MOONDOCK

By

Jewel Adams

 Chosen by the High Council to find the ancient Selams and save the Nemow race from destruction, Melane melds the inherited magical powers of her Syron birth mother and her training as Captain of the Lamar Grand Guard, to confront the men of childhood myths. Melane learns that neither magic nor her warrior skills can protect her from Wylan, King of Moondock, the man that now claims her as his own in a ritual as old as time.

 EXCERPT:  General Audience, Sensual Fantasy Romance

Available in Print and Ebook:  http://steamheaterotica.com/shbkpgMdock.html

MOONDOCK 

Prologue

“Fools…” Icy air hissed past the wrinkled blue lips. She ambled up the torch lit caverns growling as her stilted form weaved in anger from wall to moss caked wall.

“Spawn of her male twin! Should have killed both of Sabrina’s monsters at birth.” The cold eyes darted about the lifeless caverns, Narmar’s traitorous lips pressed tight to silence the condemning truth. Murdering the mother and boy child had been necessary. If only she had thought further to the girl and what might come. Narmar cursed her failure. The fearful secret, which only she carried these last burdensome years, was seeking vengeance.

“Melane.” Her voice rattled over the dangerous presence. Denying the child’s birthright as a Syron and casting her as a Lamar failed. Narmar did not foresee Shemon’s influence on the girl as her foster mother. Though Melane never openly questioned the casting, Narmar’s spies told her of the inherent powers awakening in Melane.

Sabrina had been the strongest of the Syron’s. Her mystical powers surpassed all before her, even to bearing a male child! Now, Melane possessed her birth mother’s powers, but lacked the training to know their strengths and weakness. Narmar insured Sabrina never bore another child, male or female, to prevent the upheaval of their society. The old priestess bore this shameful burden. The false casting into service with the Lamar Guard only served to place Melane beyond Narmar’s influence. Shemon’s claim on the girl child made Melane untouchable and until now, only a minor threat. Narmar again cursed the girl and her success where failure should have ruled.

The old cinder eyes went cold as ash. Narmar still needed to complete the ugly deed before ruin reached out and crush Nemow’s society. “I will destroy the harlot’s spawn!”

MOONDOCK

By

Jewel Adams

CHAPTER One – The Knowledge

ome Melane, the council is about to convene.”

The aquamarine eyes couldn’t leave the old Weaver sitting among the children. The flowing yards of pastel silk billowing under the gentle breeze lent a mystical air to the common gathering. Cibrac—for the most part—was a magical city of beauty and peace. Like the children, Melane sat here many times to hear the legends cast out by the Weavers on the council square. Within the high white walled compound the young ones remained ignorant of the dangers lurking outside the fortress. As a captain in the Lamar sect, Melane knew only too well of the falsehoods surrounding the Nemow’s sheltered existence.

“You go on Lilli, I’ll catch up.” Drawn closer by the Weaver’s lyrical words, Melane never saw her comrade’s frown.

Many small eyes gazed up in awe at the warrior in their midst. The impressive leather amour captured their fantastical imagination away from the Weaver’s tale.

“…from this land the questors will follow their hearts, but only one will succeed in finding the truth and hope for her people. Treachery and deceit will block this Nemow’s path to her destiny. Evil will come in many forms. This Syron’s powers are vast and unknown among her peers, but they alone will not help the Nemow. Courage, skills and the unknown power of…love…will guide her quest.”

A small child spoke up. “Love for the Nemows?”

“That and more, my child.” The Weaver’s penetrating gaze lifted from her charges to the warrior standing outside their circle. “The ancient love…found only in the midst of the Selams.”

An expectant ‘ah’ escaped the small petal mouths as if they knew exactly what the Weaver spoke of.

Melane’s dark slender brows crimped above her bright blue eyes. Though she scoffed at the children’s story, something held her in place before the graying gaze of the storyteller. The elders of the Nemow sects were to be respected, but Melane felt troubled by the mystical tale that spoke of priestly visions, but held little historical basis.

Years of training, instilled by the fierce code of the Lamar Grand Guards, forbade her to ignore the Weaver’s prophetical teachings. And yet, the increasing presence of something unknown, deep mysteries in her heart prevented the call for reprimand.

Her sharp turn to leave the group sent her long, silken ponytail rising from her helmet, floating through the air in ebony waves.

“Doth the Grand Lamar Captain find fault with Amelia’s telling of the prophecy?” the Weaver asked.

Melane’s hand automatically encircled the silver sword hilt at her waist. The demonstration was unwarranted. The Weaver was hardly the enemy she faced outside Cibrac’s pristine walls. Trying to relax her defensive stance, Melane eased about to face the old woman. “Your teachings hold fantasies, not truth.”

“A Weaver strives to explore all aspects of the Nemow’s lives. Is not the future as dear to us as the past?”

Pressing her lips together, Melane held back the argument. She was taught never to dispute her elders. “Might the Weaver’s teachings of the present benefit these children more than fantasy?”

“The Lamar speaks from knowledge most are blind to.”

Raising her proud head, Melane’s eyes sparked in warning against the brutal truth. “Take care, Weaver.”

“Open your heart, brave Captain. Its truth is our salvation.”

The old woman’s words burned against the light armor on Melane’s retreating back, making it hard to dismiss what just transpired.

Already the council’s inner hall was crowded with the various ruling sects. Melane saw Lilli’s raised arm and maneuvered to join her comrade and the other Lamars in attendance. As with their fifteen, similar groups stood from each sect around the chambers. The distinctions of the many sect members were obvious, but they shared the ingrained belief all sects were equal in merit and deeds. Yet, all were aware of the differences that set them apart.

By choice the Weavers, on the whole, were a plain looking lot. They donned the plainest materials in their garments. Melane always wondered over the lack of finery. Did the absence of silks and damask enhance academic knowledge? It was a child’s question, the woman knew better. Teachings passed down from one Weaver to another gave knowledge.

The Begoné workers handed down their skills, traditions and expertise of each trade. Millers, merchants, smiths of weapons and tools, the Begonés held sects within their class as no others in the kindred of Cibrac.

Melane’s brilliant eyes left the colorful group of Begonés resting admiringly upon the group of Syrons. Ah, she felt her heart race over her mother’s sect, and yes, the pang of disappointment that came from seeing them always instilled. That strange awareness that would not be stilled rose inside her again. Sabrina was not even a memory to hold to, but Melane held instinctive feelings for her life bearer. All Nemow’s derived from the sacred sect of the Syrons. Every class born from the same beginnings. There should be no disappointment held in her heart for being cast as an honorable Lamar, protectors of the Nemows.

Melane rose through the ranks to Captain of the grand guard because of her abilities and deeds. At seventeen, her peers envied her for her accomplishments, which did not come as easy to her as to many of her friends. Lilli, at nineteen, was a head taller than Melane, as were most of the other officers. Their physical strengths had never been Melane’s, but even as a child the differences plagued the slender grace that enfolded Melane. Everything she did took twice the effort, but she conquered her inadequacies, earning her foster mother Shemon’s approval. It was because of this woman’s love and support that Melane strove to succeed against the odds.

Proudly, she found her foster mother at the center of the priestess council, a regal beauty unmatched by any other. Failure as the high priestess’ daughter had never been a choice for Melane. Their gazes locked for a moment in mutual understanding, the younger woman’s eyes lowering in respect before the proud beacons.

Shemon’s strength and power guided Melane to success. Shemon was first general of the Lamar sect, chosen above all others as the high priestess of the Nemow race. Sadly, Melane knew the same admiration she held for the woman was a silencing force against her young heart’s increasing questions.

Always a shameful weight, Melane learned early to hide the discoveries opening inside her. So many times she wanted to ask Shemon about the visions that left her weak and trembling at dawn. Telling dreams were only for the Syrons. A Lamar would be considered weak and useless to give in to such failings. In the Syrons, it was strength, but to Melane, it held hidden embarrassment that left her confused. There were not supposed to be error’s in the casting of sects! To believe her life as a Lamar was a mistake would be traitorous.

Even against the denials, there remained a difference in Melane beyond physical appearance and dreams. Nothing stopped the increasing feelings stirring to life inside her. Pain and anger reigned beside the strange sense of hidden powers outside her grasp. It was like a hunger she could never sate.

 The stillness settling through the crowd pulled Melane’s thoughts back to the council. Lilli leaned down towards her, in a whisper. “They say the council has been closeted for days over their coming announcement.”

Melane refused to give Lilli the acknowledgement she sought. Shemon’s doings were not for public disclosure, no matter how close the friend. The rumors were only half truths fueled by fearful debate. The priestess had been in heated meetings for nearly a month trying to decide how to combat the Kibra’s threat against their civilization.

Melane’s jaw clenched over the attacks launched this last week alone by the monsters. Animals! Beasts of the night maintained more morals than this enemy. It wasn’t only their masculine strength that made them so dangerous, but the savage cruelty in their acts against the Nemows. The continued, useless slaughter of hundreds took its toll on the populace. Nary a Begoné farm was left untouched by the killings and devastation. Lamar guards were held in force about the perimeters to protect the harvest. Hunger loomed as a large threat in the coming winter because of the Kibra’s bloody destruction.

 A hush followed Shemon’s rise before the amassed sect representatives.

“Good citizens of Cibrac, your council has come to a decision to destroy our enemy, the Kibra. Hear me well, all sects of Nemows, ‘tis a grave task we place before you.” Shemon let the words race through the crowd, many a frown marred the strong faces about the Lamar sect. Their own were held fast against succumbing to the panic.

“From among each sect, we will choose one of your group to go forth. This chosen Nemow will seek out the ancient Selams.”

The voices before the priestess raced in incredulous excitement. Shemon’s voice rose in strength. “The Selams, once a part of our ancestors’ lives, are again needed to insure our race survives the forces trying to destroy us!”

