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Image of the quote is loading... SaveSave Mr. Ryland was a riddle to unfold, an attractive one at that. The lone candle flickered behind him, outlining powerful shoulders, tempting solidness she wanted to test.t

Mr. Ryland was a riddle to unfold, an attractive one at that. The lone candle flickered behind him, outlining powerful shoulders, tempting solidness she wanted to test.t”But an evening of harmless flirtation isn’t out of the question.”tHis gaze fixed on her. “I’d welcome an evening free of complications.”tDid he just proposition her?

Gina Conkle
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Her feet moved into the vast space, but all she couldsee was Cyrus. He strode through the room the way acaptain commands his ship. Was it possible his maroon bruise made him more dashing? He was a fine sight in a black broadcloth coat. Hersalacious gaze dropped to a brass button lower on hiswaistcoat. The metal glimmered, winking at her withflirtatious intent very near the tuft of hair she rememberedso well at his navel. The corner of Cyrus’s mouth crooked. If shelooked ready to devour him, he read the message onher face, no words required. “Claire.” He said her name like a treasured sound. Then, herlandlord bent low over her hand, kissing her knucklesand keeping her fingers in a tender hold.Her flesh sung a merry tune recalling how she’dgripped those broad shoulders of his in a fit of passion.Was that only two nights ago? Her cheeks turned hotat the memory. Cyrus rose to his full height, holding her hand. Heplanted a kiss on her forehead. “Mmmm…” he hummed approvingly. “You smellof almonds.” His lips lingered on her hairline, givingher another soft kiss. “And vanilla, I think. Somethingyou cooked?” He breathed in her scent, standing close yet notintimidating in the least. His own smell was cleanand starched with a hint of coffee. She reached high,touching his face like a woman with every right topartake of the feast he offered. “It’s face powder.” One finger stroked the smoothsquare of his jaw, her voice curving with amusement. “Today I join the ranks of ladies who meet for luncheon,and I can’t be sure if I’ve been lured here orgoaded by one very challenging man put on earth toharass my senses.” She caressed his jaw, the grain of his skin smoothto the touch. He must’ve shaved in the last hour. Hismouth quirked sideways, pressing the maroon bruisehigher up his cheek. “Something tells me you’re the perfect woman tosoothe such a man or put him in his place.” His pewterstare flicked over her exposed skin, settling on hercleavage. “As to your senses, I shall treat them withthe utmost care.
Gina Conkle
They sat in a sphere of quiet, save the sound of theirbreathing and the carriage’s creaks and sways. Outside,the coachman yelled his encouragement to the steedsmoving them forward. The whole carriage cocoonedthem in a peculiar world with the heaven’s wool-thickmists pressing against the windows. Her hand didn’t stop rubbing his neck, but sheshifted her leg, bending her knee to rest her leg onhis thigh. Her patten slipped off, dropping to the floorwith a thud. Cyrus’s head moved off the squab. “Are youundressing for my benefit?” His smile’s wicked curve played on her. From herstays to her drawers, everything was too tight, toomuch against her skin. Cyrus reached for her handworking his neck muscles. He brought it to his lips andkissed her knuckles thrice with slow adoration. “We don’t have to stop,” she said, her voice breathyand quick. “I’m sure you have more aches and pains.” Mid-kiss, he smiled against the back of her hand, hiswarm breath brushing her skin. “There are so many ways a man could go withthat.” Humor lightened his voice. “But I’m sure youmean to provide tender care to my neck only.” She grinned at her unintended innuendo. This wasthe experience she craved—to flirt and tease, to kissand touch. Cyrus put his lips to her wrist, marking herwith hot kisses. A spangle of pleasure shot up her arm. “You would break down the meanest soul withyour soft heart.” He set her hand on the blanket’sscratchy folds, his thumb caressing her wrist. “High praise, indeed, sir.” Tinseled sparks danced across her skin, not lettingher recover from those gentle touches, his lips to herarm. He stroked a lone finger on her hand that restedbetween them. “And you don’t care one bit that I’m the son of aMidland swine farmer, do you?” Cyrus asked the unexpected question, but his voiceconveyed confidence in her answer. Was her chivalrousbrawler showing a hidden spot? She peered athim, wanting a better view of his shadowed features. How was she to decipher this latest turn? The carriage bumped and rocked, and the outsidecandle lantern swung another shaft of light inside. Hisquicksilver stare pinned her. “Miss Mayhew, have you ever wondered how afreehold farmer got to be in such a fine place?
Gina Conkle
Claire coaxed free another loop of cloth. The slow side of cotton against cotton matched the soft tenor or her voice.'I have lots of talents Mr. Ryland. Listening is only one of them.
Gina Conkle
A woman on the verge of moral downfall ought to be well dressed. Claire's particular transgression was gartered to her thigh, a paper hidden by yards of silk. She walked through the empty alley, confident in one comforting truth: no one dared ask a lady what her skirts concealed...
Gina Conkle
Growing up a steward's daughter on the grand Greenwich estate afforded her many opportunities. But life changed one fateful night, a reminder of who and what she was. Since then, she labored hard, building calluses anew on her hands and heart, all in an effort to fall into a deep sleep every night and forget what had happened years ago. Many more years of hard work stretched ahead of her.tWhy not sip champagne once more?tWhat harm could come of that?
Gina Conkle
The saucy Miss Tottenham slipped the strawberry into her delectable mouth, all the while looking at Cyrus. His thigh muscles tensed inside the velvet prison of his breeches. Hot pleasure shot through his body at the sight of the red berry slipping through her lips. Adding to his misery, a spurt of juice from the tender morsel painted her bottom lip red. He nearly groaned.tTradition named the apple as the fruit of man's downfall, but tonight he'd argue mightily for the dangers of a ripe strawberry on a certain woman's lips.
Gina Conkle
Her feet shifted underneath her. “I’m not sure what troublesyou.”The wolf prowled, though he sat in a great chair. His uneasinessmade her skin tight and her heart race. Hakan was a handsomeman, very appealing to all of the fairer sex tonight with his blackjerkin stretched across broad shoulders. He had shaved for theGlima festival, and his blonde hair, lighter from summer, loosenedfrom the leather tie.“Many thoughts trouble me tonight, but Astrid’s not one ofthem.” In the dim light of the longhouse, his white teeth gleamedagainst his tanned face.“Does your head ail you?” She clasped her hands together,comfortable with the role of nurturing thrall.“Nay, but ‘twould please me if you sat close to me and playedyour harp.”“Music would be pleasant.” Skittish and studying him underthe veil of her lashes, Helena retrieved her harp.She sat cross-legged on a pelt near his chair. ‘Twas easy tostrum a soothing song and lose herself in the delicate notes herfingers plucked. But when the last note faded, the restless wolfstirred on his throne, unpacified.“Why did you play that game with Astrid? Letting her thinkmore goes on between us?”Ice-blue eyes pinned her, yet, ‘twas his voice, dangerous andsoft, that did things to her.“I…I don’t know.” Her own voice faltered as warmth flushedher skin.Glowing embers molded his face with dim light. Hakanleaned forward, resting both elbows on his knees. His sinewy handplucked the harp from her, placing it on the ground.“Why?” Hakan’s fingertips tilted her chin.
Gina Conkle
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