TOC

Edition License Notes

Cover Art Jo Singleton

DEDICATION

To my late grandma who inspired me for being fierce and strong.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

I’d like to give my heartfelt thanks to Cheryl Adamkiewicz for her invaluable contribution and unending patience. Your generosity is much appreciated.

FROM THE BACK COVER

HE’S WANTED HER FOR SEVEN YEARS

Samuel McDougal never could take Harriet out of his mind since the first day he met her as a freshman at Oxford. But with his too red hair and too big spectacles, he surely has no chance. He must forget her and move on; though he’s not been with a woman before.

AND SHE’S JUST A GOVERNESS

Harriet always knew of Samuel’s infatuation with her, expecting he’d grow out of it. For some time though, she’s been stirred by his tall and lean person. More than stirred in fact. Albeit he’s the heir to a powerful Scottish clan, expected to make a lofty match. As a humble widow, she can only dream of him.

BUT RANKS DON’T COUNT WHEN DESIRE SIMMERS.

Erotic novella

EXCERPT

His long arm covered her extended one and the heat that suffused her skin made her go boneless. Her right hand grabbed onto the lower shelf edge in a futile attempt to cling to sanity. His head lowered and she sensed his lips so close to her hair. Air halted in her lungs while her heart skipped on a wild race.

Harriet felt something twitch on her hair as the flow of air told her it was his nose sauntering the loose strands. His left hand met hers on the higher shelf, covering it with his warm, big one.

She found nothing to say, found no voice to say it, nor the will. The sensation of his tall, imposing frame on hers was beyond description. And then his right hand spanned her waist to start a slow, so slow, glide towards her midriff, peppering goose-bumps wherever it went. His touch seemed stilted, almost as if he needed to contain himself, and held that white-hot incandescence that melted everything in its wake. But a reverent one, too, like he was touching something sacred, precious that he would find once in a lifetime.

His palm reached her flat, soft stomach, causing ripples of warmth to arrow downwards. Air escaped her in what could only be described as a sigh in the same second his mouth touched the shell of her ear. Without enough will to keep standing, she sagged on his lean chest, her head coming barely to his shoulder. That was when his hand closed on hers still stretched on the higher shelf, effectively trapping her between him and the books. The hand worshipping her midriff inched perilously upwards to the base of her breast. The simple notion that he might cover the puckered tip drove her nether regions to produce scorching, shameful moisture. On its own volition, her other hand covered his to halt it or to urge on, she could not tell.

When had he plastered her this much against the wood she did not know, but it made her realise his body had lengthened, hardened, and nestled on the small of her back.

How could a man display such purity after having been with a prostitute the previous night? The shaft of lucidity that came with the question brought her to her senses. With a sudden push, she untangled herself from him and stumbled to the other side of the desk as if it was a fortress against the sensations he incited in her.

“Harriet?” it came an octave lower than normal, which caressed her senses.

Her eyes languished on the sight of him against the books, wide eyes on her, ragged breath and the bulge, good gracious, the bulge, that led her to wonder how it would feel in its wanted place in her body. The fantasy made her flush crimson.

With a huge effort, she erased the lustful musing and stared hard at him. “Having lain with a lightskirt does not give you the right to touch every woman in your radius,” The wry note on her voice bellied the steep temperature of her insides.