Elf Ahearn
Regency romance with a Gothic twist.
book Excerpt
As if losing a battle for control, Flavian dropped to his knees at the far end of the settee and ran a hand along the exposed top of Claire's foot. Light as a feather, he pushed the gown up past the beribboned binding of her slippers. At the exposure of her ankles, he drew a short breath. Fingertips jostled the bow and the silken ribbons unraveled, dropping like leaves. His hand lingered on the ridge of her shin before it brushed down to her ankle, circling the slim circumference. The heat of his palms, the strength of his fingers, sent a bolt of sensation to her core. For the first time, she became aware of a deep primal urge that made her pant slightly in the confining cloth of her undergarments. He lowered his head as if he were going to kiss the tender bone above the joint, and then, with obvious effort, controlled the impulse and sat back.
Once again, he seemed to lose the test of will, and his hand plunged between the arch of her foot and the slipper, his thumb tracing the crescent of her sole. Then her footwear clunked to the floor.
The next shoe came off more quickly, as if he could no longer wait for the appearance of her furthest extremity. Where the ribbons had strapped her flesh, cool air now stirred. His hands, hot and insistent, caressed her ankle, stroking the protruding nub of the heel. Again, he hesitated. Claire closed her eyes and stretched ever so slightly toward him, her body humming. He fingered her stocking-clad toes, tugged on each one, and then slipped a finger between her big and index toe. A gasp escaped her lips, and her body shook with sensation.
Instantly, he bolted to his feet.
THE INSPIRATION FOR HERO AND HEROINE
Claire Albright's expertise in herbs and medicine was inspired by my sister Jenny, acupuncturist and all-around healer. She used to say if Flavian, the kitty on her shoulder, were a man, he'd be the perfect hero.
Available at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Kobo.
If Lady Claire Albright had one wish, it would be to forget brooding, powerful Lord Flavian Monroe. But even after two years of bewildering silence, she yearns to touch his sinuous arms and feel his calloused hands upon her cheeks. Then, on the brink of her come out, they accidently meet. His ward is ill, and he begs her to use her knowledge of healing to help the girl. But this patient is sick in a way that’s far different from what Claire expected—dangerously different. And, as she struggles to find a cure, Flavian resists rekindling their love. Is it the ward’s illness that keeps him cold and distant, or a dark and terrible secret?
The thought of Claire in the arms of another man is unbearable, but in his heart Flavian knows he mustn’t ask her to share the consequences of his mistake. Nor should he have brought her to his home and exposed her to his ward’s sickness. Yet he lacks the strength to send her away. Each time he looks into Claire’s eyes, the urge to feel her body pressed against his consumes all reason, and he is left unable to utter the word, ‘goodbye.’