Re-release date March 1, 2017
Genre: Medieval historical, some spanking
Length: Short Story
Blurb: What’s a lady to do when her father and the suitor she favors can’t get together on the terms of the dowry, and neither is willing to give an inch?
Take matters into her own hands, of course. Even if it means taking a risk with her intended, her reputation, and her future…
“…a real scorcher. Lady Anne’s unorthodox plan is well-executed, and Lord Richard Hartwell is a perfect hero — especially considering the circumstances which he is put into by Lady Anne’s trap. Though short, the story is redolent with steamy sexual encounters.” ~Ann Leveille, Sensual Romance
“…an erotic historical romance that will knock your socks off. Her strong, yet loving characters, her choice of time period, and the creative writing she does is truly magnificent. Get your copy of DARING PASSION today. It’s too good and too affordable to pass up.” ~Jordan Moon, The Word on Romance
4 Hearts! “Ms. Kingston is able to weave a story that is fast, furious, hot, and sexy in just a few words. She stayed true to the era with her dialogue and phrasings, mixing history with potent sexuality. DARING PASSION is hot hot hot!! ” ~D. Sullivan, The Romance Studio
Excerpt from Daring Passion:
Lady Anne paused before the closed door, chewing her nails, trying to still the pounding of her heart, before she made a move that would forever change the course of her life.
There was no help for what she must do, and little enough for herself in this quest. She quietly lifted the latch and pushed the door open. It squealed on its hinges. She cringed a moment before she went in.
The man in the bed must know she was there. He couldn’t have slept through the noise the door had made. But he lay still and quiet, giving no indication he knew of her presence.
She moved quickly to the side of the bed, making her way mostly by feel and memory in the darkness. At the far end of the room a few dying embers yet glowed, remains of the fire that had blazed earlier. Though visible still, they provided no illumination in the room. That was good. The darkness served her need.
She wore only a light robe. It whispered softly as it fell from her shoulders and puddled on the floor. The feather bed gave when she put her hand on it. She ran her fingers across the surface of the linen cover until they encountered warm, bare skin. She touched him softly, hoping not to startle him.
Instead it was she who jumped when a hard hand clamped around her wrist and a cold, steel point pressed against her breast. “My lord, I mean you no harm,” she said softly in what she hoped was her most helpless voice.
“Who are you?” a gruff, low, male voice asked. “What devilry’s afoot?”
“No devilry, sir. I have no weapon, no tinctures, nothing to do you any harm.”
“I ask again: Who are you?” The blade moved not a fraction from its position at her breast.
“A gift, my lord. One offered for your comfort and…entertainment.”
“Who bestows so unexpected a boon upon me?”
“My lord D’Auberon.”
“And why did he not apprise me of this boon earlier. Why send you now?”
“He…My lord D’Auberon thought you would value the surprise. Please remove your blade, my lord. I pose no threat to you.”
“I reserve my doubts on that score, madame,” he said. “Come closer.”
She moved toward him until she reached the edge of the bed. A sliver of moonlight edged into the room through the window to her right, letting her see him better. It wasn’t reassuring. The knife lay at his side, but Lord Richard Hartwell had an intimidating presence even when he lay prone in bed. She knew him for a tall man, a physically imposing figure based on his height and breadth of shoulder. He wore no night shirt. An expanse of chest bore a light coating of hair that narrowed with his torso until it disappeared under the sheet pulled up to his waist.
At dinner earlier, he’d worn his hair pulled back in a tail held by a leather thong. Now it lay loose around his head. Anne fought an urge to sink her fingers into it the straight and thick mass. It looked invitingly soft. Then she met the stern, intent gaze of his eyes. In the shadowy light, they looked dark, although she knew they were blue. Earlier, whenever they’d rested on her, they’d glowed with a fire of either heaven or hell in their depths.
She moved to the right to place herself between the ray of moonlight and the bed, hoping he hadn’t been able to see her as clearly as she’d seen him. She doubted he could.
He reached out and found her arms. His hands trailed down the skin to her palms, assuring himself she held no weapon. Then he skimmed along the side of her body, starting just below her armpits and trailing down her sides toher hips. Wherever he touched, he left trails of tingling skin and a few ribbons of a hotter fire.
She shivered as his big hands cradled her hips. She reached out to touch his chest. Muscle quivered under her questing fingers. His skin was warm and resilient.
Something was making her heart beat more rapidly and her breath begin to pick up speed. Fear, no doubt. He could crush her with one hand did he so will, and he might just will it when he learned who she was and why she did this. But it seemed to be affecting him too, as he made a sharp, harsh sound when the tip of one finger touched one of his nipples.
“It appears you have no weapon, as you said, Madame,” he conceded. “Yet, do I mistrust–” He broke off sharply. She’d run her fingers along his throat, up the jaw, and over to his lips. He finished with a muffled oath that appeared to be a concession as well as an expression of annoyance.
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