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Cowboy to Command by Sabrina York (@sabrina_york)

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COWBOY TO COMMAND

A man with a secret… A woman with a plan

The second sexy, Stripped Down novel from the author of Stud for Hire.

Just south of Fort Worth, Texas, you’ll find a little ranch where the hot, toned cowboys are ready and eager to take it all off and make your naughtiest fantasies come true…

Satisfaction is the name of the game at the Double S Ranch, where the men are more than willing to play. They come from all walks of life, and each has their own reason for dancing for a lady’s pleasure.

A former Navy SEAL, Brandon Stewart started dancing after an injury in the field put him out of commission. The power he commands when a woman’s eyes are locked on him makes Brandon feel like the man he used to be. But when he meets Porsche, Brandon has never felt more stripped bare.

The spirited beauty needs a handsome fake boyfriend to make another man jealous. But Brandon is determined to prove to Porsche that pretending with him is nothing compared to the real thing…

*****

Read an excerpt!

Dougal scampered around them, chasing dust whorls, but Brandon’s attention was on Porsche’s face. He was loath to let her go. “So, did you and Claire come up with any brilliant ideas?” He wasn’t truly interested, but this was as good a ploy as any to keep her here. For a while longer at least.

Porsche threw back her head and laughed. Her eyes sparkled and her parted lips tantalized him. “No. We got distracted.” She leaned closer. “We often do.”

“What distracted you?”

She pinned an innocent look on her face. “Lisa was making profiteroles.”

“What the hell are profiteroles?”

“Choux à la crème,” she said with a wave of her hand.

He laughed. “Still in the dark.”

“Cream puffs.”

Now that he understood. “I should probably go visit the kitchen.”

“Good luck with that. Claire’s in there. We call her Hooverlips.”

“That is hardly kind.”

“Maybe not. But true. She does love to eat.”

Dougal spotted another dust whorl and shot off in yet another direction. The leash wound around their legs and they, perforce drew closer. And damn, he loved the feel of her pressing against his chest and groin, her smile, her laugh as she fell against him.

She gazed up into his eyes and said, “I think we’re trapped.”

“I think so too.” But he could hardly complain. Until she tried to wiggle free.

Then again, he did like the wiggling.

They both laughed as they became even more inextricably entwined and then, all of a sudden, Porsche froze. Her gaze, wide and welcoming, snapped to his. “Oh, kiss me now,” she gushed and his heart thumped. She wrapped her arms around his neck and went up on her tiptoes and pursed her lips.

Though he was hardly disinclined, he was surprised. What had incited this sudden and incongruous passion? He stared at her in shock as his body went on point, hummed, trilled with exhilaration and excitement.

“Hurry,” she said. “He’s watching.”

He’s watching.

Well hell. His mood plummeted. He should have realized. He should have expected as much. He was a fool for thinking she suddenly wanted to kiss him.

He was struck with an immediate anger, and at the same time, a scorching determination.

Kiss her?

He’d give her a kiss she would never forget.

He took her cheeks in his hands and tipped her head a bit to the side and stared at her. “Are you ready?” he asked in a whisper.

She blinked. “I…ah…yes.”

But still, he waited, staring at her lips, so full and lush. He’d waited so long to taste her, the anticipation itself was delicious. Slowly, he lowered his head and he brushed his mouth over hers, a tease and nothing more. Then he did it again.

Good God, she was delectable.  Soft, sweet, a velvety heaven. She tasted of sugar and a hint of chocolate with an undertone of…Porsche. He wanted to sink into her. Consume her.

So he did.

He deepened the kiss, investing in it all his desire, his hope, his passion.

And God help him, she responded.

She tightened her hold and pressed against him and made little mewling sounds that set his body on fire.

He leaned into the kiss, bending her back, grasping for all he could reach.

It became a conflagration, a wild storm swirling them both in a savage whirlwind of gargantuan proportions that was—

“Ahem.”

An annoying voice came from his left. Brandon attempted to ignore it.

“Ahem!”

He lifted his head and stared down into Porsche’s eyes. He was gratified that she seemed dazed and boneless. Really gratified when she reached up for another kiss. And that, of course, set him off again as well. He couldn’t get enough.

Not ever.

“Hello? People? That’s good. You can disengage.” Claire—for that was who it was—attempted to pull them apart.

“But Cody’s watching,” Porsche murmured, snuggling in closer.

“He’s gone.”

To Brandon’s disgruntlement, she eased back, still staring into his eyes. “He’s gone,” she whispered.

“I heard,” he said. But he couldn’t resist one more kiss. Just one.

And damn it all to hell. Why hadn’t Cody stayed just a little longer?
Preorder now on Amazon!

Read more about the Stripped Down Cowboys!

 

STRIPPED DOWN SERIES from SABRINA YORK

Stud for Hire by Sabrina York  08/16/2016

Cowboy to Command by Sabrina York 10/18/2016

Spurred On by Sabrina York  01/17/2017

 

PREQUEL NOVELLAS (AVAILABLE NOW)

The Real McCoy (Prequel #1) 

Come Hell or High Water (Prequel #2)

Protect and Serve–Cowboy Justice (Prequel #3)

*****

About Sabrina York

Her Royal Hotness, Sabrina York, is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of hot, humorous stories for smart and sexy readers. Her titles range from sweet & snarky to scorching romance.  Visit her webpage at www.sabrinayork.com to check out her books, excerpts and contests. Newsletter: http://eepurl.com/bj8tKb.

Bookshelf! http://sabrinayork.com/books/

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*****

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Out Now! – Stud for Hire by Sabrina York (@sabrina_york)

Stud for HireJust south of Fort Worth, Texas, you’ll find a little ranch where the hot, toned cowboys are ready and eager to take it all off and make your naughtiest fantasies come true…

When her sister plans a wild bachelorette weekend at the Double S Ranch, Hanna Stevens is pretty sure she’ll just grin and bear it while the other women get their fill of hot cowboy strippers. After all, Hanna has never met a man who made her really want.

Zack, Hanna’s future husband, offered to marry her and save her family’s ranch from financial ruin, and while she accepted, it was never what you’d call a passionate affair. But when she locks eyes with Logan, Hanna is suddenly overwhelmed by the feeling she’s always craved and never experienced: Pure. Animal. Desire…

The first in a new series of Stripped Down Cowboys from New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author, Sabrina York

“Sabrina York can write a sexy cowboy like no other!” Susan Stoker, New York Times bestselling author

*****

Read an Excerpt

“Hi.”

Logan’s heart stilled and then shot into a rapid tattoo. He dropped the heavy bale on the ground. It landed with a dull thud and a plume of dust. Slowly, he turned, trying to ignore the shivers running over his skin at that low, sultry voice.

And yeah. There she was, backlit by the sun in the yawning barn door, a tantalizing silhouette.

“Ma’am.”

He tipped back his hat so he could see her better. Wiped the sweat from his brow. Damn, she was beautiful. Her red hair was down, flowing over her shoulders like a rippling stream, teased by the breeze. The buttons of her plaid shirt strained against the curves of her breasts. He loved the way her skinny jeans clung to her legs, disappearing in a pair of well-worn boots.