More than one voice cried out in frightened exclamation. “But they are males!”

Melane’s own face tightened against the unspoken fear of the Nemows. The Kibra were males! Did not the Selams carry the same brutal danger?

Kibras attacked for only one reason, to take Syrons to bear their vile offspring and insure their race line continues. They killed all others that stood in their way. Slavery to the beasts was a fate all captives faced–bear the unwanted spawns of a brutal race!

Unmoving, Melane struggled with the priestess’ decree. Selams were only a myth…a tale passed down by the Weavers…weren’t they? Could they be real? If so, why had none shown themselves? Thankfully, the Selams were never described as enemies like the dreaded Kibra.

Her own tension increased with the uneasiness in the crowd. In whispered communication, Melane moved the other Captains out across the front of the crowd to contain the unrest. Finding Shemon’s gaze following her, she gave a nod that all was in hand.

“Citizens of the sects! Are we weaklings to be ruled by the irrational fears of our ancestors? Do you not remember the Weaver’s teaching of how our forbearers lived in harmony with the Selams? Was not the greatest safety and peace in the Nemow’s lives when the Selams were our partners?”

A silence filtered through the mass, but Melane and the other captains kept their backs to the council, and their attention on their peers. Melane was actually relieved to have something of importance to do, to override the unlikable thoughts Shemon’s words invoked. Though she would never voice her own doubts as to the wisdom of the council, they screamed inside her head all too loudly.

“Do not the sects hold the wisdom to seek the very equal of our enemy to defeat them?”

A voice called out to Melane’s left making her move cautiously in that direction.

“And what if our saviors become the same, or even a greater threat in the process?”

“Joyimar, the spokeswoman for the Syron’s, has voiced the council’s own dilemma,” Shemon answered.

Joyimar stepped beside Melane to confront Shemon. Her fine satin and lace gown swept the floor, in sharp contrast to Melane’s leather breastplate and skirt that only touched her thighs. On the Syron’s wrist were bands of silver and gold, where Melane wore wide studded armbands that protected her forearms.

“And what answers has the council to combat the possibility? If the Selams even exist, how could we expect them to defend us? Would not they, like the Kibra beasts, want only to rule and kill the Nemows?”

“Joyimar’s words are an echo of the fears that have festered throughout the ages. Should not we ask ourselves to remember how it was with the Selams and trust our joining could again bring safety into our lives?”

The priestess waited for the representatives to talk among themselves. For the Lamars standing guard, the outcome of the debate mattered little, since protecting the Nemows wouldn’t end at the decision found here today.

When all quieted, Shemon motioned for the Weaver’s spokeswoman to step forward. “Yes, Carril, what say the Weavers?”

“We, the Weavers, know the odes and predictions…we say…seek the Selams in spite of the dangers.”

“And you, Winfred of the Begonés, what do you say?”

“We the Begonés want to know how the council plans to find the mythical Selams?”

“Always the practical of our civilization. Before I answer, the Syrons have not given their opinion. Joyimar?”

“One threat for another is unpalatable, but the chance that the Selams are unlike the Kibras is one that tips the weights. We too will listen.”

“The sect Lamar, has not conferred. Will you choose a spokeswoman?”

Jenna stepped forward. She was one of the older commanders, but she retained her strength and admirable fair beauty. Without her armor, the power in her tight limbs was evident and Melane envied her size.

“The Lamars will stand by the majority. To protect the kingdom from Kibra or Selam, it matters not. Should the Selams defeat the Kibra and remain friends to us, as to the ancients, the peace will be welcomed.”

All of the priestesses, except old Narmar, rose as one for Shemon’s next announcement. “It is decided. We will seek the Ancient Selams help. To do this we will choose one representative from each sect. As requested, fifteen of your peers are in attendance. One name will be drawn from their midst for the quest.”

Melane stepped back to Lilli, faltering over Shemon’s words that mirrored the Weaver’s in the courtyard. She felt a chill pass up her bare thighs, beneath the small skirt of her gown, under the leather apron.

“…each will follow their instincts to seek the Selams. Once found, they will present our plight to the Selam rulers and strive in every way to influence their decision to come to our aide. Each of the questors will carry the authority to speak for Nemows, this will include accepting any terms necessary for the rejoining of our civilizations.”

Four bowls were brought forth before the priestess. The spokeswoman for each sect was called forward.

“You will draw the name of your peer, sending her on the quest.”

Joyimar picked first for the Syrons, calling out the name from the folded parchment. “Karla!”

A small girl with short blonde curls in pink silks stepped forward. She looked barely old enough to take up her birthing rites. Melane wondered how Shemon expected the girl to survive outside these walls, doubting that Karla had ever stepped outside the guarded gates.

Next came the Weaver, Carril. The woman was a familiar face among the Lamar apprentice. She carried a serene gentleness in her nature that the young ones loved.

“Selana!” The tall, plain looking, older woman stepped forward, seeming confident in her acceptance of the task ahead. The Weavers were a guarded lot, always making people believe they knew more than they shared in their teachings. Melane felt their knowledge might help this one succeed.

The Begonés choice pleased Melane more than the others. Krista was one of the farmers from the north fields. They spoke many times when she rode guard over the land. The woman knew the territory and what dangers to expect. She was strong and never showed any weakness in her toiling labors. Krista was also very beautiful, holding a rare color of auburn in her hair. Most Nemows were blonde and brown-haired women. Unconsciously, Melane’s hand rose and touched her own striking black locks.

“Melane!” Jenna’s voice stiffened the girl in unspoken denial.

“Go up, Melane…always the lucky one!”

Lilli would never have believed how hateful Melane’s thoughts became towards her friend at that moment. Pulling on all her disciplined strength, she stepped unfaltering towards Shemon. Her inner scream Why me? never passed her tightly held lips.

“The chosen will go and prepare for their journey, meeting back here tomorrow at dawn.”

A strange feeling seeped over Melane, drawing her towards the cold set eyes driving into her own. Narmar! Ice set in her young bones over the woman’s openly hateful sneer. Many times she felt or saw the old priestess’ eyes upon her, but this was the most blatant.

“Melane?” Shemon followed her charge’s troubled attention; a dark curse marred the regal features over the reason for Melane’s distress. “Come Melane, we must talk…now!”

The unexpected sharpness cut the old priestess’ grim hold, reddening the girl’s face. Melane followed in the wake of Shemon’s tense steps. Throughout the years, she learned to recognize the emotional signs in her foster mother. The woman’s anger was unsettling, increasing her own dark emotions over what she had just been selected to accomplish.

“Wait for me inside, Melane.”

Obeying the woman came as easily to her as the defensive fighting skills always a part of her existence. Just as she heard, without thinking, Shemon’s orders to the Lamar guard to take their positions outside her chambers. The act was out of character for Shemon, but Melane only registered the thought, not the questions it posed. Her own concerns were too persistent.

“Do I detect disapproval in those enticing eyes, or is it Narmar’s hatred that worries you?” The door shut and locked behind her words. “Sit down Melane, shed the armor, we have much to discuss this last night before you leave.”

Doing as she requested, while working to unfasten the buckles at her shoulders, she spoke. “Only the Begoné’s, Krista, can survive the wilds.”

“Do you doubt your own abilities?”

Melane’s eyes blazed without thinking at the insult.

“No, I thought not. You are right of course, about the Syron and Weaver. They have not the stamina to meet the task.” Shemon held up her ringed hand, stopping the girl’s obvious question. “All the sects have to be involved in order to accept what the future could bring forth.”

Dropping the armor and weapons into the cushioned chair, Melane’s sleek body stretched out in freedom, raising the flimsy smock up to her bare curved buttock.

“Shall we speak freely and honestly this night, my daughter?”

“Have we not always?”

“No, my child.”

Melane’s eyes fell away from the ones that looked too deep.

“You have never really hid your troubles from me, Melane. Tonight I feel we should speak of these worries you carry.” The dark thick lashes raised slowly before the patient woman. “Melane?”

“Yes.”

“Then let us start with, Narmar.”

“She is a priestess.”

“She is an evil old witch! Her fears have stolen her heart and fouled her mind to what is good and decent. She is, and always has been, your enemy!”

Dropping into the chair under the force of Shemon’s unexpected vehemence, Melane struggled to hold her composure. “But why? I have never spoken a word to the woman—good or bad—yet, I know your words are true.”

“The truth may never be proven.” Shemon’s eyes dropped to the girl’s paling knuckles. Melane always possessed a sense of things and people. How many times had Shemon wished to speak like this to her…daughter. Yes, in all but one respect, she was that and more. Tonight all needed to be said. Shemon hoped it would be enough. “Your birth mother, Sabrina, died very shortly after your birth. The cause was never discovered.”

“Narmar?” The dark mass of hair shimmered in disgust. “Why?”

“It is a question I have asked myself many times. Fear, but of what, I have never learned. That Narmar killed Sabrina, I could not prove, only believe. I also believe she would have ended your life as well, but casting you as a Lamar gave you into my protection before she could carry out the rest of her evil.”

It was not so much Shemon’s shocking revelation that struck Melane, but the enormous implication concerning the casting. She needed to know. “Am I truly a Lamar?”

“Dear Melane, the answer has been known to both of us for sometime. For your safety I held my silence, your own was held in the pain I have seen. I am sorry for that, it was unavoidable.”

Pushing out of the chair the hurt became too great to keep smothered. “You never would have told me if not for the quest?”

“I could lie and say I would have stayed silent, but no Melane, it is I that has chosen the time to tell you.”

All the adrenaline left her. What she felt Shemon was admitting stunned Melane into silence.

“Yes my daughter, I made sure you were chosen tonight.”

She never expected this from Shemon. Seeing how her mother shook over the admission left Melane at a loss to refute the underhanded event.

