Wicked Earl Seeks Proper Heiress (The Husband Hunters Club 5)

With his thumb, he stroked her lower lip. His blue eyes darkened. She watched the muscles of his throat work as he swallowed. Leaning in, he lowered his mouth to hers. She rose up on her toes to meet him, inviting him to possess, plunder, have his way. She became lost in the sensations of his mouth playing over hers, vaguely aware of his twisting her around so they were facing each other. As she skimmed her hands up over his shoulders, his arms came around her, drawing her nearer. He was a man of nimble fingers, skilled hands that eased hurts and injuries and warded off death. He had mended her with those hands, and now with his lips he was mending her further.

Suddenly changing the angle of his mouth, he deepened the kiss, his tongue hungrily exploring, enticing her to take her own journey of discovery. He tasted of peppermint. She could well imagine him keeping the hard candies in his pocket to hand to children in order to ease their fears. Snitching one for himself every now and then.

He folded his hands around the sides of her waist and, without breaking his mouth from hers, lifted her onto the desk. Parchment crackled beneath her. She knew she should be worried that they were ruining the plans for the hospital, but she seemed unable to care about anything beyond the wondrous sensations that he was bringing to life.

Avendale had never kissed her with such enthusiasm, such resolve. She felt as though William were determined to devour her, and that it would be one of the most wondrous experiences of her life.

Hiking her skirts up over her knees, he wedged himself between her thighs. Very slowly, he lowered her back to the desk until she was sprawled over it like some wanton. On the desk! She had never known this sort of activity could occur anywhere other than the bed. It was wicked, exciting, intriguing. Surely he didn’t mean to do more than kiss her, not that she was opposed to him going further.

She’d gone so long without a caress, without being desired, without having passions stirred. She felt at once terrified and joyful while pleasure curled through her.

As he dragged his mouth along her throat, he began undoing buttons, giving himself access to more skin. He nipped at her collarbone, circled his tongue in the hollow at her throat. She plowed her fingers through his golden locks, relishing the soft curls as they wound around her fingers.

More buttons were unfastened. She sighed as he trailed his mouth and tongue along the upper swells of her breasts. Heat pooled deep within her. She wrapped her legs around his hips, taking surcease from the pressure of him against her. He moaned low, more a growl than anything as he pressed a kiss in the dip between her breasts.

God help her, but she wanted to feel his touch over all of her.

Peeling back her bodice, he began loosening the ribbons on her chemise. In the distance, someplace far far away, she thought she heard a door open.

“The count—­” Her butler began and stopped.

“Winnie?” Catherine’s voice brought her crashing back to reality.

An Excerpt from

BLITZING EMILY

A Love and Football Novel

by Julie Brannagh

All’s fair in Love and Football . . .

Emily Hamilton doesn’t trust men. She’s much more comfortable playing the romantic lead in front of a packed house onstage than in her own life. So when NFL star and alluring ladies’ man Brandon McKenna acts as her personal white knight, she has no illusions that he’ll stick around. However, a misunderstanding with the press throws them together in a fake engagement that yields unexpected (and breathtaking) benefits in the first installment of Julie Brannagh’s irresistible new series.

Emily had barely enough time to hang up the cordless and flip on the TV before Brandon wandered down the stairs.

“Hey,” he said, and he threw himself down on the couch next to her.

His blond curls were tangled, his eyes sleepy, and she saw a pillowcase crease on his cheek. He looked completely innocent, until she saw the wicked twinkle in his eyes. Even in dirty workout clothes, he was breathtaking. She wondered if it was possible to ovulate on demand.

“I’m guessing you took a nap,” she said.

“I was supposed to be watching you.” He tried to look penitent. It wasn’t working.

“Glad to know you’re making yourself comfortable,” she teased.

He stretched his arm around the back of the couch.

“Everything in your room smells like flowers, and your bed’s great.” He pulled up the edge of his t-­shirt and sniffed it. Emily almost drooled at a glimpse of his rock-­hard abdomen. Evidently, it was possible to have more than a six pack. “The guys will love my new perfume. Maybe they’ll want some makeup tips,” he muttered, and grabbed for the remote Emily left on the coffee table.

He clicked through the channels at a rapid pace.

“Excuse me. I had that.” She lunged for it. No such luck. Emily ended up sprawled across his lap.

“The operative word here, sugar, is ‘had.’ ” He held it up in the air out of her reach while he continued to click. He’d wear a hole in his thumb if he kept this up. “No NFL Network.” She tried to sit up again, which wasn’t working well. Of course, he was chuckling at her struggles. “Oh, I get it. You’re heading for second base.”

“Hardly.” Emily reached over and tried to push off on the other arm of the couch. One beefy arm wrapped around her. “I’m not trying to do anything. Oh, whatever.”