She wasn’t supposed to be here. The women were supposed to be settling in, dressing for the evening’s festivities. A Hunky Hoedown. Logan was supposed to be preparing for that too—but he’d decided to work off his simmering energy here, in the barn.

He hadn’t really expected her to take him up on his offer and find him here. Never dared hope.

But…here she was.

His knees went a little weak. He tightened his muscles and forced himself to remain where he was, watching her every move. Every breath.

Though he suspected why she’d come, he wasn’t sure. It would be wise to let her make the first move.

God help him.

Because he wanted to pounce.

“So…” She wandered deeper into the barn, pretending to study the tools hanging on the wall. Her fingers drifted over a harness; the sight made a shudder walk through him.  When Gotham poked out a head and sprayed her with a welcoming snort, she patted his snout, but not like a city girl. Not with a tentative pat as though she were afraid he’d bite.

Logan swallowed the pool of drool in his mouth. He’d like to take a bite. Of that.

“So…” she repeated. “Is this a working ranch, or only a weekend bordello?”

Logan stiffened. If he wasn’t mistaken, that was a flirtatious tone. She flicked a look at him, from beneath amber lashes and his gut clenched. Shit. It was.

His heart lurched. His cock swelled. Sudden sweat beaded his brow.

This was Hanna. His Hanna—well, the Hanna of his dreams. The woman he’d wanted forever, the woman who’d never seen him.

And she was flirting. With him.

Inexorably drawn to her, he stepped closer. “Oh. It’s a working ranch.” A low rumble, infused with meaning. Yeah. He’d like to work her. Work her over.

“I see.” She leaned against the wall and crossed her arms. It took every ounce of concentration in him to keep his gaze on her face. Oh, it was a fascinating face, but the cleavage her action created was even more mesmerizing.

His brain fizzled and popped at that hint of a shadow. He said the only thing that came to mind—the only thing fit to say, at least. “Cody has over two hundred head.”

“I see. Do you…” Her attention trickled over his bare chest. He was covered in sweat and bits of hay. She didn’t seem to mind. Her lips pursed. Then she licked them. “Do you work here?”

He snorted. “No.” His days working as a cowpoke for Cody were long gone…unless he lost a bet.

“Ah.” Her gaze flicked up to his. The muscle in her cheek tightened. “I didn’t think so.”

The words skimmed over him in a hot rush, her tone, low and woven with implication. His breath hitched at the look in her beautiful eyes.

And then it plunged to his toes.

Because he could tell, from every line of her face, from the way she held her body, from the way she looked at him. She didn’t recognize him.

She had no idea who he was. No idea they’d gone to high school together. No memory of what he’d done, how he’d risked everything for her. And nearly lost.

Nope. She thought he was just a random stripper. Manflesh brought in for the sole purpose of providing pleasure to the lady guests.

On the one hand, that pissed him off.

But on the other hand…hell, she thought he was a stripper.  Probably one willing to make himself available to Cody’s guests should the right offer arise.

A mix of annoyance, need and lust warred within him.

Lust won.

Hanna Stevens, the prim and proper princess of Snake Gully, thought he was a stud for hire. And she wanted him.

This could be fun.

He stepped closer to her, adopting a gait, an attitude he assumed a man of lesser morals might employ. “I’m just here for the weekend, ma’am. Just here to make sure you ladies have a…good time.”

“I-I see.”

“My name is Logan.”

“Hanna.”

Yeah. He knew. He knew her name.

She tipped up her head as he neared. Her eyes went wide. Pupils dilated. Lips parted. Damn, she was a tiny thing. Heat gathered low in his belly. He fought back the urge to yank her into his arms and kiss the shit out of her. “I…ah…and…” She glanced away and then slowly forced her gaze back. “And what would that good time entail…exactly?”

Everything in him stilled.

First, because hell, was she propositioning him?

And second because, hell! She was propositioning him.

“That’s…negotiable.” He hated that his voice cracked on the words. But he really couldn’t help it. It was all he could do to keep control of his raging emotions. Okay. His raging lust. His cock was hard. Tight in his jeans. Thudding with every beat of his heart. And his pulse thrummed like an out of control jackhammer. “W-what do you like?”

He was pretty sure gentlemen of the evening didn’t stutter, but he couldn’t help himself. He held his breath, waiting for her answer. God, he wanted to know. He’d always wanted to know. Ached to know.

She drew her finger along the leather harness dangling from the wall and his cock jerked in sympathetic reaction. “I don’t know. Something…improper.” The look she flicked at him set his soul on fire. A dark wind screamed through him like a violent summer storm on the range.

“I can do improper.” Could he.

She stepped closer. Her scent engulfed him, clouded his brain. Something feminine and light, like powder. She tipped her chin and met his gaze as she set her palm flat on his chest. He nearly winced at the touch. Their first real touch. His muscles bunched at the effort to hold back that involuntary reaction. Her hand was tiny. She was tiny. He wanted to scoop her up, find a nice soft pile of hay and roll her in it. Hard.

Her lashes flickered. “Something…very improper.”

He swallowed. “I can do very improper.”

“Something naughty.” A whisper. As though some deep part of her was not allowed to hear.

“I can do naughty,” he whispered back. “I’m very good at naughty.”

A sizzling energy passed between them. She licked her lips again and this time he saw it for what it was. An invitation.

To take.

What he wanted.

What he’d wanted for years.

Forever.

And he did.

He kissed her.

 

Buy now: Amazon UK | Amazon US

*****

Read more about the Stripped Down Cowboys!

STRIPPED DOWN SERIES from SABRINA YORK

Stud for Hire by Sabrina York  08/16/2016

Cowboy to Command by Sabrina York 10/18/2016

Spurred On by Sabrina York  01/17/2017

 

PREQUEL NOVELLAS (AVAILABLE NOW)

The Real McCoy (Prequel #1) 

Come Hell or High Water (Prequel #2)

Protect and Serve–Cowboy Justice (Prequel #3)

 

*****

About Sabrina York

Her Royal Hotness, Sabrina York, is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of hot, humorous stories for smart and sexy readers. Her titles range from sweet & snarky to scorching romance.  Visit her webpage at www.sabrinayork.com to check out her books, excerpts and contests. Newsletter: http://eepurl.com/bj8tKb.

 

Bookshelf! http://sabrinayork.com/books/

Newsletter: http://eepurl.com/bj8tKb

Website: http://sabrinayork.com/

Follow my Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/author/sabrinayork

Like my Facebook Author Page https://www.facebook.com/SabrinaYorkBooks

Follow me on Twitter @sabrina_york https://twitter.com/sabrina_york

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New magical, fantasy romance…with a twist from Sabrina York (@sabrina_york)

Read on for an exclusive excerpt and a chance to win the Wicked Enchantment Tiara

Wicked EnchantmentWicked Enchantment

By Sabrina York

Consigned to a magical prison, Sir Keeshan has suffered torment after torment for thousands of years. The curse of a powerful Djinn entombed him in the lamp, damning him to an eternity of pleasing the women who come to him—but never grasping true love. Every hundred years or so, a new woman comes to him and they are both are ensnared in a web of dark desire. And then, just as he grows to care for her, she is spirited away, back to the world. Such is the nature of his curse.

