from the bed and dragging the sheet with her. She covered herself as she ran out to the corridor. Alexei was already halfway down the hall, her droid tucked securely beneath his arm. Bree gaped. James weighed a ton, but the vamp carried him as if he weighed nothing.

Her bare feet slapped against the cool metal floor as she gave chase. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“This thing’s got to go,” he muttered.

She studied the odd stillness of her droid. “What did you do to him?”

“Shut it off.”

“You can’t do that!” she protested.

“I just did.”

Alex rounded the corridor and entered the cargo hold. Finding a neglected corner, she heard him drop James unceremoniously to the ground.

“You’re going to break him,” she complained, stumbling blindly into the darkness behind him.

He rounded on her, dark eyes flashing red in the unlit interior. “If only I could be so lucky.”

Bree scowled. “What’s your deal anyway?”

The laser brightness of his gaze grew more intense, signaling that he was moving closer. She stood her ground and lifted her chin even as her heart raced with excitement.

“I’m not sharing you with a droid. Got it?”

She blinked in surprise and then bit back a smile, grateful he couldn’t see it.

“I love your smile,” he purred, moving closer. “Even when it comes at my expense.”

Choking, she took rapid backward steps. Damn! She forgot he could see in the dark.

“No need to make me jealous,” he said softly, the foreign inflection in his words making her nipples hard. “I’m easy.”

At the reminder, she snorted and spun on her heel.

“Hey!” Now he was chasing her.

“Go away, Alex.”

She screeched as her feet left the deck and she was swung up into his arms.

“Don’t be mad at me, sweet,” he said, nuzzling her throat. “I can service you much better than a droid could.”

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