Run Wild (47 page)

The first day of January, 1300.

It couldn’t be!

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Forever His: A Time-Travel Romance

Excerpt from
HIS FORBIDDEN TOUCH

(The Stolen Brides Series, Book 2)

She may never reach her royal wedding if she can’t resist the rugged mercenary assigned to protect her.

Disgraced ex-knight Royce Saint-Michel was banished from his homeland because of an impulsive act that cost him all he held dear. Now, he has the chance to reclaim his birthright – if he escorts the lovely Princess Ciara to her royal wedding and ensures that she arrives untouched. The two set off alone on a treacherous journey through snowy mountain passes, but forbidden desire soon proves even more dangerous than the assassins on their trail. With the fate of two kingdoms hanging in the balance, will Royce and Ciara do as honor and duty demand... or surrender to the longing in their hearts?

“A fun and erotic 14th-century romp... loaded with non-stop adventure.” —
Publishers Weekly

He was in love with her
. With this sweet innocent who had drifted into his life like an angel on a beam of morning sunlight. Princess Ciara. The King’s daughter. Daemon’s betrothed.
A lady who belonged to everyone else but him
...

He swore he could hear each drop of water as it glided down her body.

Seated on a stool in front of the hearth, his jaw clenched so hard that it hurt, Royce kept his back to Ciara and his gaze on the untouched trencher of food in his hands. And fought a desperate battle to ignore the liquid, sensual sounds just a few paces behind him.

He should have told the innkeeper and his assistants to take the hot bath away. The fire and the fur had clearly been enough to revive Ciara. She was in no danger.

But after all she had endured this day, he had found himself unable to deny her a few moments’...

Pleasure.

The word made his entire body go taut with strain. He realized he was sweating. The chamber that had seemed so cold just minutes ago now felt much too hot. Sultry. Confining.

Every splash of warm water caressing her naked skin made his heart beat harder. Each barely audible sigh that escaped her lips made his blood pound through his veins. He could not even draw a complete breath, longed to get up and pace—but that would mean turning around.

And seeing what he was hearing.

He grabbed a haunch of roast meat from his trencher and sank his teeth into it, struggling to remember that a great many lives depended on him doing what was right and honorable.

Including his own.

Wolfing down his meal, he resisted the urge to steal a glance over his shoulder... and tried to keep his mind off the large, soft bed in the corner.

At least the arrival of the tub had spared him one bit of torture: having Ciara tend his injuries. He had seen to his own cuts and bruises while she had prepared for her bath.

The thought of what her tender ministrations might have been like, of her fingers moving over his bare skin...

He gnawed the last bit of meat from the mutton bone, unable to forget the way she had looked at him when he had stripped off his tunic and turned to face her. The wonder in her gaze, and the unexpected, unmistakable arousal, had hit him like a punch to the gut, reminding him of the sweet, feminine passion he had tasted so briefly at Bayard’s castle.

The passion that he had no right to taste or to take.

“Royce?”

He almost choked on his food. “Aye?”

“Could you... mayhap hand me something to... to dry off with? Please?”

His heart thudded. Her tremulous voice revealed that she was just as affected as he was by the heat sizzling through the room.

His gaze slid to the stack of linens on the table to his left. He wished fervently that she had thought of this before getting into the tub. “Of course.”

He tried to say it casually, to act as if he had beautiful, naked women bathing within five paces of him every day.

Setting his trencher aside, he picked up some of the clean linens and moved as close to her as he dared, keeping his gaze averted. He placed them on the floor within her reach.

But he did not move away.

He heard her breath catch. For an instant, just one instant, he lingered there. Wishing...wanting...

Then he forced himself to reclaim his place before the hearth.

Water sloshed over the edge of the tub. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“You are welcome.” He glared into the flames, felt beads of sweat slide down his temple, his neck, into the matted hair of his bare chest.

Neither of the tunics he had pilfered from the stable boys fit him, both too tight to get past his shoulders. He could only hope one of the garments would fit Ciara.

The wish became a prayer a moment later as he heard her stand. He had to shut his eyes to banish the image painted by the sounds: water sluicing off her naked body. The little rush of breath between her teeth as the night air touched her wet skin.

He imagined her nipples tightened to hard pearls, imagined them a perfect, dusky pink.

Next he heard the crunch of the rushes beneath her feet as she stepped from the tub. And the quiet rustling of the linen as she rubbed the soft cloth over her smooth, wet curves.

Then silence.

Every muscle in his body tightened. He remained still, not trusting himself to move. Knowing that if he so much as dared draw breath, he would have her in his arms and on the bed before either of them could say a word.

He blinked once, slowly. Waited.

“Royce?” she whispered tentatively.

“What?” His voice sounded rough and hollow.

She hesitated a moment. “What am I to wear?”

The chamber seemed to grow smaller and even hotter around him. He waved a hand over his shoulder, motioning her toward the corner near the door. “See if any of those fit you.”

He listened while she padded barefoot over to the pile of stolen garments. She could not put her ruined gown back on. The few bits of cloth left intact after their escape today had more or less shredded when she had disrobed for her bath. The task of getting undressed had apparently been difficult with her hands bandaged. And he had not dared to offer help.