But when Aimalee arrives, Keeshan knows something is different. She is different. And his feelings for her are undeniable. He has no idea how long they will have together and, desperate to not waste a second of his time with her, Keeshan cannot help but indulge his every craving…and hers.

When the clever minx helps him solve a mystery that has been haunting him for ages, he can’t help but hope she may be the one to help him break the curse.

Hope is a dangerous thing in enchanted surrounds, especially because he knows her departure, when it comes, will destroy him.

Magical, fantasy romance…with a twist from Sabrina York

READ AN EXCERPT

Aimalee shivered as an unfamiliar inclination struck her. She wanted to drop the pillow and press her body against him. Rub against him. He was so beautiful. So perfect. She longed to touch him.

Of its own volition, her hand rose. At the last instant, just before their flesh connected, she curled her fingers.

He winced as she withdrew, winced as though she’d slapped him. Tiny tears clung to his lashes. “Please, Aimalee.” His voice was ragged. “Please touch me.”

She stepped away, ignoring the desolation sweeping across his countenance. It cost her but she forced those primal urges down, back into her subconscious where they belonged. Something wasn’t right here. Women didn’t just suddenly transport into sumptuous bowers. Gorgeous men with smoldering eyes didn’t simply appear from thin air. And most importantly, Aimalee didn’t have thoughts like this.

She never had.

She couldn’t give in to these cravings. Not until she understood what was happening to her. Her analytical mind would not allow it.

As though he could read her thoughts, a frown marred his sculpted brow in fascinating furrows. He stepped closer and closer still—though not close enough to touch. His breath was warm on her face. “Don’t fight it, Aimalee. You cannot resist. Please don’t try.” He bent closer and his nostrils flared like a stallion catching the scent of a filly in season. He licked his lips.

My but they were beautiful lips.

And my, oh my. He smelled of sandalwood and sin. The combination made her head spin. She desperately attempted to eradicate these errant thoughts. “Where am I? What happened?” More questions swirled but this was a good place to start.

“Please.” Beads of sweat dimpled his upper lip. Heat roiled from his broad chest. Everything about him was hard. “Not now. No questions now.” He whirled away with a growl, showing her his back, frustration clear in every rigid line. As he moved, the dim light glinted off the metal encircling his neck. Aimalee realized it was hewn of the same strange iridescent metal of the lamp.

Certainty dawned and with it a sense of incredulity. “I’m inside the lamp.”

He shot a glance at her over his hunched shoulder, a wounded animal. “Y-you touched it.”

“I’ve touched it many times before.”

“Many times.” A shudder racked him. He began to shiver, to shake. “But never with…never with…” Never with…what? He didn’t complete the thought, as though the words were too painful to utter. He moaned in agony and stumbled into the shadows.

She followed, racked with worry—he looked as though he was dying—and lightly touched his shoulder. He froze at the contact, sucking in a deep gasp of air, exhaling it on a small whimper. As their flesh connected, a sizzle shot up her arm, rocketing to her core. Something tight within her released.

And then she realized…the release hadn’t come from within her.

It had come from within him.

Invisible chains binding him shattered and fell away.

He straightened and stood. Sublime relief descended upon him like a cloud. “Thank you,” he gasped. “Thank you, Aimalee.” He drew his knuckles along the curve of her shoulder then trailed down her arm, sending riots of sensation through her. “You touched it with your bare hands, you see. And the lamp brought you to me,” he said, answering her earlier—long forgotten—question. He caressed her hand, lifted it to his lips then drew her thumb into his mouth and gently sucked.

Molten lava, deep in her core, churned and spat.

She knew she should not allow this. She knew she should pull away. The voice of sanity within her whispered as much. Trouble was, that voice of sanity was starting to recede. “W-why?” It was the only word she could manage. The only thought she could conjure.

He kissed her knuckles, one by one. “You are here for me, Aimalee. For this.” His scalding touch trailed back up her arm. She jerked in reaction but didn’t protest. Her body was heavy, drugged with desire. Her mind befuddled, rapt in it. Enthralled.

He tugged gently at the pillow she held before her. She watched in mute dismay as he tossed her armor carelessly aside. “God, Aimalee. You are even more beautiful in the flesh.”

Reverently, he cupped her breast. And then his head descended and those lips—those delicious lips—wrapped around a coral crest. Sucked. Pleasure rocked her. Exquisite trills danced along her spine. Tremors rippled through her womb.

But still…she resisted. As difficult as it was to fight against the alluring enchantment he was weaving—and it was difficult—she lurched back and gasped, “Who are you?”

Instead of answering, he scraped her nipple—sending spirals of delight coiling up her spine. Oh! It was getting harder and harder to resist him. Harder to focus on her outrage as he enticed her deeper into his web.

But she was not the only one besieged by temptation. His body was taut as a bowstring; he fairly hummed with the tension.

He pulled her into his arms. The shock of his hot skin against hers from chest to groin made her light-headed. He traced the line of her back from her buttocks to her shoulder blades.

“I am sorry, Aimalee,” he murmured, his tone limned with remorse. “But I cannot answer your questions anymore. I cannot wait. It has been far too long.” He lifted her hair and bent to place a gentle kiss on her nape. With his tongue, his velvet, drugging tongue, he traced a strange and sinuous symbol there.

A peculiar warmth blossomed where he’d licked her. It drifted down her arms, across her chest, infused her body and soul. Her nipples tightened. Her body liquefied. A hot rush of arousal seeped from her womb. Her clitoris throbbed and a scorching hunger growled and snapped like a long-caged beast.

She wanted him.

She wanted him like she had never wanted a man before. Savagely.

She ached to fist her fingers in his hair and drag him down on top of her. To take his lips with her own. Suck on his tongue. Consume him. Grind against that magnificent cock until he howled with need. Until he took her. Fucked her. Impaled her.

Her mind reeled with pleasure and passion…and confusion.

What was this?

This was not like her.

Not like her at all.

Hadn’t Carter told her repeatedly that she was frigid?

She had never wanted like this. Ached like this. Needed like this.

“What are you doing to me?” Even to her own ears, the cry was laced with pleasure, desire, delirium. She placed her palm flat on his chest to push him away but at that touch, passion swelled—the passion in her and the passion in him, tangling, twining. His skin was smooth but his hard muscles bunched beneath her touch.

He threw his head back and groaned in ecstasy. Or perhaps agony. Or both.

“I can’t. I need… I want to…” He hissed through his teeth. “But I cannot wait. I cannot.”

Easing her down onto the cushions, he covered her. The sensation of his hot, sweat-dampened skin against hers sent a shock wave through her. He nudged her legs apart. Neared. She writhed beneath him, eager, wanton, lost in wonder. Ravenous for him. Impatient.

He did not make her wait.

Get it now!

AMAZON
Free on Kindle Unlimited

*****

Sabrina_head_logoAbout Sabrina York

Her Royal Hotness, Sabrina York, is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of hot, humorous stories for smart and sexy readers. Her titles range from sweet & snarky to scorching romance.  Visit her webpage at www.sabrinayork.com to check out her books, excerpts and contests. Newsletter: http://eepurl.com/bj8tKb.