“Melane, please try and understand; the ruse was necessary. You yourself know how futile the efforts from the Syrons and Weavers will be. The Begonés? It remains to be seen. Child, you are a Lamar, by error is true, but by training and thought you are all I could have wanted for a daughter to follow in my steps. There is no lie in the pride that I hold in my heart for you, Melane. Against all the odds your have proven how deserving you are to hold the rank of grand guard captain.”

Melane’s own pride rose in light of the just words. “I am a Lamar.”

“Yes.” The time had come. “And Melane, you are also Sabrina’s daughter…in all ways.” She waited for her breathless revelation to brighten those crystal blue pools. “You are a Syron, Melane, by birth and in gifts. The powers are surging inside you, screaming for release—not denials!”

“But…”

“No, do not speak of doubts, only truths. Tonight the truth, you are a child of two sects, two skills, two gifts. The combination can reach further than any known to exist in the Nemows. Lamar skills, together with Syron powers, are an untouchable force!”

“Shemon stop, this cannot be.”

“It can and is! Melane, listen to me, not all of the Nemows’ teachings and rules are infallible. Some are derived out of need or control, to benefit the mass, it does not make them right, just necessary.” Her hand smoothed back the soft bangs on her daughter’s beautiful face. “Oh child, open your mind and heart to what is inside you, let the powers come, stop fighting them. You will need all the strength they can give you. Let them help when your Lamar training fails. There will be times when it will Melane, then you will see I am right.”

“Sabrina had powers no other Syron ever possessed. She could see things in dreams. She had the power to stop or send objects at will. There were others she never spoke of…forces beyond comprehension. I think they frightened her with their strength. She told me once, not even the herbs could restore her own strength when she used certain ones, and once used they were gone forever. Some came naturally, without conscious thought or loss of strength.”

Could it be true? Melane pulled away from Shemon, needing to reflect on her own feelings.

“Tell me Melane? What have you felt?”

“Dreams…I have had the dreams that leave me weak and trembling. Mostly of battles to come. I tried to forget what my mind held, but during the fights my moves came without thoughts, already defending an unseen blow or delivering a killing slash before theirs ended my life.”

“The blending of skills…the two sects.”

Spinning on her, Melane screamed, “But it is wrong!”

“Is it wrong that I saved you from Narmar’s evil fate? Hmm? The woman still fears your strengths, the power that passed from mother to daughter. Oh yes, we have both given you all we possess. Sabrina’s guidance is all that is lacking in your knowledge. It is there—inside—waiting for your call. Never deny what she gave you, listen to Sabrina’s powers and let her help you fulfill the quest.”

“If I go and seek the Selams, do you honestly believe they are real?”

“All legends begin with fact.”

“They would be males?”

“The prospect frightens you?”

“Shouldn’t it?”

“You have faced the Kibra.”

“They are animals, beast before all else. The Selams may be the same.”

“Only finding them will tell you.”

“Should I succeed, can you really think to obtain mutual rule?”

“That decision will have to be faced. I do know, without them, we face annihilation at the hands of those beasts out there. We are losing Melane. The Syron’s numbers have dwindled nearly to half. Without them we will slowly die. Even worse is the suffering the raids are bringing upon us. So many others have been needlessly killed. The Begonés will eventually revolt, their death counts are climbing each day.” Shemon stared into the glaring denial shining in the girl’s gaze upon her. “And the Lamars, dear Melane, you know the losses we have suffered. Your own regiment is down by a third and they are our best warriors. So you see we have no options.”

“They could refuse.”

“Offer what ever it takes to win their agreement. I give you the authority to act and speak for me. What ever is asked, Melane.”

Did she really mean what Melane believed, “Shemon?”

“Yes Melane, even the Syrons. One sect for the whole civilization is a small price. The civilization will flourish, if we rejoin the Selams. We will just have to learn to tolerate the males.”

CREOLE BLUES

By

Jewel Adams

      Brittney Massey keeps her life as rising Jazz singer Kat Boutie and her true identity as a rancher’s daughter separated. That is until New Orleans’ mafia King Lucas Cortine sets his sights on her. Brit’s surrender under Lucas’ spell is a night filled with erotic passion and memories that haunt the woman Lucas claims.

    She may sing the evocative Cajun lyrics as if she were born in the Louisiana bayou country, but Brittney refuses to be Lucas’ woman. The danger that comes with the man won’t stop her. Determined to break free of Cortine, Brittney charges headlong into witnessing her lover murder a DEA agent!

     Brittney faces enemies at each turn and Cortine’s bounty hunter Mark Maitland brings them right to her door. Her failure to escape Lucas could cost Brit’s life, but will her heart survive the man she gave her virginity to!

EXCERPT: General Audience, Erotic Contemporary Romance

Available in Print and Ebook:  http://steamheaterotica.com/shbkpgCreBlues.html

CREOLE BLUES

By

Jewel Adams

CHAPTER 1–Discovery

“How do you want your eggs?”

“Over medium, no runny stuff.”

Giving the gruff driver a shot at an attempted smile. “Right, got it.”

Ignoring the crude calls from the other table, Brits’ gaze drifted past the dust covered glass window panes to the early morning sky. So much for wide open spaces…

“Order Joe, and tie them down.” Biting her lip to stop from voicing her displeased thoughts, Brittney wondered what could be worse in the morning than facing a grumpy cook and tables full of bleary eyed truck drivers and drifters. They probably chewed rusty nails for lunch.

I want my life back. The words screamed through her mind.

“Hey, how about some coffee?”

Closing her hand about the pot handle, she took a second to hide her emotions and gather her mask. “Sure…want a menu?”

“Coffee will do.”

Brittney nodded, never raising her eyes from the counter to the unusually soft spoken and rather sexy low voice.

“A smile would help brighten the morning.”

She knew better than to return his request. One polite jester made these creeps think they owned you.

Maitland’s frosty brown eyes followed the trim aloof figure that issued its snub, confirming his impression that this delicate creature didn’t belong in this excuse for a truck stop.

Nursing his coffee, he wondered if maybe this lead had been all wrong. After days of searching the area for any clue that this woman was Kat Boutie, he failed to expose her identity.

Shielding his curiosity, Maitland’s scrutiny shifted from the woman’s beautiful features. She did a good job of deliberately camouflaging the natural grace in her facial features. She was about the right height, 5’ 4” maybe 5” and she had those brilliant blue eyes. She wasn’t blonde. In fact, that rich healthy tan and sun streaked auburn hair forbade picturing her as a sultry platinum type. But it was her, Kat Boutie.

Mentally shaking himself, Maitland found it hard to place the icy waitress in silk gowns and flashy stage costumes. She looked more like the jean and tee shirt type, yet he didn’t have any problem picturing her in those sexy baby doll nighties.

No, those long shapely legs and luscious thighs would be a pleasurable sight in any man’s bed. Maitland blinked, cursing the large shadow of reality that intruded on the vision. Looking at her more openly he could see her with Lucas Cortine.

Two-thousand miles from New Orleans, his whore didn’t run far enough to escape that man. Maitland refused to acknowledge or question his part in finding her for the crime boss, remembering their last meeting…

“Misunderstandings happen all the time between…”

The word left unspoken said it all. Cortine’s latest whore fled the posh coop.

“She’s very important to me Maitland.”

“She obviously doesn’t want to be found.”

Maitland watched the controlled anger vibrate through Cortine’s powerful build emphasized by the sharp cut of his expensive suit. The heavy Cajun accent grew thick under the force Cortine used to control his rage. Yeah, the man hated that the flower of New Orleans dumped him.

“Kat is an emotionally vibrant woman and she has let her jealousy rule.”

Maitland didn’t like Cortine’s slick excuse. “Most womEn cool off sooner or later.”

When the angry snap of Cortine’s dark eyes refocused on him, Maitland could understand why the woman ran.

“My Kat is also stubborn. So much so, Mr. Maitland, that I fear she will never let me explain our unfortunate misunderstanding. The reason I need your services is that Kat also knows my associates too well to let them get close to her.”

“And if she refuses to come back?”

“I’ve heard that you can be very persuasive…if the price is right.”

So he didn’t care how Maitland got her back. Most the time Maitland didn’t either. Being a bounty hunter, most of his prey ran from him not to him. But Kat Boutie wasn’t a fugitive. Except maybe in Cortine’s eyes.

“Fifty thousand upon delivery.” Cortine haplessly tossed an envelope on the desk.

Maitland clenched his teeth to keep his jaw from falling open and peered directly into the man’s eyes.

“There’s ten thousand for expenses, over and above your fee.”

Maitland never hesitated to take a job. He didn’t have to like Cortine, that wasn’t part of the contract. Hell, no one could like the man. The king of the New Orleans’ darker side of life, his mob connections weren’t something new, every city had what the man represented. Even the police looked the other way to avoid this man. The general consensus being he was better than what might take his place.

So where did Kat Boutie fit in with the crime boss?

“If you doubt my sincerity Maitland, believe me when I say my enemies don’t need any incentive to find Miss Boutie.”

Truth from the master of deceit? Maitland couldn’t find any argument in what the man allowed him to see.

“Kat is special. She is not what you think or what anyone believes.” The dark suit strained under the pressure Cortine maintained on his emotions. The silence seemed to go on forever as the man stood looking out the window causing Maitland to wonder if the man forgot his presence in the room.

“She’s not my woman. Not like the others. Kat unknowingly set the rules.” Turning, Cortine looked at Maitland, as if studying him. “Have you ever touched enchantment, pure beauty, Mr. Maitland?”

Without thought, Maitland answered the intense question. “No, never.”

“Kat’s both. She can make a man question things in himself that he never should find.”

Feeling uncomfortable by Cortine’s unexpected revelation, Maitland shifted, breaking the spell that the man fell into.

Cortine turned and faced Maitland, again cold confidence glared back at him. “I want you to find her so I can stop her from getting hurt.”

The man’s announcement came too hard to toss off.

