Authors: Jenna Stone
Emma squeezed
Gavin’s hand, relishing the feeling of his fingers interlaced with her own.
Her body felt completely spent and she wondered if she would be able to move.
Making love to her husband had sapped all of her strength and she allowed him
to kiss her and caress her while she closed her eyes and savored his touch
against her flushed skin. Simply put, she needed time to recover.
Gavin found the birthmark
beneath Emma’s ear and kissed her lightly there before nuzzling her neck
lovingly. How could this woman affect him so?
“Welcome home,”
Emma whispered, smiling softly as she raked her hands through Gavin’s hair.
“Aye,” Gavin said
as he kissed her birthmark again. “And what a welcome it was,” he chuckled
softly as he nipped Emma’s earlobe. “Do ye have any idea of how much ye affect
me?”
“I think so. If
it’s anything like the way you affect me, I think I know,” Emma said, smiling
as she looked into Gavin’s green eyes. Her heart swelled with love when she
looked at him now. He was so happy, so content.
Gavin slowly
withdrew himself from inside of her and gathered Emma against his chest.
Her cheek rested
on his chest and she closed her eyes, savoring the erratic beating of her
husband’s heart as he recovered from the power of their lovemaking. Emma knew
that her own heart, filled to the brim with joy, was beating the same erratic
rhythm.
“Will ye marry
me?” Gavin asked suddenly, surprising Emma.
“I already did,”
Emma said, laughing softly.
“Nay, I mean will
ye really marry me? All proper and the like, in front of the clan in kirk?
We’ve been handfasted for almost a year now and ye ken that ye have a choice…ye
could change yer mind,” Gavin trailed off, smiling mischievously.
“Of course I will
marry you!” Emma said, pushing up from Gavin’s chest and looking down at the
beautiful man beside her in their bed.
“Ye’ve just made
me the happiest man in the world,” Gavin said as he pulled Emma down to him,
allowing her thick blonde hair to fall about them like a curtain as he kissed
her.
Emma kissed her
husband with every fiber of her being, giving him all of her love and receiving
all of the love that he gave. With unflagging joy she trailed her fingers over
his sculpted abdominal muscles, slowly working her way lower as she began the
process of welcoming her husband home for the second time.
..ooOoo..
The End
Thank you so much for choosing to read my book! I am well
aware that there are many choices available to romance readers and I am honored
that you selected my novel out of the crowd.
If you enjoyed reading this novella, please consider reading
one of my full length titles. I’ve attached links to two novels as well as a
sample chapter from
Shipwrecked.
The second book in the Shipwrecked
series is entitled
Redemption
, and it was released in early 2013.
Shipwrecked (Book One of the Shipwrecked Series)
Redemption (Book Two of the Shipwrecked Series)
The Imposter
SHIPWRECKED
Chapter One
Twenty-four was
certainly not too young to die; the problem was that Rowan Murray had never
intended to die a virgin.
“Lord have
mercy….we’re all goin’ tae die!” bellowed the frantic voice of the sailor at
the top of the stairs, thin gray hair plastered to his face from the
combination of the whipping wind and the frothing, angry sea. He braced
himself in the doorway that led below decks to the cargo compartment of the
ship and glanced nervously at the crashing waves and then down at the men kept
in the dark belly of the ship. The sailor gritted his teeth together, his
conscience having temporarily edged out his instinct to survive, and he
struggled down the stairs towards the prisoners. “Get ye on deck sae that
ye can jump overboard.”
“We bloody can’t move!”
Rowan yelled back over the thundering of the sea, “They’ve got us shackled tae
the side of the ship. Do ye have keys?”
The ship rolled
heavily from side to side in the storm, and buckets of rain gushed down the
open stairwell into the cargo hold of the ship. Rowan knew that if they
were not unshackled now, they would drown for sure, helpless as the ship was
torn apart in the storm.