Bookshelf! http://sabrinayork.com/books/

Newsletter: http://eepurl.com/bj8tKb

Website: http://sabrinayork.com/

Follow my Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/author/sabrinayork

Like my Facebook Author Page https://www.facebook.com/SabrinaYorkBooks

Follow me on Twitter @sabrina_york https://twitter.com/sabrina_york

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Check out my Pinterest boards: http://www.pinterest.com/sabrinayork/boards/

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*****

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Susana and the Scott by Sabrina York (@sabrina_york)

Susana and the ScotBestselling author Sabrina York carries readers back to the wild Scottish Highlands, where the bravest of men surrender to no one-except the boldest of women…

Scotland, 1813.

A SCANDALOUS TEMPTATION
Andrew Lochlannach is famous for his conquests, on and off the battlefield. When a fellow warrior challenges him to a kissing contest, he wastes no time in planting his lips on ninety-nine lovely lasses-an impressive feat of seduction that gets him banished to the hinterlands. Still, Andrew has no regrets about his exploits-especially his embrace with the most beguiling woman he’s ever met…

AN UNDENIABLE PASSION 
With flaming red hair and a temper to match, Susana is not some innocent farmgirl who gives herself over easily to a man, even one as ruggedly handsome as Andrew. The wicked Scot may have won a kiss from the headstrong beauty in a moment of mutual desire, but Susana refuses to be just another one of his conquests. Andrew must convince the fiery lass that even though he is not playing a game, losing her is not an option…

“You can’t go wrong with a Sabrina York story.”-Desiree Holt

*****

READ AN EXCERPT!

Susana was annoyed. There was no doubt about it. The swish of her hips as she led him across the bustling bailey was a dead giveaway, that and the dark glowers she shot over her shoulder. But Andrew couldn’t help but be amused. For one thing, she was damn alluring with she was annoyed.

Hell, she was damn alluring altogether. The curve of her waist alone could drive a man insane, much less that silky tumble of hair. He wanted to wrap it is his fist, wind it around his body. A certain part of his body.

At the thought, his cock rose.

It was difficult to remind himself that he’d vowed to eschew seduction, but try as he might, he couldn’t banish the fantasy of stripping those breeks from her lovely body and laying her down in the heather. Visions of that twitching backside—bare before him—danced in his head.

But he’d made a vow. A sacred vow. And as tempting as she was, he would control his baser urges. He could. Probably.

These thoughts whirled in his head as she led him into the stables, past his men—who were unpacking and seeing to their horses—and through the kennels. Though he was perplexed, Andrew followed. He would probably follow anywhere she led. It was a fact that should have scared him to death or at the very least, concerned him. But it didn’t. However, when she started up a staircase at the very end of the long hall, he had to stop her.

She glared at the hand he set on her arm. He tried to ignore the sizzle that raged through him at their first touch. It was ridiculous how much that touch affected him. And how much he enjoyed her glare.

He edged closer. “Where are we going?” he asked in a purr.

Judging from her frown, his tone irritated her. He rather enjoyed irritating her, he found.

She ripped her arm away and continued up the stairs. He followed and found himself in a narrow loft that ran the length of the kennels. It was dim and a little dusty. Motes danced on the air. The roof was so low he had to duck his head to miss the rafters.

“Your men will stay here,” she said.

Andrew gaped at her. The room was swept clean and empty. A thin shaft of light from the far window illuminated it with a murky light. But the yipping from the kennel and the stench of excrement wafted up from below. For some reason, all thoughts of alluring backsides dissipated. Disbelief gushed through him. “Here?”

She crossed her arms and offered what could only be described as a smirk. “Here.”

He tipped his head to the side. “This is a kennel.”

“I am aware of that.”

“I have twenty-five men.”

“The room is quite large.”

“There are no beds.”

She blew out a breath. “We’ll bring in pallets.”

Andrew blinked. He set his teeth and tried to remain calm. His men were warriors. They did not sleep on pallets. In a kennel. “This will not do.” Surely she saw that. Surely she understood… He caught a glimpse of her smug expression and it dawned on him.

She did. She did understand. She knew damn well what she was doing. Her response only verified his suspicions.

“I’m sorry, but you have descended upon us with no warning whatsoever with a large group of men. I’m afraid this is all we can offer you at this time.” Her smile was deferential, but hardly sincere. The light dancing in her eyes lit a flame in his belly. “Of course, if our accommodations are unacceptable, you can always return to Dunnet…”

Oh, she’d like that, wouldn’t she?

The minx.

Rather than the exasperation her self-satisfied look should have sparked, Andrew found himself filled with another emotion entirely. Anticipation. Exhilaration. The thrill of a challenge.

For that was what she was, Susana Dounreay. A challenge.

And it appeared she reveled in provoking him.

A pity she didn’t understand he was a dangerous man to provoke.

The tumult her presence sparked within him flared again, burning the edges of his resolution; his inconvenient lust blossomed, and with it, an unruly resolve.

He wanted, very badly, to kiss her.  He wanted to wrench her into his arms and cover her sweet mouth with his. He wanted to taste her, consume her, possess her.

And he would.

Clearly he wasn’t the kind of man who could swear off women. Clearly he wasn’t the kind of man who could keep a vow.

So be it.

Damn to hell his ridiculous vow.

Damn to hell the fact that she was his sister-in-law.

He was going to seduce this vixen, and he would start right now.

Desire, like a snarling, snapping beast, rose within him, and he stepped closer.

 

Susana’s eyes flared as Andrew advanced on her, like a skulking fox that had spotted a plump rabbit. She didn’t mean to retreat, but she had to. She’d seen that expression in his eyes before and she knew what it meant. Something within her howled: Run.

Perhaps it was the expression in his eyes, or the knowledge that she was playing with fire, or the sudden realization that she’d foolishly come here, to this deserted loft with the most dangerous man she’d ever met, but she couldn’t still the urge to whirl and pace to the far end of the room to peer out of the smudged window. She was aware he followed. She felt his presence like a fire in a forge.

Desperation prompted her to continue their conversation, to put some space between them, to raise a shield. “The room is perfectly habitable,” she proclaimed. “And once we have pallets brought in, it will serve you well.”

“Will it?”

His voice was low in her ear, a whisper almost. And far too close. She wanted to turn, to confront him, but she knew, if she did, they would be face to face, perhaps lip to lip and she could not allow that. She could never allow that.

The last time he’d kissed her, it had been her undoing.

A pity he didn’t remember.

“My men willna like being housed with the dogs.” Holy God. Was that his hand on her hip? His thumb tracing her waist? “Nae doubt they will all want to find…other beds to welcome them.”

Susana stilled as his words sank in. The threat was clear. And it was rather horrifying. A horde of randy warriors set loose on the innocent maidens of Dounreay? That his hand had slid over to toy with the small of her back, to tangle in the skeins of her hair, didn’t help.

Her pulse thudded and her knees went weak. She couldn’t have it. She couldn’t have this man touching her. She sucked in a breath and slipped to the side, out of his grasp. When she was far enough away for some measure of safety, she turned to face him, a reproachful look fixed on her face. “Are your men so lacking in discipline?” She hoped her frown, her reproving tone, would bring him to heel. She should have known better.

He grinned and stepped closer. His eyes glinted, as though needling her was an amusing sport. “They are verra disciplined…when their needs are met.”