“Maitland, I heard two things about you. You are the best hunter out there, I need you for that. I also heard that you are a nut case around women,” he looked directly into Mark’s eyes before going on, “if you lay one finger on her I will kill you, Maitland.”

“Fifty thousand covers a lot of reasons,” he muttered aloud.

“More coffee?”

Raising his gaze, he captured the waitress’ misty blue stare. For a second her wall fell and Maitland dwelled in the illuminating crystal pools.

“Yeah.”

When he felt her pull back from his invasion, his fingers gripped the cup to stop himself from reaching out to make her stay.

Brittney nodded, berating herself for breaking her own rules, the first being, never make eye contact!

Damn, she needed to quit this job. If only…regrets were a waste of time. Surviving is what counted.

He figured staying any longer might be too obvious. Maitland left a dollar on the counter, deciding that she’d find it. He’d come back at lunch, maybe if she saw him again she’d unfreeze a bit. Somehow, he held little faith in that prospect. He needed to decide on how to take her back to New Orleans. She sure wouldn’t jump in his car.

Brit watched the confident strides of the tall stranger going out the door. She continued writing the order the two guys rattled off. He didn’t move like the rest of them, no swagger, more like a circle…of danger surrounded him. The image brought with it the familiar prick of warning.

CATCHING SHADOWS

By

Jewel Adams

   CHARITY BECKER’S lover kisses her lips with searing passion and melts away as the morning light strikes her bedroom window. She steps through the fine line that separates the present from the past.

   Waiting for her on the other side is JACOB KINGSMAN, a man claiming her as his wife. Can Charity’s passion to discover the truth regarding the real Mrs. Kingsman free Jacob of his guilt?

Together they scorch time with a hot, erotic passion in CATCHING SHADOWS.

EXCERPT: General Audience, Gothic Erotic Romance - Time Travel

Available in Print and Ebook:  http://steamheaterotica.com/shbkpgCaShadows.html

CATCHING SHADOWS

By

Jewel Adams

CHAPTER 1 - Sand Castles

here it was again, another glimmer of a figure near the window. Charity thought she might be going mad. She waited for another glimpse, but none came, they never did when she looked for them. It took a minute to release the breath she held. The rush of fresh air felt light in her lungs, but it couldn’t take the apprehension away.

“I wish it would leave.”

But no, her head shook to defy the declaration. She wanted to know what it was…more who it could be and if the feelings touching her were real. Even now the sensation lingered, as if she were being caressed. Like in her dreams, ones that left her breathless in unfulfilled passion, before slipping back into the night when the sun began to wake the day.

“What a silly idea.” She actually stamped her foot for emphasis. Or did she expect to scare it out of hiding?

“What’s silly Charity?

She gave her nephew a quick glance, then a smile to ease the serious look he maintained on her. “Nothing, nothing at all Pauly.”

“Can we go to the beach?”

“Sure, when should we go?”

“Now, oh please?”

Right now any excuse she could find to get out of the house sounded good to her. Why her sister insisted on staying in this relic for the summer still bothered her. Of course, Lynda’s boyfriend did own the place. She should be here, not Charity!

“Okay, run and get your suit on, I’ll get the towels.”

“Can I bring my bucket?”

“Yes, and the shovel, don’t forget the shovel.” His whoop of excitement acknowledged he heard her.

Charity lost her thoughts to getting everything ready for the beach and to pack some treats and drinks for the two of them. “It is a beautiful day for the beach.”

The prospect of the beach couldn’t steal her thoughts away from the problem. She sighed and wondered why this was happening. “I swear I need a vacation!”

Ah, but wasn’t she suppose to be on one? Of course she still minded the house and chores, as well as watching Pauly. If given a choice she would have preferred to stay behind while everyone came here. “That certainly wouldn’t have worked for anyone but me.”

Charity really hated feeling sorry for herself, it wasn’t a very positive attitude. Then things haven’t been in the best of light for her. “And YOU, whoever you might be, aren’t helping any!”

Her little tirade didn’t even stir the dust balls, let alone earn her an answer. Yet she almost wished someone would retaliate, yell back, “…be real?”

Were shadows real? “Now that is the million dollar question. And no, I don’t expect anyone to step forward and give a valid answer.”

Yet ever since arriving here the question became extremely important to her. They, the encounters, started that first week and kept getting stronger with each passing day.

Charity saw shadows!

Not just any shadow, no she couldn’t be lucky enough to see a shadow of a chair or the sun coming through the lace curtains at the window. What seemed to plague her were shadows of one particular…man!

“Yes, it is a man. I can feel his presence…even now, in the daylight.”

But was he real? Was she just imagining all this?

Pauly’s sliding entrance into the kitchen ended the questions she kept asking herself.

“I’m ready!”

“I can see you are and so am I. Our lunch is packed and I think I’ve got everything.”

“I have my bucket and the shovel!”

It would be nice to be a child once again, no worries beyond the day. Charity pushed her troubled thoughts away and ruffled Pauly’s hair. “Good, you can build me a giant sand castle.”

It didn’t take them long to start down the path to the shore. For a second she hesitated and fought the need to look back at the house. The pull on her senses became too strong and she turned…there, at her bedroom window. She felt her stomach drop. The figure of a man stood there…watching her.

“Come on Charity!”

Pauly’s call shook her out of the stunned trance she’d fallen into. “You’re not real.”

She turned away, almost daring him to refute her declaration!

* * * *

Charity carried the sleepy Pauly up to his bed. Poor boy nearly fell asleep eating his dinner. She shouldn’t have kept them at the beach as long as she did, but she couldn’t make herself come back here. To hope it would be gone on their return turned into a useless wish on her part.

Even now, as she tucked Pauly in, she felt as if someone watched her. She tried not to let the feelings invade her, but every day it grew stronger and she could no longer ignore the presence. Her skin actually tingled whenever it came near her. She swore she could feel the heat from his body, the whisper touch of his fingers as they brushed over her cheek.

As she left her nephew’s room she tried to concentrate on the problem and not the presence following her. She hesitated by her bedroom door then walked past it, knowing she didn’t want to chance what might happen, again, if she went to bed. The heat flooded her cheeks over the memory of last night’s visit. Just thinking about the memory made the lazy warmth move through her. Strange as this all appeared to be, she never in her life felt so alive as when he made love to her. But, they hadn’t really finished the act and the emptiness left in his wake felt like a deep well, one she could drown in should he not return.

Her hands clasped the banister over the heaviness in her legs. “No…I won’t let you control me this way!”

The air near her grew chilly as if she’d slapped him. Maybe she could control this, what ever it might be. She made sure her footsteps were secure before taking the next step. The sensual weakness lessened, but remained too near the surface for her to relax. Charity didn’t relax until she stepped off the last step.

Would he really hurt her? She wished she hadn’t thought to ask such a question. But once it came, she couldn’t help but shiver over the possible answers. Charity knew all she ever felt from him was passion, strong, vibrant and yes…dangerous passion. The blush sweeping up her throat didn’t stop her from remembering what he made her feel. She closed her eyes for just a second to savor the desire, before forcing it back into the darkness. “If only…”

* * * *

“Damn you!” Jacob’s fist hit the door. As he rolled his back against the heavy wood, he searched the room to see if her image remained. The anger vibrated through his body, tensing the breadth of his powerful frame.

He let his head fall back, needing to feel the solid presence of the house, wondering how he would ever survive her treachery; for Jacob feared his own sanity at this moment. “I held you in my very hands, and yet you vanish before my eyes. Where do you hide?” The question made his eyes close as he groaned over the absurdity. “I talk to air and expect answers!”

There, a quick glimpse by the stairs. Jacob pushed off the door to follow what he feared would be another dead end. His steps slowed as he neared the stairwell, she stood at the top of the stairs. He wanted to reach out and touch her, pull her to him, but something kept him from acting on his desire.

He followed her down the stairs, she looked worried tonight. The darkness under her eyes made him wonder if she too lost a night’s sleep. It would be her own fault for the games she played with him… “In my own house!”

Nary a length of her beautiful hair moved from his outburst. He did so love to touch her hair, she would put the finest fur to shame, for its softness was like none he’d ever felt. The memory made him think on their night together, just the thought made him instantly hard in desire. He possessed a ravenous hunger for this woman. The way her breast rested in his palm before he would wrap his fingers about the ample globe. His tongue came out as if to taste the ripe, swollen nipple that he brought to life. Ahh, the sweetness of a woman in heat…

She moved too quickly off the last step! Jacob cursed his musing for he knew she wouldn’t be there. As he feared she escaped from his sight once again. Nearly two weeks hath passed since they started playing this cat and mouse game of hers.

“I know not where you go Charity, but by all that is holy you will not leave us! If I need to take this house apart, board and stone, I will find your hiding place and we shall end this foolish game of yours!”

“You are mine Charity. My wife, forever!”

RIVERBOATS & RAINBOWS

By

Jewel Adams

 Historical Erotic Romance Time Travel

  The renovated riverboat appears to be the perfect solution for her aunt’s annual fundraiser. Angela La Cross’ busy agenda didn’t include falling into the boat’s hold. When she comes to and finds she is the only woman on a boat full of men, she begins to think this wasn’t such a good idea.

  James McFarlain wanted his last trip up the Mississippi to be uneventful. The last thing he expected to see on the Silver Queen was a woman. Telling himself she was nothing but a mess of trouble didn’t stop him from looking into her emerald eyes. When she silently sought his help, James knew he was done for.

  Her trip back in time to 1875 became only a minor set back for Angie when compared to a good looking cowboy, cattle rustlers and one very determined Sioux warrior.

  Angela might survive her tumble through time, but can her heart decide between the love of two men? Can she find the answers before time runs out? Her journey is not an easy one when love keeps changing the rules. Join Angie in the adventure of a lifetime, one that will capture your heart!

