Released March 14th!
SEVEN NIGHTS OF SIN
One night, one tryst can change everything…
Seven Sensuous stories by New York Times and USA Today bestselling author, Sabrina York, with bestselling and award-winning authors Maggi Andersen, Lynne Conolly, Eliza Lloyd, Suzi Love, Hildie McQueen, and Victoria Vane. Enter a world of passion and mystery where dashing heroes and dauntless heroines come together in a scorching conflagration that will will tip your world on its end.
LUSCIOUS by Sabrina York
Revenge…or redemption? Which will he choose?
ONE SCANDALOUS NIGHT by Maggi Andersen
Can one night with a rake be enough for a lifetime?
THE DEVIL YOU KNOW by Victoria Vane
She found heaven in the devil’s arms.
UNDER A SILVER MOON by Hildie Mcqueen
The shadows of the past fall over a man and a woman attempting to start anew.
MY DEAR MR. FORRESTER by Eliza Lloyd
He can’t resist a woman in trouble. Will he ever learn?
WHAT HE WANTS by Lynne Connolly
Love hides in unexpected places…
PLEASURE HOUSE BALL by Suzi Love
Love revealed at a courtesan’s ball.
LUSCIOUS by SABRINA YORK
When Deveny Hargrove rescues a waif in a rainstorm in the middle of nowhere, he has no idea that she represents his long-awaited chance at vengeance. When she offers him her virginity—in an attempt to escape an unwanted society marriage—he has to agree. To his surprise, very little of his motivation stems from punishing her brother.
The fact is, Matilda Paddington represents his chance at revenge…or redemption…but his choice could destroy them both.
Read an excerpt
What Providence. That this man—one who, other than the beard, was perfectly acceptable for her purposes, and damn handsome to boot—should stop and pick her up?
Clearly God in heaven above was on her side.
“You do realize this is something that cannot be undone?”
She had the sense he was asking the question purely because his moral code required it. “I do.”
“You are quite young…to be making a decision that will change everything.”
“Everything?” she asked. “Do you really believe that one act changes who a person is? At their core?”
He stared at her as though stunned to hear such words from a lady’s lips. But then he said, “I certainly hope not.”
His tone was so dark, so tormented, she had to ask, “Have you done things?” Things that changed him irrevocably?
“Madam, I have just returned from France.”
“Ooh.” How fascinating. “Are you a soldier?”
“I was. An officer in the King’s Dragoons.”
Oh. A cavalry man. She loved horses. “Did you see much action?”
“Far too much.”
“I am sorry.”
He blinked and she realized how lovely his eyes were. A light blue, almost crystalline, with large pupils and a dark ring around the irises, making it hard to look away. “Why are you sorry?” he said, his voice dropping low.
“You must have suffered.”
“I was injured.”
“Yes, but I meant spiritually.”
“Spiritually?” His tone indicated he’d never even considered those wounds.
“War is hell,” she said. She knew of such things. She’d read several books on the topic.
“Yes. It is.”
“But you are home now. And safe.”
“Yes.” He looked out the window and stroked his beard as though he were remembering some of his losses.
She wished one of them had been the beard.
She really disliked beards on men.
“So do you?”
His attention jerked back to her. “What?”
“Do you really believe one act can change a person?”
“I think everything we do, everything we say, every breath we take changes us.”
She blew out an impatient breath. “That is far too deep a rumination for this conversation.”
“Is it?” Why he seemed amused was a mystery.
“Most certainly. We are talking about my giving myself to a man who is not and never shall be my husband.”
“We are talking about you giving your innocence to a man you do not know. Do you have any idea how dangerous that can be?”
“I suppose it would be dangerous.” She had to admit this. “But it is not dangerous with you.”
He reared back. An odd mixture of shock and anger and confusion crossed his face. “How can you possibly know what kind of man I am? What I could do to you when I got you alone? Damn it, Tildy, I could be a monster for all you know.”
“But you’re not.” She knew. She could see it in his eyes.
As her words soaked in, she saw it blossom there, his deep gratification for her trust. But he sighed and scrubbed his face and said “Tildy,” in a tone that made clear he was about to turn her down.
