Genre: Regency Historical Romance, Victorian Romance
Publisher: Random House Loveswept
Publication Date: June 13, 2017
– April, Goodreads Reviewer
– Mary Lynde, Goodreads Reviewer
As with the rest of his life, Alex discovered that his willpower was sadly lacking when, just after one in the morning, he found himself in front of Hestia’s cabin door.
Torn by indecision, he leaned his forehead on the door and warred with himself.
There was a high probability that he would die in the coming days, so God, and David, could damn his soul to hell, but he wanted one night with Hestia, in his bed, where he was not in dreamland. He wanted a clear head to perfectly remember her touch. Her taste. Her scent. Her loving . . .
To remember that for one magical night she was his.
Selfishness, thy name is Alexander.
He quietly slipped inside, closing the door behind him. He leaned back against the hard wood, warmth spreading through his chest because Hestia was standing beside the porthole, her thin linen nightgown completely transparent. It took his breath away.
She turned to him. “Some prayers do get answered. I prayed you’d come.”
He crossed the room in two long strides, his arms reaching for her and pulling her tight against his chest as his lips found the bounty he’d been dying to taste all evening. Her soft lips moved under his, and when they parted to give him entrance, his knees almost buckled.
The kiss was hard, possessive, showing her that she belonged to him. Only him.
Finally she tore her mouth from his.
“You must have known I’d never choose David.”
His heart took flight. “And here I thought you were an intelligent girl.”
“Then why are you here?”
He bent down and tenderly kissed her lips. “I can’t run anymore. I’m so sick of denying my need for you.” He grimaced, not believing how easily he’d folded. The future, and the world beyond finding her father, beyond seeking his vengeance, dissolved, along with his resistance. Years of resistance, wasted years.
To deny his attraction for her had been futile from the start. The power she had over him was frightening. He belonged to this girl, body and soul, and he knew it. He could no longer refute his turbulent need for her.
And thank God, for whatever reasons, regardless of his continued remoteness and cold treatment of her, she’d chosen him. His whole body was trembling, he’d never experienced such driving need, he was only just holding on, one minute more and he’d devour her. He swallowed hard.
“You know I will still go after Murad. This night, and our wedding, will not change that.”
About Bronwen Evans