“Aye, I’ve got the
keys. Spose’ it won’t hurt tae let ye have a fightin’ chance,” the man
said as he braced himself in the staircase and ambled down into the cargo hold,
fumbling with a large iron key ring.
“Him first,” Rowan
insisted, pointing his shackled wrists at his younger brother Malcolm.
Rowan noticed the
effort that Malcolm was putting into remaining composed despite the perils of
their present situation. Caught somewhere between a boy and a man,
Malcolm remained awkward and gangly. Rowan thought he looked so young
with his shortly cropped black hair and freckled skin. Rowan said a silent
prayer of protection for his brother.
Please Lord,
let him make it. Give him a chance tae survive.
Malcolm’s eyes
were wild with fear as he held his wrists up so that the man could fit the key
into his shackles. Water continued to pour into the cargo hold, and the
ship creaked and rolled. The thick boards were on the verge of cracking
from the surge of the storm.
Their unlikely
savior, sun wrinkled skin covered in salt and mouth spouting a continuous
stream of filthy words, knit his eyebrows together in concentration against the
swaying of the ship as he struggled to fit the key into the lock of Malcolm’s
shackles. A satisfying click ensued, popping the iron cuff from the boy’s right
wrist. The rolling of the ship made it difficult for the man to fit the key
into the cuff binding Malcolm’s left wrist, and he braced himself against the
hull, cursing under his breath as he forced the key into the lock. The
second shackle released, and Malcolm stepped away from the wall, trying to find
his balance as he rubbed his wrists that had been chaffed raw from weeks of
restraint.
“Hurry, man!
Unlock them!” Malcolm exclaimed, desperate to have his brothers freed so that
they might also have a chance at survival.
“You do it!” the
man huffed impatiently as he thrust the key ring into Malcolm’s trembling hands
and bolted up the stairs. “It’s every man for himself at this point!” the
man shouted over his shoulder as he retreated above deck.
“We’ve time
yet. Don’t panic,” Rowan spoke calmly seeking to reassure his little
brother as he raised his shackled wrists.
Malcolm fought to
maintain his balance as the ship bucked sharply to the left, and another wave
of water crashed down the stairwell. He slipped on the cascade of water
and fell to his knees, clinging to the keys for dear life.
“Bloody hell!” he
cursed as he righted himself, trying to brace his body against the wall between
his brothers.
“Watch yer mouth,”
scolded Quinn, wet chestnut hair plastered to his face. “Ye can do this,
take yer time, get Rowan first,” he coached, watching his youngest brother
fumble with the key ring.
Rowan again held
up his wrists and Malcolm forced the key into the shackle binding his left
wrist. The lock sprung open, and Rowan grabbed the keys with his left
hand and began to unlock his right wrist. The lock was stuck, crusted
heavily with a thick layer of rust from many years at sea. Rowan forced the key
desperately into the lock, turning it slightly one way and then the other,
willing himself not to panic. The key begrudgingly turned against the
rust, and after a moment of struggling, the lock finally gave way.
The ship lurched
to the right, causing Rowan and Malcolm to be thrown hard against the opposite
wall of the hull. Water spilled into the hold, and the ship now lay
almost completely on its side.
The ship was going
under.
Quinn was now
suspended up in the air, his shackles hanging from the wall that was now the
ceiling.
“Go without me!”
Quinn screamed madly at his brothers. “Ye canna save me, but save
yerselves!”
“We’re not leaving
ye!” Rowan bellowed against the roar of the ocean as he fought to right
himself in the water that was quickly filling the hold, fist clenching the
precious keys, protecting them from the angry motions of the sinking ship.
Watching his brother dangle helplessly above him still shackled to the wall of
the ship forced bile to rise in Rowan’s throat. If there was one thing
that he hated, it was being helpless.
A wave hit the
side of the ship with such force that the timbers of the hull threatened to
give way, creaking and splintering with the force of the blow. The ship
rocked back into an upright position, a final act of refusal before it would be
claimed by the sea.
