By Jill Barnett
"She had bewitched the main critical, snobbish, and good-looking Duke in England. Joyous MacQuarrie...the pixie-like, green-eyed attractiveness had seemed from nowhere and fell unashamedly into his fingers. And all that his society neighbors knew of the mysterious woman used to be that she used to be Scottish and that her grandmother were a Locksley. Even her nice bloodline didn't make pleasure relatively right adequate to be a Duchess, yet a proud nobleman like Alec, Duke of Belmore, did as he pleased...and he desired to marry the gorgeous lady who aroused his wish.
But Alec quickly chanced on he couldn't do what he happy with pleasure Fiona MacQuarrie. effervescent with laughter, jam-packed with spirit, she became stately Belmore Park the wrong way up with merriment and unusual occurrences. She could also have gotten Alec to snigger -- and to cherish her -- if it had no longer been for the reality she concealed. even though he became to fireside whilst he tasted her petal-soft lips, he grew to become to ice whilst he came upon that this winsome girl used to be, in reality, a witch. A witch whose powers of white magic weren't continually completely lower than control....Too overdue, pleasure knew she was once desperately in love and that not anything might cease the process their future -- the scandal threatening to smash her and the eagerness that held them either spellbound in a forbidden, impossible to resist fit of 2 enchanted hearts.
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Additional info for Bewitching (Bewitching and Dreaming, Book 1)
Though frankly, this evening has hardly been about punishing me, has it? ’ She bit her lip, teasing it deliciously between perfect white teeth. He looked at that tiny soul-revealing movement, and his groin ached to take her. And he would take her, just as soon as he had the answer to his question. He would drink his fill of this lawless, irresistible woman, and enjoy every honeyed moment of his triumph. But first he would know her identity. ’ he demanded, and lifted his hand to untie her mask. She gasped and shrank away, but his hand slipped round her throat, holding her beneath him with a deliberate show of strength.
Throw it aside and put your hands behind your back. ’ The man gestured impatiently at the woman, who had knelt up and was already engaged in securing Trajan’s hands behind his back with a length of rope. ‘Tie him securely and check for weapons. ’ The woman came shuffling round, bent over, her hands slapping at his calves and thighs in a distinctly business-like fashion. Trajan realised with a shock that this was no woman. It was in fact a stocky man in a gown, his face partially concealed by a veil but decidedly too stubbly for a woman.
I’m not one for these games, Desirée. ’ She slipped down between his knees, crouching before him with her face on a level with his groin. From here, unfastening the fall of his breeches should be a simple enough matter. To her dismay though, his elegant shirt was in the way. She lifted it with unsteady hands, darting another quick look at his face. If he were to peek ... But his lordship kept his word, eyes still closed as her fingers worked frantically at the fall of his breeches, finally closing on the warm, swollen hardness of his penis.
Bewitching (Bewitching and Dreaming, Book 1) by Jill Barnett