EXCERPT: General Audience, Sensual Erotic Time Travel Romance

Available in Print and Ebook:  http://steamheaterotica.com/shbkpgRivRain.html

RIVERBOATS & RAINBOWS

By 

Jewel Adams

CHAPTER 1 – The Ante

aise you a hundred Jamey.” The man’s enthusiasm flowed over the table to the unaffected player.

The strong, tanned fingers slowly unfolded the cards, fanning them out for his private scrutiny. A full house, which meant Duncan was probably acting. James played him many times on the circuit. Duncan could never hide his eagerness when he thought he had James beat. Tonight certainly wasn’t going James’ way. A full two rounds of the deal and he’d only taken one small hand.

     Looking around at the other two players, he figured this pot was too rich for their blood. They’d fold on the raise leaving only Duncan and himself to bluff it out. Maybe he should call it a night? Damn, it was too early for that, but James knew when the luck wasn’t with him. “I’ll see your hundred Duncan, and raise you fifty.”

     He watched Duncan’s face blotch in anger. As he expected the others threw their hands down in disgust. James waited for Duncan to get over what his cards told his tight-eyed stare.

“You’re a lucky ass hole, Jamey.” Duncan tossed the cards into the pot.

James pulled the money and cards over to him, showing little over the defamation thrown his way. Separating out the cards, he gathered the small winnings and pushed away from the table. “It’s been nice.”

     “You calling it a night?”

     James didn’t bother to answer. Duncan would relish starting a fight. Going over to the bar, James angled himself so he could see the entire room.

     “What will it be Mr. McFarlain?”

     “Scotch, Willie.”

     “Yes sir.”

     James saw the captain in the bar mirror as he entered the casino. Captain Welsh wasn’t to be taken lightly. The river was his domain and heaven help the bastard stupid enough to cross him. Welsh looked more disagreeable than usual. James cursed the fact this boat had been the only one available for the ride up river. If he wasn’t in such a hurry he would never have stepped foot on the Silver Queen.

     “You still work’n the river, McFarlain?”

     “Now where else would I be, Captain?”

     “Thought you might have smartened up and gotten off by now.”

     Off the river James’ business was his own. Gambling wouldn’t have entered his past life. But that was before the war and everything he’d known had been destroyed or taken away. “The river feels slow tonight.”

     “You should be captaining the Silver Queen, you always did know more than most men working the tables. Heard once you had a big plantation, down by New Orleans.”

     “Times change.” Sipping his drink, he didn’t mind the man’s probing. It was common knowledge who he used to be. What he would be was no one’s concern but his own.

     “Out of luck tonight or are the tables too cheap for your liking?”

     “Like I said, Captain, the river is slow.”

     “Duncan seems to be having a good night.”

     James’ blue eyes watched the players’ reflections in the mirror. He didn’t like the way Duncan’s group looked, but kept it to himself. It was his last trip up river and he didn’t need any trouble.

     One of the crew called the Captain away. James motioned Willie to set up another drink. Anxious to be off the river James thought about the future, something he hadn’t done for some time.

     Mike would be waiting for him in St. Louis. They would start the drive from there to take the cattle to Montana. His crystal blue eyes went deep in concentration over the ranch, Twin Creeks. He didn’t like admitting how much he counted on that unknown place.

     When he won it off that man last year, he’d been madder than a rattler and ready to throw the deed away in the next hand just to be free of it. Why he’d pocketed the deed he couldn’t recall.

     That night in his cabin, it fell out of his coat. Picking it up James took his first look at the document. It was all there, all legally his, because of one man’s foolish pride in a card game. James thought long and hard over the land he now held title to. Remorse or conscience made him seek out the man that next morning. Mr. Burr must have been on a road of self-destruction. He learned the man got into another card game after James left. In the process Burr picked a fight with the wrong man and got himself killed over a five-dollar pot.

     Finding he couldn’t give the land back, James decided to investigate what he owned. Wiring a banker associate of his, he learned just about all he could without actually seeing the property. The reports said everything was in order with the deed and that Mr. Burr had no living relatives. The land and ranch were said to be in good shape, though neglected.

     Locating his brother Michael proved more of an effort than finding out about Twin Creeks. Mike, like James, left New Orleans after the war and discovering their uncle sold their home to carpetbaggers. It was a blow neither brother took lightly. James turned to gambling because it was there and he proved to be good at it.  Being cautious over his playing partners kept him alive. He hated his present life and Twin Creeks looked like the answer he’d been searching for. There were enough funds from his gambling takes to buy a large herd of cattle and the stores needed to start the ranch. Hopefully, what was left would keep them going until she started holding her own.

      He learned all he could about the territory and James decided to take one last gamble. The cattle would be their staple stock, but there were herds of wild horses free for the taking. He planned to do just that. The government was hungry for horses, good riding stock, and James intended on getting in on the contracts they were issuing. Purchasing the stallion cost a large chunk of their funds, but he needed a good bloodline to start the horse ranch Twin Creeks would someday become.

     Mike hadn’t been idle since he’d seen him two years ago. Working as trail boss for various outfits he willingly joined James in the venture. Between them, they would rebuild what took their family generations to accomplish and loose overnight.

     “Another, Mr. McFarlain?”

     “One more, Willie.”

     Home? It felt strange to call it that. Neither of them had seen it yet, but James felt anxious to get there.

* * * *

     In the thick darkness she wasn’t sure if her eyes were open. But when she moved, the pain in her head sent them squeezing shut.

     Holding the back of her head she gingerly made it to her feet. Finding the wall as she reached out in the darkness, Angie bumped into the ladder. Leaning against it, she waited until the throbbing ebbed before trying to climb the slippery rungs.

     Angie feared falling again and stopped repeatedly to fight off the dizziness. It felt like it took forever to reach the doorway. After several tries to open the hatch, Angie put her full weight against it before finally dislodging the hatch door. She collapsed on the deck, exhausted by the effort.

     Moaning, she struggled to sit up and face the night. A cool breeze came off the river helping to clear away the fog inside her head. Angela cringed over the mishap of falling, deciding she more than missed her dinner appointment.

     She managed to standup, leaning against the boat for support, a strange steady vibration moved up her legs. For a second it confused her, but then she realized it was coming from the riverboat. Listening, she heard the swishing sound of the large wheel turning through the water. The movement of the boat was slight and sluggish, but unmistakable. “We’re moving! Oh no…”

     How long had she been out?

     Looking around her she failed to locate her purse, positive she left it beside the hatch. She tried to catch some light to see the time at her wrist, but strangely there wasn’t any light coming from the shoreline. Stumbling to the rail she scanned the dark line of trees along the riverbank. Wherever they were on the river was certainly a ways from New Orleans. Stars, she hoped this wasn’t an all night cruise.

     She was dirty and bruised all over. The knot on the back of her head felt so tender it hurt when she walked. Looking around the deck she couldn’t think past the throbbing to figure out what bothered her about it.

     She tried to push her hair back and she realized she’d lost the clip holding her bangs. She’d be damned if she would go back down there and look for it. “One fall a night is enough, thank you.”

     With the rail’s support Angela decided she better find the captain or manager, someone that could help her. She didn’t think they would turn back just for her, but maybe they could radio shore so her Aunt Belle and Sally wouldn’t worry. “Damn! I didn’t even tell them where I was going.”

     She could see it all now. Auntie would call the police within an hour of her missed dinner appointment. They would find her car on the docks, of all places. Auntie would go into vapors. Well, she couldn’t do anything about it until she found someone.

     The music and muffled voices drew her forward. It sounded familiar; she remembered feeling this way when she entered the room this afternoon. It seemed the Silver Queen was all she’d imagined it would be.

     His blue eyes seemed to find her of their own accord. Framed in the doorway was something he never saw aboard Captain Welsh’s boat. Funny, but even after his initial shock over seeing the woman’s reflection in the mirror, he couldn’t stop looking at her.

     Wild dark locks of ebony hair floated around the woman like a protective cloak. They did little to hide the lovely creature behind the veil. Looking closer, James also saw the dirt smudged across her cheek and forehead. Sucking in his breath over what his scrutiny uncovered, anger and concern flared in unwanted quantities for the pain and confusion marring her lovely face. James tried to pull his eyes away, but she seemed to hold him in the most peculiar way.

     Maybe it was the outlandish attire she wore? It wasn’t everyday you saw a woman dressed like a man; an Indian one at that if those boots were any indication. Eyes the color of emeralds, they weren’t Indian and neither was that ivory complexion.

     James felt the strangest chill move over him. She was undoubtedly beautiful, statuesque, and yet too vulnerable as her brilliant eyes searched the room. For just a second they seemed to latch onto his, making him feel like she physically touched him or something more. But they pulled away too quickly to discover the answer.

     Angie wondered what it was about the room that made her uneasy. Things came too slowly past the pain assaulting her head. Just as lethargic were the eyes turning in her direction. Even the murmurs ended as an uncomfortable silence fell over everyone. No, that wasn’t right…every man, there were no women, anywhere!

     Angie swallowed hard over the ill feeling this gave her as she unconsciously raised her chin against their probing gazes. She tried to think past the foreboding she felt, but it became increasingly difficult. She wanted to tell them how rude their observations were, yet thought better of it.

     Seeing no one standing about that looked in charge, her gaze finally went to the bar. Having so many men in one room must have addled her, because she could swear the room looked different. Taking a deep breath she forced her unsteady legs to walk towards the bar. She could feel their eyes following her. It took all her control not to turn and glare back at them.

     She came hard against the bar and held it to fight the dizziness plaguing her. Afraid to look at any of the men leaning there, she tried to concentrate on only the young bartender and forming her words. “Excuse me? I need to see the captain or manager, please.”

     What was wrong with them? The buzz immediately following her announcement made her knuckles whiten in apprehension.

     “Can I help you?”