She crossed her arms, as though that could protect her, and pretended to study the room. Pretended she wasn’t aware of his thrumming presence, his heat, his intent. “Well, I shall hold you responsible for any…improprieties.” She took a step toward the staircase, only a tiny one—surely not an attempt to escape.

He chuckled—chuckled, the bastard—making it clear he recognized her cowardice for what it was. And he paced her.

“They’re all good men. They all volunteered to come with me. Each and every one of them is dedicated to the cause of protecting Reay from the villains who have been plaguing you. However…”

The way he trailed off derailed her retreat. She stilled. Glared at him. “However, what?”

“However, they do have…needs. Surely you can find better lodgings.”

She blew out a breath. “In time.” In time.

In time, he would be gone, God willing.

He stepped toward her again, although nonchalantly, as though he were not chasing her across the room. It occurred to her they were engaged in something of a macabre dance. It set her nerves on edge. She hadn’t realized what a long room this was, or how far it was to the stairs.

“Doona leave it too long.” His smile was heinous. It made all kinds of shivers dance over her skin. “My men are…restless.” She had the chilling sense he was talking about himself.

“I shall…do my best.” Like hell. “And now, if you will excuse me, I have things to do.”

His brow quirked. She tried not to notice what a perfect brow it was. “Ah, but I thought you and I could…talk.”

“Talk?” She didn’t intend to squawk, but she could tell from his predatory stance, a conversation was not the primary urge on his mind. At least, not one with words.

He nodded. Though his features were patently earnest, the sincerity was patently affected. “About the defenses you have in place…so I can decide what needs improvement.”

Aggravation rippled. It displaced her concerns about being here, with him, all alone. Fury did that, she’d often found. Overrode common sense and led one into dangerous waters. Her hands curled into fists. She strode toward him until they were nearly nose to nose. “Nothing needs improvement,” she snapped. They didn’t need him. Or his men. Or his stupid ideas.

“Nonsense. Now that we’re here, we intend to make a statement to Stafford, or whatever miscreants are lurking out there thinking Dounreay is an easy target. But before I set my plans in motion—”

“Your plans?” He already had plans? Och! He was so exasperating.

She barely noticed that he stepped closer…until their chests brushed. He was hard and hot; the touch made her tingle. His voice, low and luring made her tingle as well. His gaze skated over her face, then stalled on her lips. “Let’s meet and discuss—”

Her pulse skittered. “I doona have time to meet with you. Not today.” She took a step back. He followed.

“Nae?” A whisper. And his caress over her shoulder, that was a whisper as well. Like a panicked fawn, Susana eased back again. And again. He matched her, step for step.

She swallowed heavily. “I… You have descended upon us with no warning—”

“My brother sent a letter.”

He was too close. Far too close. She swallowed heavily. “Twenty-five men that now need to be housed and fed. On top of that, I have many other duties that need attending.”

He cocked his head to the side. “Which duties?”

“Many duties.” She frowned and glanced toward the staircase. Ah, lord. It was so far… He was too warm. Too broad. Too alluring. Though she didn’t intend to, she took another step back and—

Oh hell. He’d backed her against the wall. That he couldn’t stand straight in the low-ceilinged room was a small consolation.

“Susana,” he said as he leaned closer. His breath was a tantalizing trail over her face.

An unholy thrill snaked through her. Surely that wasn’t anticipation? Hunger? Need?

She could not allow him to kiss her. She could not—

Her knees nearly melted at the touch of his lips. His warmth, his taste, his scent made her mind whirl. Thank God he had his hands on her waist and was holding her steady, or she might well have collapsed.

It occurred to her that she should push him away, fight him, but she couldn’t. Something, something deep within her resisted. Something deep within her needed him. Needed this.

And ah, it was glorious. As glorious as she remembered.

His lips were soft, gentle, questing as they tested hers and then, with a groan, he pulled her closer, melding their bodies together. He deepened the kiss, sealing his mouth over hers and dancing his tongue over the seam.

She opened to him. She couldn’t resist. He filled her senses with his presence, his heat. With tiny nibbles, sucks and laps, he consumed her, enflamed her. All sanity fled. All logic and resolution and anger flitted away as Andrew tasted her, tempted her.

His hands were not still. They roved over her body from her shoulders, down her arms to her waist. They tangled in her hair and stroked her cheek and chin.

Heat blossomed, skittered through her veins. Her body softened, melted, prepared for him.

She should not have responded the way she did. She should not have pressed against him, rubbed against the hard bulge on his belly. She should not have explored the hard flesh of his back, cupped his nape, raked his silken scalp. She should not have moaned.

Surely all these things would only encourage him.

He lifted his head and stared at her, an odd mixture of befuddlement and awe in his eyes. His tongue peeped out and dabbed at his lips, snagging her attention. Surely she didn’t lean toward him in a mute plea for more.

Was she truly so weak?

Aye. She was.

Available from: Amazon UK | Amazon US

*****

WHAT PEOPLE ARE SAYING ABOUT SABRINA YORK’S UNTAMED HIGHLANDERS

Bold and steamy—Publisher’s Weekly

A stunning tale from beginning to end—Love, Life and Booklust

Top Pick—Night Owl Reviews

York turns her talent for sizzle to men in kilts—and the women who love them—in her newest sexy romp—RT Magazine

 

Untamed Highlanders Series

Hannah and the Highlander

Susana and the Scot—Coming December 29th

Lana and the Laird—Coming in May 2016

 

Want More Highlanders by Sabrina York?

Laird of her Heart–Highland Time Travel

Tarnished Honor–Waterloo Heroes Romance

*****

Sabrina_head_logoAbout Sabrina York

Her Royal Hotness, Sabrina York, is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of hot, humorous stories for smart and sexy readers. Her titles range from sweet & sexy to scorching romance.  Visit her webpage at www.sabrinayork.com to check out her books, excerpts and contests. Get updates and alerts from Sabrina here: HotSheet Sign Up.

 

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Elite Ghosts by Various Authors

EliteGhosts3D

Blurb:

For more than two years they’ve been ghosts. Nothing but names on empty tombstones. Men and women forced to fade into the background after being pulled from the rubble. Dead Marines saved from a fate worse than death, but ordered to stand down while their lives disappeared all around them.

Some knew it could happen if a mission exploded. Double crossed by more than just Red Wolf. But now is their time to be reborn from the flames of a Phoenix. No longer imprisoned in the shadows. A half-life between them and their future. To make things right coming back to life is their only option.

Loyalty is their salvation but damage is always more than skin deep.

A new hope. A new family. Elite Ghosts.

 

Target: Tungsten by Heather Long

Bradley “Tungsten” Peck. Marine. Lover. Friend. He’s the man who can get anything, find anyone, and accomplish every goal. At least he was, before he lost the only woman who mattered…he won’t stop until he gets her back or she puts a bullet in him.

Zinc’s Heart by Rebecca Royce

Zinc has nothing to prove–and everything to lose.

Lithium’s Rescue by Sabrina York

He will save her…unless she saves him first.

Thallium’s Submission by Anna Alexander

From now on the only orders he will follow are hers.

Nickel’s Wounds by Saranna DeWylde

Hell hath no fury like a Marine who’s lost her way. Beauty was once her currency, but for a woman who can’t feel anything but agony, she has nothing left. Except the vengeance that could destroy the one man whose love could teach her how to save herself.

