The Lass Initiated the Laird - Explosive Highlanders Series 3.5
Copyright© 2018 by Lisa Torquay
TOC
Romantic Sex Story: TOC - Samuel McDougal hasn’t forgotten Harriet since he first met her at Oxford. But with too-red hair and too-thick glasses, he has no chance. He must forget her; though he's not been with a woman before. Harriet’s always known about his infatuation. She expected it to pass, but now she’s stirred by his tall and lean frame. But he’s the heir to a powerful clan. And she, a humble widow, can only dream.
Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Romantic
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.
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