     The effort to turn and see the man who owned the deep decisive voice nearly defeated her. When she faced him his eyes stole the last of her breath.

     How long she looked at him she didn’t know or care. Shaking away the volatile feelings she brought her thoughts back to the here and now. But stars how he seemed to fill her mind.

     He was so…devastatingly handsome!

     Stars, but that hit on her head must have rattled her common sense. What was the matter with her? She never let any man affect her like this and certainly not a stranger. “Are you the captain?”

     His smile could melt ice, but it was the questioning in his cool gaze that captured her attention, making it hard to concentrate on his answer.

     “No, but are you sure it is the captain you want to see?”

     “Well yes, I think so, unless there is a manager around.”

     Why had he approached her? Knowing every man in the room was glaring bug eyed at them James sure wasn’t paying any attention to the warnings. She was trouble he didn’t need. “Willie, go fetch Captain Welsh.”

     “You sure about that Mr. McFarlain? You know he ain’t going to like this none.”

     She listened to the conversation that concerned her yet seemed to be ignoring her presence. Angie hurt too much to care what these men thought. “Look, I need to get to shore or radio the authorities.”

     One of the men snickered. James watched the lady’s pride spark over the insulting remarks bouncing about the room. He couldn’t control his admiration when she refused to don the insults with even a reproachful glance.

     “Miss?”

     “Miss La Cross.”

     “Well Miss La Cross, I think the captain will be more than happy to oblige your request.”

     “Good.”

     She watched the man give a silent signal to the young man behind the bar, sending him out from under it to do as she requested.

     “Thank you…McFarlain, isn’t it?”

     “Yes.”

     Angie felt better knowing the captain was coming. She couldn’t shake the growing nervousness over these men and their apt attention on her. Chancing a look about the room, not a one of them resumed their game seeming to think she was more interesting. She actually thought a few of the glaring eyes held expectancy in them. “Hey, what’s wrong with them?”

     “Wrong, Miss La Cross?”

     Moving closer to him, she whispered. “Why are they watching me? I didn’t mean to interrupt anything. If it’s a stag party or something like that, I am sorry.”

     James couldn’t stop looking at her. She made less sense than he felt his actions did. He didn’t like the men’s gazes anymore than she did. Something compelled him to try and ease her concerns.

     “You are a rarity on Captain Welsh’s boat.”

     “A rarity? In what way?”

     Was that innocent look in those green eyes as real as it appeared?

     “You are a woman.”

     Her laughter died beneath the unwavering look of concern he held her in. He was serious and Angie felt herself become cold over the implied danger. She would have left, right then, if the dizziness hadn’t returned when she tried to move.

     The strength in the hands holding her up became all too clear, tearing through her muddled thoughts.

     “Miss La Cross are you alright?”

     “My head, I fell.”

     When his fingers glanced over the bump at the back of her head, she groaned and fell against him. Righting herself wasn’t possible. Finding the will to leave what she found in his hold defeated her efforts. Closing her eyes she told herself it would only be for a minute, just a minute. There was so much strength…and safety.

     James’ hands seemed to move on their own, retaining the embrace she didn’t end and he couldn’t. God, she was so soft, so very nice. He couldn’t stop himself from touching her and allowing the wild hunger loose that holding her drove to the surface.

     Shaking himself, his eyes registered the tight lipped anger and wanting his present stance brought out in his staring companions. Swallowing his groan of awareness, James needed to get a hold of himself. What the hell was he trying to do? Commit suicide? Before he could disengage her he heard the gruff astonishment of the Captain coming up behind him.

     “What the hell do you think you are doing, McFarlain? Damn, you know my rules and the consequences!”

     He lost his concentration to her fingers digging into his sleeve. Her silent fear was unmistakable. The distraction proved to be his downfall.

     He felt the hands relieving him of his gun, just before two pairs enclosed about his arms. She remained in his hold. It was the Captain’s fingers that came around in front of them to dislodge her.

     “Release the harlot this instant McFarlain!”

     James’ dislike for the man seemed to fuel his irrational behavior towards the woman. Mike and the two thousand head of cattle were forgotten. “I’d love to, but she is hurt.”

     The scoffs came from the room and James felt the dread close over him. A few well placed calls from the men reddened the Captain’s enraged face.

     “Look Welsh, I don’t….”

     “Save it McFarlain, your gentlemanly charms won’t get you out of this.”

     Angie couldn’t stop her shiver. Every spoken word made them worse. She should move away from the man whose arms supported her. Why were they mad at them? At him? She could understand the captain being upset over having an unwanted passenger. But why take it out on Mr. McFarlain?

     Calling on her remaining strength she pushed away from him and looked into the angry glare of his eyes. Was it her or the captain that lit that fire? His face was like stone, showing nothing of the turmoil she felt in the hands still holding her arms. His eyes held the graying of the storm she sensed, making her shake her head in denial, only to realize her mistake too late.

     His hold tightened over her renewed weakness, refusing to obey the Captain’s ravings. Pulling her back against his chest was the worse thing James could do. No one wanted to believe he didn’t know her. James saw this too often; they were now the night’s entertainment. An example for the Captain, not to be dismissed until tried and convicted.

     Rage engulfed him over what he knew was coming. Thoughts of fighting his way out ended as quickly as they surfaced. It would mean leaving Miss La Cross to face these men, alone. He couldn’t bring himself to do that to her. Neither would he release her to the furious man reaching out to pull her away.

     “Keep your hands off her, Welsh!”

     It was a foolish threat considering he was unarmed and held by two oversized goons. But the captain took the danger glaring at him at face value and stopped his advance.

     Cautiously eyeing James, “Then you admit it?”

     What was he saying? Admit what? Angie must have missed something. This had gone far enough she needed to get a hold of herself. She managed to push herself away from McFarlain to face the captain.

     James watched the girl that disengaged his hold. She swayed, but he forced himself not to reach for her. Her eyes stayed him from helping. A daring mix of pride and stubbornness held her up. James felt something swell inside him for this woman, something he couldn’t define, but had to accept.

     “Captain, I believe?”

     “You know damn well I am!”

     “There is no need to get excited.”

     James’ humor nearly broke free. Her indignation was sending Welsh into a huffing fit.

     “You insolent….”

     “Welsh, I wouldn’t.” James’ voice was low and controlled, but it was a warning that silenced the room.

     Angie didn’t dare look at the man standing close enough behind her that she could feel his heat. Whatever they all saw in McFarlain she cared only for the relief she felt that it kept this bull of a captain away from her.

     “Look Captain, I think you have misunderstood. I’m sorry if you find my presence on your boat upsetting, but I can assure you it wasn’t intentional.” She didn’t like the way he was gloating at her. When he crossed his arms over his bloated stomach, straining the brass buttons of his uniform, she bit the inside of her cheek not to groan.

     “So your presence wasn’t meant to be found out, hey?”

     “No…I meant, I didn’t plan to be here at all. I fell down your ladder, and I guess I knocked myself out. Could you please contact the authorities, my aunt…?”

     “The only authority around here is me and believe me, missy, you’ve made contact.”

     Why didn’t that make her feel any better? He certainly wasn’t what she expected and he’d not get any booking for the party with this kind of insolent attitude. If his eyes raked over her breasts one more time, she…she’d slap him, that’s what she’d do!

     “The name is Miss La Cross. Now, would you please radio the authorities and let them know where I can be picked up.”

     James hadn’t heard a Creole accent like that since leaving New Orleans. The lyrical tones almost made him miss Welsh’s reply.

     “Now, Miss La Cross, I’d be obliged to accommodate you if I had such a thing…what was it? A raydee-oh?”

     She ignored his sarcastic use of her name. “Then just let me off at the next port.”

     James tensed over what he felt was coming, which caused the brutes holding him to secure their hold more.

     “I’d be glad to, only we’ve some unfinished business to attend to first.”

     She wanted to ask what, but the whooping and hollering rushing through the room drowned out her voice. Clamping her mouth shut, she couldn’t stop herself from turning to Mr. McFarlain for answers.

     “Oh my stars!” Angie felt what little color she possessed drain away. Her anger surged over what she stared open mouthed upon.

     “Miss La Cross, I think it would be best if you didn’t say anything else.” James didn’t think the woman would listen to his request.

     Spinning back to confront the captain, she gripped the bar in order not to fall. Ignoring McFarlain’s warning her angry words were forced past clenched teeth. “What is the meaning of this? Release Mr. McFarlain!”

     She was shaking under the shock of seeing him held by those men and a knife pressed to his throat! How dare they do that to him!

     “Missy, I have every intention of doing just that, but first.” She wanted to disappear from the sneer he gave her. “Men gather round.”

     Looking from him, back to McFarlain and the stern uneasy look he gave her did indeed shut her up. McFarlain’s eyes conveyed the message that she only made it worse. The knife pressing close to his jugular vein wasn’t a joke. Angie tasted the bitterness of true fear.

     “Now you all know my rules about women on board my vessel.” Looking directly at her, “They are not allowed and the punishment is severe.”

     His speech was hilarious, Angie felt like she was in some corny movie. Opening her mouth, she snapped it shut when McFarlain’s strained curse reached her ears.

     Glaring at him under the circumstances would be silly, but she was getting angrier by the second. Instead, she directed her tempered glare at the captain. Ugh, but she wanted to smack that satisfied grin off his pug face. Who did he think he was, anyway? She’d sue him for falling on his unattended vessel! Physical trauma, yeah, she probably suffered a concussion. Mental anguish was a certainty.

     Building up her nerve to verbally attack the man, the tirade froze in her throat over his next announcement.

     “Men, we have a wedding to perform.”

     “Wedding?” Her outburst drew everyone’s humorous glances.

     “Why yes, Miss La Cross…your wedding.”

     The men’s laughter echoed through her head like a bad dream. He grabbed her arm and made her follow the men leading McFarlain outside.