Titanium’s Sacrifice by Jennifer Kacey

Titanium. Warbucks. Commander. Brother. He is all of those things. And none of them. Giving up everything to save the men and women under his command was easy until it comes to one…last…sacrifice.

Lithium’s Rescue by Sabrina York

He will save her…unless she saves him first.

Michelle Parsons is on the run. She has evidence of a plot that could destroy the country, but in order to stop her boss and his extremist cohorts from taking over the US Senate, she needs to get the information into the right hands. Trouble is, her contact, the only man she trusts, has been neutralized. She’s all alone. No one can help her.

No one, but the Elite Ghosts.

It’s a shame then, that when Benedict Butler—Codename: Lithium—shows up to bring her in from the cold, she doesn’t know if she can trust him or not. And when their relationship evolves into something more…he’s not sure he can trust himself either.

She does something to him, changes him. Heals him, somehow. And in the end, it’s difficult to say who rescued whom.

TeaserLithium

Read an Excerpt of Lithium’s Rescue!

Michelle stared at her phone as the realization that Ralley was watching her every move—had been watching her every move—whipped through her in a howl of horror. She should have known. She should have guessed.

She was well aware of ASTCORP’s capabilities—of the sensitive information they collected and processed…and how they got it. She should have assumed Ralley would keep the same leash on his employees.

The thought of being watched, listened to, spied on infuriated her.

“Fuck you, Ralley,” she snapped, though he had long ago ended the call. Still, she was certain he heard. He had ears everywhere.

The hell she would wait here for someone to come and collect her.

If Ralley knew everything—and she had to assume he did—she’d never walk away from such an encounter.

She went inside and yanked the curtains closed, even though she knew, if Ralley had eyes on her, he’d be using a thermal scan as well. Shutting him out made her feel better. Then she quickly collected her purse, cash stash and a change of underwear—as well as a knife from the kitchen—and headed for the door.

She had no idea where she was going, other than away, but that would make it harder for Ralley to find her. She didn’t have family or friends outside work. No predictable patterns. She’d slip away in the night to the bus station or the train station and hop on the first transport out of town. Wherever it was going, she would—

She froze as the horrifying sound of a lock snicking shot through the silent room.

Her eyes widened. She lifted the knife.

Hell! Why hadn’t she turned off the lights?

The door eased open with an eerie creak. No one stood in the opening, but Michelle knew better. Someone was there. The barrel of a Sig appeared, capped with a long silencer. Michelle sucked in a breath and ducked back against the wall. When a hand emerged, she slashed it with the knife and, when it clattered to the ground, she executed a roundhouse kick into the doorway in the spot she assumed a face might be.

She got it right. Her assailant flew back with a bellow, slamming into the wall in the hallway. She bolted forward through the door, but he rallied quickly and caught her around the waist. With a howl, she kneed him in the crotch and gave him a healthy punch to the kidneys. She knew all the spots where a man was weak. She’d been trained for hand-to-hand combat since birth.

But he was trained too, and he was bigger. Stronger. A stocky, burly sort with a squashed in face and piggy eyes. And speaking of piggy eyes, when he slammed into her, launching them both back into her apartment onto the floor, she gouged at his.

His response was a clout to her cheek.

It stunned her, but only for a moment.

A moment too long.

He captured both her wrists in one hand and pulled a long KA-BAR from its sheath.

The bastard smiled then, revealing a hatred for dentistry. “He wanted you alive, bitch,” he growled in a thickly accented voice. Russian, if she wasn’t mistaken. Funny what little details filtered in when one was about to die. “It wouldn’t be hard to convince him this couldn’t be helped.”

It was disturbing, the way his eyes glinted as he set the blade to her neck, as though slicing it would bring him a great deal of pleasure.

A flicker of movement behind him caught her attention and her gaze shot to the doorway. She didn’t even bother to wince when his compatriot appeared. It was hardly a surprise. These sorts rarely worked alone.

She didn’t know why her focus locked onto the newcomer’s face, why something rose within her, a wail of denial, a wash of regret. Because he was, this second villain, drop dead gorgeous.

In that second, that fleeting moment of time before she died, a great wave of sadness swamped her. In another world, another universe, another dimension, if such things existed, she would want a man like him. He was tall. Broad. Beautiful.

Their gazes clashed and his eyes narrowed. A muscle bunched in his cheek. Something that might have been cold fury rippled over his features.

And then he moved.

To her shock, he grabbed her assailant around the neck with a muscled arm and levered him to his feet. The knife clattered to the floor. The first man howled and flailed, kicking and scratching at the second in a frenzy to be free. He whipped down, throwing the second man over his shoulders and onto the ground—but the beautiful warrior bounded to his feet and faced his foe with a snarl.

They circled each other, there in the foyer of her apartment, each taking the others’ measure. Michelle would have run, but they were blocking the door, damn it all anyway.

She grabbed the knife though, as it was in range, and scuttled back. She needed to be ready to face the victor when this was over. She had no idea why they were fighting over her, no idea who the second man was, but it hardly mattered. She wasn’t leaving with either of them. She didn’t trust anyone.

It was probably completely idiotic that deep down, in the well of her soul, she hoped the handsome man won. Being handsome didn’t make him a good man. In fact, it often meant the opposite.

The two men came together in a bone-crunching rush. The fight was furious. Fists and grunts and pummeling. The dull thuds of flesh on flesh. The crack of bones. The wet retort of splattering flesh.

It quickly became clear, the pig-eyed man didn’t stand a chance.

The warrior, the beast, demolished him with clout after ruthless, savage clout. With one crushing punch, he sent the smaller man teetering back onto the carpet. He didn’t move.

Michelle paid him little mind. She kept her eyes on the victor, the large and looming man with a sinfully beautiful face. Though she held the knife before her, it trembled.

He stared down at the broken man and his lips quirked in what might have been a smile. Or not. He cracked his knuckles and turned his attention to her. His eyes were cold, emotionless. His expression harsh.

“Strip,” he said.

Just that one word.

Strip.

Elite Ghosts Buy Links
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Sabrina_head_logoAbout Sabrina York

Her Royal Hotness, Sabrina York, is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of hot, humorous stories for smart and sexy readers. Her titles range from sweet & sexy to scorching romance.  Visit her webpage at www.sabrinayork.com to check out her books, excerpts and contests. Get updates, alerts and giveaway announcements from Sabrina here: http://eepurl.com/bj8tKb.

Guard Dog by Sabrina York—Stone Hard SEALS and Hot SEALs Crossover Novella (@sabrina_york)

rsz_guard-dog-e-readerLove Hot SEALs?

What if all your favorite military romance authors got together and wrote a series of HOT SEAL romances in the same world?

This is Cat Johnson’s HOT SEALS Kindle World. It’s an exciting opportunity for you to discover new authors writing in the genre you love in a world you know!

And if you become inspired to do so, YOU can write and publish a HOT SEAL romance in Cat’s world too!

Cat Johnson’s Hot SEALs Kindle World launches on August 4th. Check out all the scorching books by NYT and USA Today bestselling authors in this exciting crossover adventure!

