I'm so pleased to share my new book with you! Set in the wilds of northern Maine in 1814,
Storm of the Heart features a beautiful young widow who saves a half-drowned stranger. Is he a spy or a traitor?
Leave a comment below and be signed up for a free giveaway of an autographed manuscript (paper) and an e-book! Manuscript for US-based readers only, please, but the e-book is for anyone in any country!
Here's another scene you can enjoy in the meantime:
The moonlight
only emphasized her loveliness. He brushed a tangled strand of hair from her
wet cheek, and her eyelids fluttered. Her lips parted with a gasp, and he
wondered if she kissed her ghostly husband in her sleep. Before he could stop
himself, he gave in to his pent-up frustration and longing and brushed his lips
across hers.
He expected her
to sink back into the bedclothes, dead asleep, or, worse, wake up. Instead, her
lips quivered against his. Her arms tightened around him, sliding up to grip
his shoulders. The pads of her fingers dug into his back. He couldn’t help
himself. He deepened the kiss, aware of his rising ardor, but unable to contain
it. She twined her fingers in his hair, pulling her to him with an urgency he
didn’t want to fight. Every fiber of his being vibrated with sparks ignited by
her kiss. His muscles weakened with each passing moment, as did his resolve to
leave in the morning. How could he sneak out of the cottage like a criminal,
when she was so alone, so desperately alone?
He would have to
go soon, regardless. His presence was too much of a risk for her. For himself,
he cared little. But he could not put the burden of harboring an enemy upon
her.
He broke the
kiss gently so as not to awaken her. Cradling her in his arms, he lowered her
to the pillow and pulled the quilt up to her chin. He kept watch by her side to
ensure she didn’t have another nightmare, but she slept heavily. She resembled
an angel in sleep, with her golden hair tumbled across the pillowcase. In
sleep, she was more the young woman he sensed dwelled beneath her daily sorrow
and mournful burden. It was a shame, truly a shame, that she could not cast the
burden aside and give her heart again.
Despite the
almost painful urge to hold her through the night, he pulled up a hard-backed
chair and sat beside her. He did allow one indulgence, which was to take her
hand from the coverlet and hold it lightly. Her fingers closed around his.
Just before
dawn, he staggered from her room and unpacked the flour sack of Caleb Quinn’s
belongings before falling into a dead sleep on his pallet.
Dear readers, do you prefer one historical setting over another? Looking for more dukes and fewer cowboys, or are you ready for some good, old-fashioned American heroes? Leave your comments and I will draw a name out of the hat in 2 weeks! Stay tuned for more excerpts and surprises!