To his credit McFarlain put up a valiant struggle. To her dismay, he received a vicious blow to his jaw for his effort. If he got loose the rage burning inside that man wouldn’t have stopped until these men were desecrated. Abhorring violence she couldn’t believe she was actually wishing he would break free.

     Angie swallowed back her cry over what his hard blue eyes told her. This wasn’t a joke. These men were serious. They all had to be nuts!

     All kinds of crazy thoughts careened through the intense pain that each dragged step sent off in her head.

     James never took his eyes off her. When she stumbled he’d gone wild. The anger over seeing her in pain took over. The ache in his jaw snapped him back into some resemblance of sanity, but the fury inside him was near uncontrollable.

     If only she’d keep quiet. He feared what they might do to her if she continued. It was obvious she had no idea of the dangerous extent of her situation. Welsh could be a vicious man. He relished the attention he was getting and it made him unpredictable. James wasn’t in any position to help either of them. Getting her away from these men was imperative. James didn’t like the ugly way the crowd was turning or the looks in their eyes for her. She didn’t realize what he was seeing and he hoped she wouldn’t, fearing what she might do.

     When they placed her beside him he took the chance to whisper to her. “Just do what he wants and agree with whatever I say.”

     Angie’s eyes enlarged over McFarlain’s request. Was he crazy too? Didn’t he hear what the captain was up to?

     She wanted to ask him, but the captain didn’t give her a chance.

     “Now, I have here the bible and as captain I have legal authority to wed these two. It’s legal, you will be husband and wife. What better match, right boys?”

     The cheers sent chills up her spine.

     “Now, James McFarlain do you take Miss…what’s your first name?”

     Glaring at him she had a good mind not to answer. Scanning the sea of expectant faces her pride stiffened. “Angela.”

     “James McFarlain, do you take Angela La Cross as your lawful wedded wife?”

     Not looking at him she held her breath with the expectancy she felt over his answer. Why should she care?

     “I do.”

     The captain chuckled over the angry outburst everyone knew McFarlain wanted to lash out with.

     “And you, Angela La Cross, do you take this man as your husband?”

     “What? No love, honor and obey?” Her indignation made her antagonize the man.

     “Throw in obey would you Welsh, I think I’ll need that one.”

     Glaring up at McFarlain she didn’t know with whom she was angrier. The captain repeated the vow, tossing in obey at McFarlain’s request.

     “Well, we’re waiting, get to it Missy.”

     Angel didn’t need the obnoxious captain to tell her what he expected. “You can wait till….”

     “Angela come on, it’s not like we’re strangers.”

     Her mouth dropped open over James’ remark. She closed it when his hard gaze didn’t reflect anything close to what his words implied. Was he only saying this for their benefit?

     Instinctively, she knew, he was the only one here she could trust. He didn’t want this any more than she did. Why should he? Remembering his warning she gave the only sensible answer. “I do.”

     “Good, a wise decision Missy. I pronounce you, man and wife. You may kiss your bride, James.”

     Before she could object McFarlain pulled her into his arms and captured her lips, smothering her protest in a kiss that did more than just silence her outrage. Too stunned to hide her response, she could only stare at him when he released her.

     The cheers ended her short lived trance, but the shouts coming at them quickly made her seek the very man that just left her totally rattled. Moving to McFarlain’s side she released her breath when his arm came about her waist.   “Alright Welsh, you’ve had your fun.”

     “Not quite James. You never should have crossed me. Your marriage papers will be filed in St. Louis. You can pick your gear up there.”

     James had been afraid Welsh would do this. Right now, seeing the eager men surrounding them, it was probably the best way out for her.

     “Now James.”

     “Can I have my gun?”

     “Sure. Boys, give the man his gun.”

     She watched, too confused to do anything else, as the man passed the captain McFarlain’s gun. The captain emptied the filled chambers of the bullets. Staring, she watched the bullets hit and roll across the deck before he passed the gun over to McFarlain.

     Starting to move away, James stopped and came back to her. Taking her arm, “Come on Angela.”

     Pulling her arm out of his grip, she stared at him in disbelief finally understanding what they all expected.

     “No…you are all crazy.” The shaking of her head wasn’t anything compared to what her knees were doing. “No, I am not going into that River!”

DREAM LOVER

By

Jewel Adams

Time Travel Erotic Romance

When a dream becomes reality, Mackenzie Richardson discovers her fantasy lover is no longer an unattainable image, but a very real, very powerful, flesh and blood man. Mackenzie finds no escape from the handsome but obstinate dream that shatters the fabric of time and thrives in Colonial America, the year of our Lord, 1773.

Aaron Masters confronts the bewitching woman that haunts his dreams, to discover a very real and passionate Mackenzie. Be she God’s own angel or the Devil’s witch, she now belongs to him. Neither the powers of time, nor the perils of man will take away the woman he claims as his wife.

Join Aaron and Mackenzie on a journey of discovery as they confront their love for each other and battle the forces to hold on to the treasure they find. Will they beat the power of time that tries to keep them separated? Or will their love end on the thrust of a pirate’s cutlass or the claim of a British spy that Mackenzie is his wife! The excitement and adventure will hold you spellbound to the explosive conclusion of DREAM LOVER

EXCERPT:  General Audience, Sensual Erotic Time Travel Romance

Available in Print and Ebook:  http://steamheaterotica.com/shbkpgDrLover.html

DREAM LOVER

By

Jewel Adams

CHAPTER 1—Dreams Can’t Be Real!

-Will-Not-Think-Of-Him!” Mackenzie’s fist punched out each word against the pillows. Blowing up at the hair in front of her eyes, she crawled around the bed tugging at the tangled sheets. “Grown women don’t need fantasy lovers, Mac. Grow up!” Falling back into the pillows, she yanked the satin quilt up to her chin.

Sleep, instant sleep, no thoughts, only dreamless sleep. Tossing one way and then the next, she moaned over effort it took to relax. She heard the tiny gears in the clock turning as another number flipped. “This is useless,” she exclaimed, irritation filled her voice.

Mackenzie reached for the phone, but hesitated before dialing Gloria’s number. “That’s right, Mac, call her and ruin all your progress today. You never should have asked her about the dreams.” After suffering Gloria’s prying questions all afternoon, Mackenzie figured it would take some major convincing to get her friend calmed down. One swift kick sent the covers off the bed. She slipped on the matching satin robe to her nightgown and let the soft material fold about her waist. Each determined step sent the satin swirling up and around her legs.

Jerking open the bedroom door, she headed for the kitchen. Absently rubbing the robe’s sleeves, Mac never realized she held her breath until she flipped on the light above the stove. In a scolding whisper she said, “Tea, cinnamon rose—that should do the trick.” The flame shot up under the kettle before she adjusted the knob and moved knowingly about the kitchen, gathering a cup from the cupboard.

“Stop woman! Stop this endless calling!” The deep, decidedly male voice filled the silence in the apartment, paralyzing her into stunned stillness.

Startled by the kettle’s piercing whistle, Mac watched helplessly as the cup slip from her fingers and shatter in the sink. Spinning around she fumbled with the controls on the front of the stove until she killed the flame. Mac wrapped her shaking hands about her waist and took deep breaths, forcing herself to concentrate on the hissing stream of vapor.

“Let me go woman! Stop your witching ways. End this spell you hold me in!” Malice governed the familiar voice that had no right to sound so commanding, so alive.

“No-o-o…” The denial tore through her clenched teeth. She refused to turn toward the low, furious voice. “I won’t see you!” Covering her eyes with her sweaty palms, she felt desperate, “This isn’t happening. You aren’t real! Go away!”

“Release me and I will gladly leave you!”

The threat in the man’s seething response nearly made her cry out. This can’t be real, he was only a dream. “I’m not dreaming now, am I?” She brought her hands away from her eyes and gripped the counter for support. Mac’s frantic whispers swirled through the rising steam, “He’s not here…this isn’t real. I’m not even in bed, so I can’t be sleeping!” To prove her own feeble belief, Mackenzie gingerly reached out to touch the kettle, quickly pulling her fingers back from the heat. “There, see, I am not sleeping. You can’t feel pain when you sleep.” Slowly releasing her breath she said, “He’s not real, Mac.”

“Mac? Tell him to show himself, for I am as real as you are witch. I will be glad to prove it to Mac if he be your protector! Turn around and face me, if you dare!”

Aaron’s annoyance and anger rose in equal degrees as he asked himself again, what manner of woman was this? She was here, the one ruling his mind every waking moment…and the nights; never did he escape her alluring shadow. God, what did I do to deserve this punishment? Maybe it was not God’s work, for surely she was some kind of witch. He never believed in witches and hexes, but nothing else made sense for the strange happenings in his life.

Aaron failed to find any sign of her protector and kept his eyes fixed on the vision before him, knowing he would use physical force to stop her should she try to escape his presence. He wished she would turn to face him, allow him to confirm the image embedded in his mind. His haunting, blue-eyed enchantress could only be the beauty before him. He knew every delicate, enticing curve of that womanly body silhouetted against the soft, hugging gown where those golden curls ended. Soft as spun honey, the golden wisps floated on an invisible breeze, kissing her lovely… “Enticing sorceress!”

Clenching his hands until the knuckles turned white, he resisted the temptation to reach out and touch her. Aaron wanted, beyond reason, to hold the celestial vision that came to him so lovingly, seeking his warmth. Her enchanting curves brandished promises of passion born of innocence. He would wake, his body soaked with sweat, his cock steeled with his need to possess her. Every night the callings grew stronger, more ardent, filling his hours with pure, sweet torture; always she remained elusive, just beyond his grasp. So aggressive was her magic she began to come to him at all hours, haunting the daylight, casting her shadow about him until he thought he would go insane; demented, because he alone could see her haunting image. Aaron grew obsessed with the burning desire to experience and possess the libertine vision, regardless of the consequence. An act he suspected he would burn in hell over, for only a witch could be doing this to him.