Guard Dog by Sabrina York

A scorching sequel to Stone Hard SEALs

Mason Steele expected to be a SEAL until the day he died. And he was. A pity they revived him. Now he’s been mustered out of the Navy and his life seems wholly unsatisfying. He misses the action; he misses the camaraderie; he misses being able to use his tightly-honed skills. He’s lucky to have snagged this job with GAPS—the Guardian Angel Protective Services—it provides some hope for his future. But the last thing he wants to do is babysit a spoiled heiress who is obsessed with the color of her nail polish and carries a Chihuahua in her purse.

But there’s more to Pansy Hightower than can be seen at first glance. She’s smart, sassy and determined to save the business her late mother built. She resents having a guard dog and does what she can to lose her muscular shadow. But when it becomes clear that someone is targeting her—perhaps for the same kind of fatal “accident” that befell her mother, she decides having the 240 pound SEAL with killer instincts and lethal hands at her back might be a good idea after all.

Until they share a kiss, that is. Until those lethal hands prove they have other talents as well. Talents that leave her breathless and wanting and weak. The last thing either of them wants is a relationship, but the scorching passion between them cannot be denied…even though it will undoubtedly spell disaster for them both.

 

READ AN EXCERPT

“All right then.” Pansy’s surprisingly chipper voice cut through his dismal mood. It had been mortifying admitting his weakness, his failure, especially to her. It was something of a relief that she didn’t seem to understand the deep implications of his confession.

He dared a glance at her. Even bedraggled and tattered as she was, he wanted her. She shot him a bright smile. It made him glower. “All right then, what?” he muttered.

“All right, then. You’ll do.”

You’ll do? You’ll do? Irritation riffled through him. When she tipped her head and her ponytail swung, his ire blossomed.

“But I don’t know about the others.”

“The others are excellent.” He wasn’t sure why he was arguing with her. He wanted this job.  He wanted to be with her. He wanted to keep her safe. And for some reason, thought of some other dude, even one of his brothers in arms, stepping into the duty rankled.

“But I don’t know them.”

“We’ll arrange a meet.” It was standard procedure…when they weren’t on a covert job.

She put out a lip. God he wanted to suckle it. Maybe it would be better if someone else took over. He was far too attracted to her to keep a clear mind. “But I want you,” she said.

Again, her words made something hard and needy sizzle through his bowels. He knew what she meant. He knew she was talking about her protection and not some scalding, savage coupling in the big bed in the next room that was far too close to be successfully ignored.

It was a testament to his delusional state that all he could think about was sex. All he could think about was stripping her naked and taking her here and now. That she wanted it as much as he did.

He imagined he could smell her arousal in the air, which was ridiculous.

A woman like her and a guy like him?

Yeah. Nucking futs.

“No worries. I’ll be on your team. But we’ll have at least three others.” Two on days and two on nights. Although, if he had his way, she wouldn’t be going out again. Certainly not to clubs where he couldn’t guarantee her safety. On that note, he fixed her with a dark look. “We need to talk about security. You’re going to have to make some lifestyle changes until this threat is contained.”

“Like what?”

“Like going out in public.”

“I have a business to run.”

“Is that what they call it? Partying all night with entitled socialites like Monique Dupree?” He didn’t mean to snarl it as he did. But it hardly mattered. She was utterly unaffected by his ferocity.

“Those entitled socialites are my customer base. More than that. They are my influencers.”

He had no idea what that meant. “Too many people. Too many blind spots. We need to keep you in controllable environments.” Like this hotel. Like this suite. That bed…

“Controllable environments?”

Again with the pouting lip. God. It was driving him crazy.

With a grunt, he pushed to his feet—ignoring the sharp string of yips this elicited from Ratacus—and prowled to the wall of windows, pulling back the curtains and peering out at the night in a pretense of assessing any potential hazards. Her suite was on the thirtieth floor. Doubtful anyone would enter from the balcony. Still, he checked the lock on the door. Probably wouldn’t hurt to install a door brace on the front door. He strode back to the foyer and jiggled the handle. Yeah, definitely a brace. He made a mental note of other upgrades the suite needed, of the things he needed to check. First order of business was to sweep for any bugs and check for hidden cameras.

He glanced over at Pansy and immediately revised his priorities. She was leaning back with her head resting on the sofa, her eyes closed. Her face was a cameo of perfection, but it was wreathed in exhaustion. First order of business was to get her to bed.

Lust lanced him.

Shit.

No. Get her in bed.

Alone.

By herself.

So she could sleep.

Aw, hell.

His gaze skated over her and he took in the rips in her dress, the scrapes on her legs and the dirt smudging her cheek. He should have tended to her wounds right off the bat. He should have seen to her comfort. He should have—

An ominous clicking sound and a sudden riffle of movement near his ankles captured his attention and he glanced down.

Lola, in her pink tutu glared up at him, her lip curled over impressively pointy teeth. Mason tipped his head to the side and met her challenging gaze with one of his own. It said: Really? Whatcha gonna do, Ratacus?

He probably shouldn’t have.

She lifted her leg.

And peed on his boots.

“Son of a bitch.” He didn’t mean to boom as he leaped back, but he did. Pansy shot up, her eyes wide. “What?” she cried. “What is it?”

He shot her a contrite look. “Your dog peed on my boots.”

“She does that.” Pansy huffed a sigh and headed for the powder room to grab a hand towel. “One of the reasons I don’t date.” She knelt before him and mopped up the puddle.

He should have stooped to help her, but honestly, he couldn’t. He couldn’t move to save his life. Because there she was, kneeling before him, with her head so close…

A scintillating thought, a captivating vision, a scalding need rose like the hydra. That, and a lowering realization.

He was a pervert. A goddamn pervert.

She was cleaning his fucking boots for God’s sake.

“You need a shower.”

Right. No idea why he blurted that.

Well, maybe one idea. He desperately needed her to stand. To move away, before he lost his mind and did something insane and necessary, like pull her closer.

She looked up at him. He forced himself to step away, he had to. Or his erection might have brushed her cheek.

And that would have been a disaster.

“Yeah. Um. You’re all banged up. We should get some antiseptic on those scrapes. Do you have a first aid kit?”

She said nothing so he glanced at her. That she was staring at his crotch sent a bolt of lightning through him. Her tongue peeped out and she lifted her gaze. He could have sworn he saw something simmering there. He tried mightily to ignore it.

Surely it wasn’t what he thought. Imagined. Ached for.

“Do you? Have a first aid kit?”

She shook her head. “I have no idea.” Nearly a whisper.

“I’ll call the concierge.” This was a penthouse suite. Surely there was a concierge. “Why don’t you go…um, clean up and I’ll call down for something.”

She stood slowly, holding his gaze. Something about her, her energy, her intensity, had shifted. It made him antsy. It made him restless. It made him hungry. She turned around—his heart sank—but then she said, softly, with a tentative quiver to her voice, “Could you unzip me?”

Holy. Fuck.

She peeped at him over her shoulder. Her eyes, so beautiful and blue, bore into his. “I can’t do it myself.”

He was certain she could. She was a grown woman. She’d been dressing—and undressing—herself for years. But he couldn’t refuse. Not when she asked so politely. “S-sure.” Hopefully she missed the stutter.

