Unraveling the Earl, Book 3 in the Idyllwild series:
The Earl of Hastings’s reputation as London’s greatest gift to the ladies has taken on a life of its own, one he is only too happy to live up to in one Mayfair bedchamber after another. Until he encounters a lady more interested in poking around his country estate than sampling his lauded charms.
Georgiana Buchanan is possessed of murky morals, skewed notions of right and wrong, a talent for dancing around the truth, and a penchant for crashing weddings, funerals and charity balls.
When Georgie catches Henry’s roving eye, she turns the tables on the arrogant scoundrel, introducing him to a world of sensual delights and unraveling his vaunted control before fleeing into the night.
Henry is determined to make the elusive Georgiana his mistress while the lady wants only to use his desire to further her own schemes. When they find themselves marooned at Idyllwild during a summer storm, they will both discover they’ve gotten more than they bargained for.
EXCERPT –
“Ah, love.”
Henry’s voice, soft and underlain with amusement, pulled
Georgie from her slumber as one hand reached beneath her back and a second
wrapped around her legs.
She opened her eyes to find him bent over her, golden
morning sunlight shimmering around his head, a tender smile lifting his lips.
“Foolish man,” she murmured, winding her arms around his
neck as he lifted her.
“That I am,” he replied with a quiet laugh.
“You ought not take the risk.”
Henry pulled her close to his chest and jiggled her about to
assure a proper grip before turning toward the door. “Which risk would that
be?”
“There might be fuzzy mold on the berry crumble,” she said,
pressing her lips to his neck just below his ear. She did not kiss him but
rather held her lips there, just there, where she could feel the warmth of his
skin and breathe him in, clean linen and musk, the unmistakable scent of her
lover just arising from his bed.
“I prefer sweet cream, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“Quite a bit of trouble, I’m afraid,” she said, feeling the
need to warn him one last time.
“Fuzzy mold it is.”
Georgie felt the sting behind her eyes first, a warning of
its own, and clamped her eyes tightly shut.
Silly to find his words sweet when he was only humoring a
barely awake woman spouting nonsense. But sweet she found them. Unbearably
sweet.
A lone tear seeped from beneath her lashes and she dragged
an uneven breath through trembling lips, fighting to hold back a laugh that
might be a sob. Whatever it was, it took up residence just below her left
breast and she would be damned before she granted it freedom.
“Georgie?” Henry’s voice was barely audible, more a
vibration against her lips than actual sound, and she suspected the single tear
had landed on his shoulder.
“I’m so sleepy,” she whispered, pleased when her voice did
not waver, when the foreign object lodged in her chest did not break free.
“Poor darling,” he crooned. “What were you doing sleeping in
the parlor?”
But Georgie was finished speaking, unwilling to take the
same risk twice. Instead she sifted her fingers through the hair at his nape,
memorizing the silky texture, the way the strands curled around her fingers.
They made the journey upstairs in silence, Henry carefully
stepping to the far right on the seventh step so as not to set it off and she
found herself missing the soft screech of the old wood.
Once inside his chamber, he lowered her to the center of the
bed, wrestled his robe from her supine form and crawled in beside her.
“Sleep, love,” he ordered, settling onto his back and easing
one arm beneath her to turn her onto her side against him.
Georgie continued the motion, rolling until she was draped
over him from his muscular chest to his lean hips, his shaft riding low on her
belly. With her legs dangling along his, she placed her hands on his shoulders
and lifted her head, blindly searching for his mouth, sighing in gratitude when
he met her halfway.
His lips were warm and soft beneath hers, brushing softly,
nibbling one corner before returning to pay homage to her bottom lip as his
hand sifted through her hair to rest at her nape.
Oh, God, his kiss. Tender, so bloody tender.
He cradled her head in his palm, gently angling her just so
as he deepened the kiss, easing her lips apart to trail his tongue over the
upper, the too thin upper that no man had ever taken the time to explore.
Until him.
As if he knew how devastatingly sensitive his touch was just
there, he lingered. Dipped and stroked. Suckled lightly, oh so lightly. He
cuddled her flesh and sighed, his breath whispering into her mouth, mingling
with her own until she could taste him, taste them together on her tongue.
Undone by the intimacy, desperate to banish it, Georgie
pulled her knees up along his thighs, his hips, his ribs until she straddled
him.
BUY LINKS:
Where to find Lynne:
Website: http://www.lynnebarron.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/lynnebarron06