Aaron Masters was not a man to be trifled with. He fought her insistent pleas to come to her and the battle grew fierce. The internal battle of wills raged inside him. Tonight he vowed to destroy the hold she could wield over him. Dropping his barriers, he listened to her soft beguiling pleas, letting them grow stronger and stronger, until their intensity hauled him through the darkness.

She stood with him now, no longer an unreachable illusion, but a woman quivering from the same force that brought them together. As easy as reaching out and capturing her appeared, Aaron refused to let her control him. He wanted answers from her, but seeing her, being so close, almost proved to be more temptation than he could withstand.

“Woman, I said turn and face me. I have answered your summons. Now you will answer mine.”

EMMA’S TIMELESS LOVE

By

Jewel Adams

Historic Time Travel Erotic Romance

      Hostess of the Grande Ball to unveil the museum’s renovated plantation, Emma Browning never suspects a mysterious mirror will whisk her back in time to 1825 New Orleans. Neither does she expect to find herself engaged to a total stranger. Unable to explain her sudden appearance in this breathtakingly, handsome man’s life, Devon Chandler rather believe Emma is the bait in a conspiracy to destroy him, than in her outlandish claim she is from the future!

      Join Emma and Devon as they discover their awakening love only to face its destruction when Devon’s enemy kidnaps Emma. She escapes her captor, but falls prey to the evil and powerful Andre La Pointe. To protect Devon and their unborn child, Emma agrees to marry the man she fears!

       Forced into a deathbed marriage, Emma refuses to give up and battles time to reclaim Devon’s love. A love now buried in betrayal to save the man too stubborn to see the truth.

EMMA’S TIMELESS LOVE will carry you on a journey as unique as the love found in the realms of time!

EXCERPT: General Audience, Erotic Time Travel Romance

Available in Print and Ebook: http://steamheaterotica.com/shbkpgEmmaTLove.html

EMMA’S TIMELESS LOVE

By

Jewel Adams

CHAPTER 1— The Bargain

What was the old man up to? Was he hiding sweet damsels in his chambers? Had she broken free, braved his wrath to join the ball?

An angel of gold stood teetering on the landing…almost as if she feared what might happen should she move. Devon’s attention devoured every enchanting nuance of the unexpected vision, deciding that only a goddess could be so bewitching. Shimmering in a seductive wave, the soft glittering material of her gown pulsed like a second skin over the boundless rise and fall of her full breasts. Tantalizing to gaze upon, their silken imprisonment struck a blaze alive inside of him. The valley of tempting cleavage hinted at the concealed mounds of vulnerable flesh. A woman full of lush seductive curves stood there in desirable perfection for only his gaze to drink in.

Flexing out his tight fist, Devon wanted beyond reason to touch and feel the ethereal beauty. Caress the silken tresses that must have spun the enchantress’ gown of golden threads. Where is God’s name did she come from? And why hadn’t he seen her before now?

Trying to control his strange reaction to the woman became impossible. To his own astonishment Devon admitted he wanted her. The strength of his conviction told him nothing would prevent him from seeking her out.

Moving cautiously up the stairs, something told him she was oblivious to his presence and her surroundings. Frightening her more than she appeared to be wouldn’t do. What drew him to her was so out of character for Devon Chandler, he didn’t dare seek an answer.

Stopping before her, on the step below the landing, Devon looked into the liquid pools of unseeing light. They held the damp green of the thickest woods, with velvet rose petal lips that parted as if to catch morning dew drops…a mouth waiting to be kissed.

He marveled over the deep coppery lashes and brows that framed her lovely eyes, such a different shade than her sun kissed hair. Red and gold all spun together in a soft, rich thickness. Again he quelled the need to reach out and crush the curls in his ardent palm.

How did one wake a sleeping beauty? For the lady was undoubtedly bewildered. Maybe she was truly an angel, lost without wings to escape her destiny.

Pulled beyond his will, Devon’s dark head lowered in infinite care. Breathlessly he brushed his lips across her silken softness. Her startled gasp was barely audible. He watched in fascination as her thick eyelashes fluttered, wanting to shout with joy when the green jewels sparked in awakening life.

Deliberately, he moved closer, inhaling the sweet exotic scent of her, like wild flowers from the untamed ocean islands he’d seen in his voyages. He thought the lady as a whole to be unique, a rare commodity. Seeing the flash of fire stirring to life he knew a very vibrant, untamed passion trembled inside the ivory beauty. One he wanted to sample and knew he would fight to control. Devon’s body shook under the force of his admission.

“The lady awakes.”

Hearing his words left her confused and uncertain. She stared in disbelief at the mysterious presence towering above her. His eyes were so dark, like night shadows, yet alive and warm in sheltering strength. Emma wanted to drown in their swirling riptide, allow them to destroy all the fears.

Fear! The shock waves drove the breath into her lungs. Images and sensations rushed through her. She remembered the thrill of success she felt over the compliments for the Ball. And her gown, how it made her feel and the way she floated through those dances with Mr. Albeit until she was exhausted by the excitement. She’d gone upstairs to catch her breath during the band’s break. The memory fell around her like a dark cloak…maneuvering the bulk of the gown’s skirt on the stairs left Emma feeling light headed. She wanted to groan when she remembered that all the upstairs rooms were locked for the plantation’s grand tour taking place later this evening. Emma legs nearly gave out before she reached the sitting room in the far hall; as gingerly as possible she navigated the wide skirt around the velvet stool and sat in relief over the support. Holding the gown’s hoops down, she found they didn’t fly up in her face as she expected. Taking deep breaths she tried to calm the frantic pulsing at her temples. Thankfully no one else was in the room. Feeling a little steadier, Emma took an absent look about the small sitting room.

“But it shouldn’t be here!” Gasping, she stared at the mirror. Shaking her head to clear it, the unwanted discovery didn’t disappear from the wall behind the door. Angry that her directions had been ignored, Emma stood stiffly before it, her small hands gripped tight at her sides.

“It has to be moved to the nursery.” She swayed under the urgency the conviction struck within her. Moving towards it she held back from touching the repulsive mirror, as if she feared the dreadful thing.

Scolding herself, her hands rose to take hold of the sides, but it wouldn’t budge. Recalling that it took two men to get it up the stairs, Emma realized her efforts were useless. Before she could release the mirror, a sudden sweep of chilling cold shot through her hands and up her arms, penetrating every inch of her body. Stumbling back from the contact, her hand rose to silence the scream wanting release. There, in the mirror, her reflection became surrounded by a swirl of movement. Flashes of scenes raced around her, too fast, they all blurred together, leaving her as dizzy as if she were on a fast amusement ride. Closing her eyes to fight the sensation, Emma gripped the vanity to stop herself from reeling.

Fighting the terror trying to seize her, she used all her courage to stare back at the mirror. Stealing a cautious look, she felt the relief flood through her. Only her image stared back. “I was just dizzier than I realized…that’s all it could be.”

Feeling somewhat better for finding an excuse, she straightened herself, wishing the lingering fear would go away. Strains of music drifted into the room. She needed to get back. But before she could make herself move, something odd about the unfamiliar tune caught her attention. “A harpsichord?” Funny she didn’t remember seeing one in the ensemble.

Moving to the door, Emma came to a halt before it. Turning her head as if she would shatter, her gaze rose ever so slowly, halting in shock as they encountered the wall lantern.

“An oil lamp? But they are electric…” The shaking started in her toes, moving at an alarming rate, causing a violent shudder to pass through her as if she’d been struck by lightning.

Her hand closed over the door handle, frantically yanking on it to escape. When the door finally gave way she forced her numb legs to obey her command to move forward. Pulling the door shut behind her, she stood there trying to catch her breath; from somewhere the realization came over her that she was hyperventilating. She concentrated on taking slower breaths, but what she faced in the hall defeated her attempt for control.

Shaking her head in denial, Emma stared in disbelief. Gone was the bright airy hallway. Dark wood and heavy carpet lent a malevolent feeling to the fear seizing her. Here too, were oil lamps mounted on the walls.

“This is crazy, some sick joke!” But voicing excuses that couldn’t possibly have been carried out in such a short time filled her with mounting panic. “Calm, stay calm Emma.” Hysterics might alleviate the tension coiling in her chest, but it certainly wouldn’t help her.

“Downstairs …” Yes, everything would be fine once she rejoined the others.

Each step belied her words. The unfamiliar surroundings, though structurally similar to Sleeping Oaks, held no reassurance. Shivering over the screams echoing inside her head, Emma knew she was in trouble!

The memory slipped away like a dream as a more urgent awareness captured her attention. Where she now found herself seemed a minor inconvenience when compared to the man standing in front of her. In amazed silence her fingers rose to touch her lips, marveling how the warmth of his lips lingered long after their absence.

Had he kissed her? Looking for confirmation at the man, his roguish humor sent creases out from the corners of his eyes. Yes, he did and he wanted her to know. The truth flamed her cheeks, deepening the pleased look he maintained over her.

“Yes, I think the lady is awake. Does she have a name?” Devon swallowed his reaction to the slight rise of her left brow, knowing the reason behind the question entering those gorgeous eyes.

Without thought she answered. “Em…Emma Browning.”

“Miss?”

“Yes, of course.” His deep laughter startled her, making her glare back at him.

“The lady has spirit as well.” Devon found the prospect intriguing and highly exciting. “May I escort you to the ball, Miss Browning?”

Emma struggled for a moment to control her whirling emotions. It was hard not to give in to the panic. He extended his arm for her hand. No other gentleman this evening had been this formal…nor so intimate. Struggling with the compelling desire to run, Emma decided she might very well need the support he unknowingly offered, for the unsettling vision hadn’t gone away. In fact, it was in all ways as close to reality as living could get!