She could not have missed the fact that his fingers shook as he tried to grasp the tiny teardrop at the top of her zipper. Why the fuck did it have to be so tiny? It took forever for him to make the long journey down her spine, partly because the damn zipper kept catching and partly because he really wanted to savor the journey.  As it advanced, more and more of her creamy skin was exposed. He wanted nothing more than to place his palm on her, to stroke her. To feel the heat of her skin against this.

But she’d asked him to unzip her. Not make a move.

It was a damn good thing he’d developed indomitable willpower as a SEAL. Denying himself things crucial to his being—air, water, food—was par for the course in their training.

This was by far the most difficult denial of all.

When he reached the bottom of the zipper, when a hint of a crease at the base of her spine was exposed, he stepped back. Though it cost him. “There,” he said.

Jesus, God. He was going to heaven for this.

He fucking better.

His restraint was nothing short of a penance.

But then…

Holy God.

But then…she shifted her shoulders and the scrap of material drifted to the floor. She shot another glance at him, something that was too much of an invitation to be misunderstood or misconstrued, and, wearing nothing but her skimpy bra and panties, padded into the bathroom.

Available from: Amazon US

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Sabrina_head_logoAbout Sabrina York

Her Royal Hotness, Sabrina York, is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of hot, humorous stories for smart and sexy readers. Her titles range from sweet & sexy to scorching romance.  Visit her webpage at www.sabrinayork.com to check out her books, excerpts and contests. Get updates and alerts from Sabrina here: HotSheet Sign Up.

Sabrina’s Military Romance Titles!
Stone Hard SEALs (Action-Packed Military Romance Duet)
Sterling’s Seduction (Elite Metal Collection)
Tarnished Honor (The Incomparables: Heroes of Waterloo)
Whipped—in the WTRAFSOG Collection #8  

Recent release from Sabrina York
Heartbreak on a Stick (Contemporary Romance)
Pool Man
The Real McCoy—in the Cowboy 12 Pack
Come Hell or High Water—12 Alarm Cowboys

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Laird of her Heart: Book One in the Dundragon Trilogy by Sabrina York

laird-of-her-heart-e-reader

Laird of her Heart: Book One in the Dundragon Trilogy by Sabrina York

When Maggie Spencer is mysteriously transported to the Scotland of her ancestors, she is stunned to come face to face with him. Dominic Dundragon, the man she’s been half in love with her whole life. A man who’s been dead for 700 years.

They both have enemies aplenty. Will she have a chance to win his love, or will this adventure end in disaster?

 

Read an excerpt

Maggie yelped as, without warning, the burly warrior named Declan whipped her up into his arms and tossed her over his shoulder. To her horror, she lost the hold on her locket.

“Wait,” she cried. She wriggled to get free, but his grip was too hard. When she pummeled his back with her fists as he strode from the circle of stones, he chuckled. The beast. But to be fair, he was so large, it would have felt like a kitten batting him. “Put me down.”

“I willna,” he said. “The Mackintosh will decide how you die.”

All right. That shut her up. For a minute. “Die? Why do I need to die?” What the hell had she done to him?

The man following, an enormous blond with a scar tracking his cheek bent down to peer at her. “The Mackintosh’s doona tolerate spies.”

“I’m not a spy.” Seriously. She wriggled more and Declan smacked her ass.

Smacked her ass.

She’d kill him when she got free. Just kill him.

“Yer wearing the Cameron colors,” the blond said. “And the Mackintosh’s doona—”

“Right. I know. The Mackintosh’s doona tolerate spies.” Her head was starting to spin from being upside down and jounced around with each step. Her temper was on a short leash. “But honestly, if I were a spy, would I wear the Cameron colors? It seems a little counterproductive in my opinion. I mean, if I’m spying and all. I might as wear a sign that says, oh, I dunno, honk if you love spies.”

His brow rumpled but he didn’t respond. At least, not to her. “She speaks strangely,” he complained to Declan.

Her captor snorted a laugh. “She dresses strangely too.”

“Aye. She does at that. I’ve heard the Cameron lasses are a wild lot, but I had no idea—”

“I’m. Not. A. Cameron.” She reached out and smacked the blond, but only because he came close enough. He reared back and gaped at her—as though he’d never been smacked before—and then he quickly moved out of range.

It hardly mattered, because, apparently, they had reached their destination, a camp on the edge of the woods. The sounds of nickering horses and clanks of pots gave her her first clue—she was facing the other way, after all.

Her second clue was that Declan dropped her on the ground. She landed with an oof. She glared at him. He didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. “Go get my brother, Ewan,” he barked, and the blond trotted off to one of the larger tents.

When she stood and brushed off her jeans, Declan bristled and she shot him a sardonic glare. Did he think she was stupid enough to run away? For one thing, these enormous men had her surrounded. For another, she never ran. Not if she could help it.

Instead, she made a quick survey of her surroundings. The camp was little more than a huddle of tents with the forest on one side and a sweeping plain on the other. A small herd of horses were hobbled to one side and a deer roasted over a pit fire. An entire deer. Before she could silence the thought—she often had that problem—she said, “You killed Bambi.”

Declan’s brow rumpled. “I dinna kill anyone.” And then he asked, “Who is Bambi?”

“Never mind.” She crossed her arms and turned away pretending to ignore them. But she wasn’t. She was aware they were all staring at her like she was a curiosity in a zoo, but she was taking in tiny details as well. Like the fact that their clothes were all handmade and simple. Their hair appeared to have been cut with a chainsaw and their beards were scraggly and long. Their weapons were what made her mind really start to spin though.

One held a crossbow that dated from the thirteenth century. Another had a Mackintosh dirk that resembled one she’d seen in a museum once. Declan had a simple calfskin sporran tied to his belt.

Odd. Could she have wandered into some renaissance faire? But no. It had been evening when she stepped into the woods and now it was daytime. Early afternoon. And the acres of woods around the house belonged to the family. It couldn’t be—

“So.” She flinched as a deep, melodious voice wafted to her on a hint of humor. Shivers danced through her, along with a prickling sense of premonition. “You’ve captured a Cameron spy?”

She turned slowly and froze as her gaze landed on him. On that so-familiar face. Broad, handsome, savage. Much more captivating than the sketch had been. Much more captivating by far.

She must be hallucinating. She had to be.

He was the hero of her dreams come to life.

Dominic Dundragon, Laird of the Mackintosh clan.

Large, looming and in the flesh.

Her head went woozy. Her vision blurred. And then, for the first time in her life, she fainted.

 

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http://www.amazon.com/Laird-Heart-Dundragon-Travel-Trilogy-ebook/dp/B012EP0NT6/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1437759426&sr=1-1&keywords=laird+of+her+heart

 

ABOUT SABRINA YORK

Her Royal Hotness, Sabrina York, is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of hot, humorous stories for smart and sexy readers. Her titles range from sweet & sexy to scorching romance. Visit her webpage at www.sabrinayork.com to check out her books, excerpts and contests.

For more information, or to connect with Sabrina, visit SabrinaYork.Com

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If you love hot highlanders, be sure to read Sabrina York’s Untamed Highlanders from St. Martin’s Press!

Hannah and the Highlander

Susana and the Scot

Lana and the Laird—Coming in 2016susana_andthe_scot (1)

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