Nor did he offer any now, as he listened to her wrestling with the homespun garments in an attempt to fit them over her curves.

She made a sound of frustration. “I do not think these will work. My hips are too... and my... my...”

He did not need an explanation. His imagination provided a complete, vivid picture.

Gritting his teeth, he whispered an oath and flicked a glance heavenward. Was it not enough that he had to spend the next few days alone with her in this room? Did she have to be as naked as Eve the entire time?

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His Forbidden Touch

Excerpt from
TIMELESS

(The Stolen Brides Series, Book 3)

She’s swept away to a hidden island paradise filled with pleasures... and secrets.

Abducted from a trade fair by a mysterious warrior, Lady Avril de Varennes awakens on Asgard Island, an enchanted paradise cloaked in mists and mystery, kept secret from the world for centuries. Against her will, Avril weds her arrogant captor, Hauk Valbrand—even as she vows to escape. Hauk believes himself beyond the reach of love, until his fiery captive bride begins to melt his heart of ice. But soon he must reveal the stunning truth about Asgard and its people—and Hauk and Avril must choose between love and honor, duty and desire... now and forever.

“An utterly absorbing read! With its richly drawn characters, powerful conflict and vividly imagined setting, TIMELESS is a romantic fantasy lover’s dream. When it comes to sweeping, sizzling historical romance, Shelly Thacker is a shining star!” —
New York Times
bestselling author Lara Adrian

“Five hearts (highest rating). An involving, beautiful story. I thought about the characters often at work, at the grocery store, in my car—wherever I was until I could get back to the book. A definite keeper.” — TheRomanceReader.com

The glitter of steel on the wall caught her attention. Along with hunting trophies and strange sculptures and artifacts, the owner of this place had a number of weapons on display.

How foolish of him, Avril thought with a grim smile of satisfaction, to leave them within easy reach. She walked over and selected a double-edged blade that was long enough to use as a sword yet light enough to throw, if the need arose.

When her abductor returned, he would find himself with more trouble than he had bargained for.

Gripping the weapon in one hand, she was about to renew her search for an exit when a sound from the dark, distant corner of the chamber startled her—the sound of a key turning in a lock.

Her pulse racing, she retreated a few steps, away from the hearth and the open window, trying to conceal herself in the shadows. She raised the sword in front of her and peered into the blackness.

A door creaked open. A massive, heavy portal from the sound of it. It closed an instant later with the clatter of an iron latch. Avril heard a footfall. Another. Then naught more.

Naught but the pounding of her heart.

“Milady?” a deep male voice called after a moment, speaking quietly in French. “There is no need to hide from me. I mean you no harm.”

She did not reply, edging silently along the wall. Now that she knew the general location of the door, if she could tiptoe her way around him...

“You cannot hide forever.” He walked farther into the room, his tone becoming impatient. “And there is nowhere to run.”

Ha
, she thought, moving faster. That was his opinion. Once she reached the door, he would discover why she had always won footraces when she was a girl—

Her next step carried her straight into a small table and sent both her and whatever had been on it crashing to the floor.

She landed hard and yelped in pain as she bruised her hip on the hard stone and cut her hand on a shard of glass. Cups and platters and a shattered goblet littered the floor around her.

Uttering what sounded like an oath, her abductor closed in on her, a massive shadow looming out of the darkness.

“Stay back!” she shouted, grabbing the sword she had dropped. “I have a weapon. And I am skilled enough to use it!”

The threat stopped him, at least for the moment. “A blade will avail you naught more than shouting yourself hoarse at the window did.” He sounded annoyed rather than concerned about his safety. “You cannot harm me, milady.”

What arrogance! Shaking her head, Avril got to her feet, careful of the broken glass. “Come any closer and you will discover precisely how wrong you are.” She tried to judge the distance to the door, took a cautious step.

And felt surprised when he moved away from her, toward the window.

“I do not doubt your skill,” he said dryly. “I saw you demonstrate it in the marketplace.”

He stepped into the pool of moonlight that poured through the open shutters.

Avril gasped, staring at him in open-mouthed astonishment. “
You
!” she choked out. “You are the trader who ran into me at the street corner.”

Her pounding heart seemed to fill her throat as she gaped at him. It was unmistakably the same tall, heavily muscled rogue who had collided with her. The same fierce, rugged face. The same bronzed skin and sun-colored hair, utterly at odds with the moonlight all around him.

“As I recall,” he said sardonically, one corner of his mouth curving, “it was you who ran into me.”

Avril felt a rush of dizziness, just as she had in Antwerp—mayhap because he seemed
familiar
, in a way she could not explain. There was something about his deep, quiet voice. Something in his gaze.

He had eyes of the palest blue, like a clear, cool lake reflecting a summer sky.

And as he regarded her silently, the unnerving sensation she had felt upon first meeting him shimmered through her once more—a dazzling heat, as if the sun had tumbled from the heavens to fill every fiber of her being. The impact swept over her so suddenly, so powerfully, it robbed her of breath, voice, of her very senses.