So she went on the offensive. “However, if you do not want to be the one to deflower me, I totally understand. I imagine it can be rather unsettling to be approached by a woman with such a request.”
He murmured, “You have no idea,” beneath his breath, but she heard.
She patted his knee. “And you were injured in the war.”
His features scrunched up. He stared at her hand. “Just what is that supposed to mean?”
She batted her lashes in an attempt to portray her innocence. “I know what happens when men are injured in war.” She leaned closer. “They become incapable. I totally understand.”
“I am not incapable!” Surely there was no need for him to bellow.
“Bloody hell, no.”
“It is perfectly acceptable if you do not find me attractive. I do look rather like a drowned rat. I am sure I can find someone on the streets of London who is willing to do the deed.” She sighed heavily, just for effect, and then added, “I do hope I don’t get the pox.”
Silence sizzled between them. She determinedly held his gaze, despite the fact that his stare was fierce. His lips worked, as though he was attempting to form a response, several responses, as the moment stretched, and then he reached across the carriage, took hold of her arms and whipped her onto his lap as though she weighed no more than a thistledown.
“Not interested?” he growled. “How is this for not interested?”
And then, he kissed her.
As enchanting as those lips had felt dancing over her hand, it was nothing to this. This was as wild as the storm raging outside, but still unbearably gentle and sweet. His scent suffused her, filled her lungs and stirred some latent hunger deep within. She wanted more. More. More.
And this desire had little to do with her goal of wriggling free of an unwanted betrothal. It had only to do with him. This man. This hunger. This passion.
She’d never felt it before. Not like this.
She’d only felt a passion for passion, which was very different indeed.
His body was warm, heating her. His hands roved, scudding over her shoulders and down to her waist to hold her in place. His lips were hard on her, demanding, yet sensitive to her needs. They engulfed her senses in a velvet trap, one she did not want to escape.
He pulled her closer, settled her more firmly on his lap and leaned her against the wall of the carriage and deepened the kiss, easing in his tongue and tasting her. She had to respond, but she had no idea how her untried exploration would affect him.
Something hard grew against her hip. The knowledge of what it was lit a fire in her belly. Need blossomed and raged. She thrust her fingers in his hair, twining in the strands and tugging. He did the same until they were holding each other still, each consuming the other.
Her mind spun, her body awoke. That long dreamed of desire arose.
She had no idea why, with one harsh movement, he pushed her back into her seat.
They stared at each other across the width of the carriage, the only sounds, their panted breath.
Heat walked between them. Ribbons of carnal lust bound them close, though they no longer touched. Intensity roared.
“Why did you stop?” She didn’t intend for her voice to crack, to be filled with anguish, but it happened.
His lungs worked like a bellows. His stare burned through her. His brow was prickled with sweat, despite the chill of the evening. “Not here.” A whisper, rough and low.
“I won’t take you in a carriage. You deserve better.”
Oh, she liked that he thought so. She thought so too. “Where then?”
“I am staying the night at a friend’s house in London. Large, comfortable bed. A crackling fire. Excellent wine. All the comforts a proper seduction requires.”
She could not hold back a grin. “Oh. Is this a proper seduction?”
“It will be.” He settled back in his seat and studied her. There was something in his expression that made it clear to her what he was thinking. He was plotting her seduction. She shuddered.
“You really don’t need to seduce me, you know.”
His lips quirked. “Seduction is half the fun. Besides, you deserve to know all the pleasure there is to be had between a man and a woman.”
Her brow furrowed. “I thought there was just the tupping.” She knew all about it. She raised horses, after all. The male simply mounted the female and they danced around for a bit and then a foal came in the spring. It all seemed pretty simple.
“Oh, there’s more than that.”
“Is there? Do tell.”
“I will not. I’d rather show you. I don’t want to ruin the surprise.”
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Her Royal Hotness, Sabrina York, is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of hot, humorous stories for smart and sexy readers. Her titles range from sweet & snarky to scorching romance. Visit her webpage at www.sabrinayork.com to check out her books, excerpts and contests. Newsletter: http://eepurl.com/bj8tKb.
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