Rowan rushed
towards his brother and scrambled to fit the iron key into the shackle that tied
his brother to the ship. His hand shook, and his body fought with every
muscle fiber to remain anchored to the slippery floor. The lock on the
right shackle popped free, and another wave of water rushed down the stairs,
knocking the key ring to the floor.
Rowan’s heart sank
as he tried in vain to reclaim his grip on the keys, only to watch them slide
into the watery depths.
Malcolm came
flying though the air from behind his brother, diving towards the keys.
“Got ‘em!” he
shouted, triumphantly raising the keys above his head as he staggered towards
Quinn, boyish smile lingering proudly on his face.
The ship lurched
again, and the sound of splintering wood filled the hull. This was
it. The ship was doomed now, breaking apart as it succumbed to the pummeling
of the relentless waves.
“Leave me!” Quinn
shouted, challenging Rowan to disobey him with all of the authority that he
could muster. He glared at his younger brother with steely gray
eyes. Quinn wanted to die.
“She wouldna want
this for ye, brother,” Rowan said, brushing aside the chestnut hair that was
plastered to his face aside. “She’d want ye tae fight, tae live,” Rowan
said, green eyes intense as he started down his older brother.
“I
want
tae
die, let me go tae be with her,” Quinn sobbed as he slapped away Malcolm’s hand
that held the key to his salvation from the shackle. “Go! Save
Malcolm!” Quinn ordered, body racked with emotion.
“I’ll bloody knock
ye out and jump overboard with ye, but I’m not leavin’ ye here, Quinn!” Rowan
challenged as he held his brother’s free arm and motioned to Malcolm to unlock
his other wrist.
Malcolm struggled
to fit the key into the lock and forced the key to turn, popping open the
lock. Rowan jerked Quinn’s arm and motioned towards the stairs, but Quinn
stood fast, steely gaze intent on challenging his younger brother. Rowan
met his brother’s stare with ferocious intensity, eyebrows knit together over
piercing green eyes. Accepting his defeat, Quinn followed his brothers up
the stairs and into the mouth of the storm, knowing that if he didn’t Rowan
would knock him out at carry him.
***
Bang! Bang!
Bang!
Anna Stanton stood
as still as a statue, blonde hair plaited back in a simple braid that rested on
the rough fabric of her gray woven dress. She stood straight and tall
against the cold flagstones by the window, seeking to mold her body into the
ancient stones of her family home. Thin but agile fingers reached out
ever so slowly to push aside the heavy damask draperies, ever so slightly.
Slowly, cautiously her fingers drew back the fabric as she tilted her head to
peek outside.
Bang! Bang!
Bang!
The sizable fist of man dressed in full military regalia pounded
against the heavy wooden door of Stanton Place. “I know you’re in there!”
his voice boomed as he continued to beat on the door. “I’ll be back this
afternoon with the magistrate if you do not open the door right this instant!”
Anna let the
draperies fall back into place and exhaled slowly, leaning her head back
against the cool stones.
“Damn
collectors,” she whispered into the silence of the foyer, hanging her head in
defeat.
This is
not how my life was supposed to have turned out.
Straightening her
spine, Anna reluctantly left her hiding place and walked briskly towards the
heavy wooden door. She unlatched the bolt and slid the heavy guard bar
out of the way, then pulled with all of her might to swing the massive door
open. The hinges creaked loudly, needing oiled desperately. Anna
grumbled to herself, hating to watch her once beautiful home fall into a state
of disrepair. The downward spiral of her mother’s health and her family’s
financial ruin were almost more than she could bear. Almost.
Forcing her chin
up and squaring her shoulders for battle, Anna smiled as she opened the door.
“May I help you,
sir?” she asked sweetly, smiling slightly in an effort to hide her annoyance as
she greeted the bill collector standing in the doorway.
“Indeed I am
hoping that you may be able to,” said the man, bedecked in a red velvet jacket
heavy with medals and military honors that buttoned at the waist, said single
button straining to cover a rather large pot belly.