Recluse Braeden Van Brunt is not happy to be the Headless Horseman…until he meets Katrina Van Tassel, owner of the Sleepy Hollow Inn, whose allure bewitches him from the front desk into the bedroom. When he discovers Kat and the village of Sleepy Hollow are cursed to exist in the present day for only one weekend a year, he realizes the sacrifice he must make if he wants to keep her.
Katrina Van Tassel lives between slivers of time. She thought she was through grieving her betrothed’s death, but her dreams flare to life when his mirror image arrives, requesting a room. Drawn to Braeden, she is taken to more erotic heights of intimacy than she ever imagined, but she can’t be sure if her heart is with him or the love from her past.
Knowing he has to conquer both time and ghosts to keep the only woman he’s ever loved, Braeden must put the past to rest. But the dead may not rest in Sleepy Hollow.
Kat closed the door to her room and leaned against it. Her heart raced so fast it could beat a squirrel up a tree. Licking her lips, she closed her eyes. Braeden’s kiss brought back all those wonderful feelings she used to have with Brom. The ones where her toes curled inside her buckle shoes and her body quivered.
She crossed her arms over her stomach. She hadn’t had those with anyone else since. Not even slightly. What was she going to do? She’d been desperate to get away, and now he would be staying the night. She opened her eyes. Staying in her room. Oh Lord.
Moving to her chest at the end of the bed, she pulled out a pillow and threw it on the floor. She’d already changed the sheets because he was supposed to leave. It had been so hard not to bury her face in his unique scent. It reminded her of the forest after a rainstorm, musky, comforting, making her want to snuggle in for a winter hibernation.
Ugh, what was she thinking? He was Stephen’s brother, a Newtimer, and he would leave tomorrow.
Oh no. The village would be long gone by then. What would happen to Braeden then? She glanced toward the door, listening to the floorboards creak under his weight. Quickly, she pulled her quilt from the chest and grabbed the pillow.
The door opened and he ducked inside, obliterating the opening from her sight. He stood stock-still, studying her once again. The lantern light softened his features, proving how different he really appeared from Brom.
Straightening her shoulders, she stepped toward him. “Your room is all set. I’ll just make my bed in the parlor.”
He didn’t move, and she couldn’t go through the door unless he did.
“Braeden? You need to step aside for me to leave.”
“And what if I don’t want you to leave?”
Her breath caught in her throat as tingling sped from her head to her toes. She swallowed hard. “What do you mean?” She turned away to give herself a moment without looking at his handsome visage. “Did I forget something?”
The floor creaked behind her and she stepped forward to inspect the water pitcher. If he touched her again, she’d be lost. She turned to review the bed. “I assure you these are clean sheets.”
The door closed.
She spun and the quilt knocked the pitcher off the table onto the floor with a crash. “Oh no.” She knelt, suddenly wanting to cry, though the pitcher wasn’t anything special. In fact, it had a crack along the handle and was bound to break soon anyway.
“Come. It’s okay.” Braeden’s hands on her arms helped her to stand and sent fire through her already taut nerves.
Gently, he enveloped her in his arms. Her heart slowed as a feeling of rightness settled through her. With her face against his chest, she could hear his strong heartbeat.
“Kat.” The soft-spoken word came from deep within him and she met his gaze. “Don’t be mad at me.”
The loneliness she glimpsed in his eyes undid her. Before she could think about what she did, she hooked her hand around his neck and pulled him forward for a kiss.
Lexi Post spent years in higher education taking and teaching courses about the classical literature she loved. From Edgar Allan Poe's short story “The Masque of the Red Death” to the 20th century American epic The Grapes of Wrath, from War and Peace to the Bhagavad Gita, she's read, studied, and taught wonderful classics.
But Lexi's first love is romance novels. In an effort to marry her two first loves, she started writing erotic romance inspired by the classics and found she loved it. Lexi feels there is no end to the romantic inspiration she can find in great literature for her sexy love stories. Her books are known as "erotic romance with a whole lot of story."
To contact her:
send an email to firstname.lastname@example.org or use any of the info and links below:
Lexi Post- Erotic romance inspired by the classics
Winner of The Passionate Plume Award for Paranormal Erotic Romance 2014
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