Okay. I’ll
admit it. I’m not a fan of gardens. There are bugs and worms and (blech) dirt. Besides, foliage kind of sets
my teeth on edge. (If you’ve read my horror short, Rising Green, you’ll understand why. Plants are so…quiet. And…creepy. You just can’t trust them).
But while I was
working on Dark Fancy, I nearly changed my mind. James Tully, the Earl of
Darlington, poses as a gardener to seduce an alluring runaway he found hiding
on his estate. What James doesn’t realize is that his quarry isn’t a servant
girl as he surmises. She’s a Lady. And the very Lady to whom he’s betrothed. By
the time he’s figured it out, she’s run away again. (Yes. She does that.)
At any rate, in
the course of said seduction, James torments Helena—the girl he knows only as
Eloise—with a rose, drawing such tantalizing bliss upon her body, she cannot
resist his charms.
It was such a
fun scene to write, I started to rethink my prejudices. Can flowers actually be
romantic? I wondered. I’m still not convinced.
But it leads me
to ask, have roses, or other flowers played a role in one of your seductions?
Oh, do tell.
In the
meantime, here is a snippet of Dark Fancy, available February 22nd
from Ellora’s Cave.
Dark Fancy by
Sabrina York
The sizzling
prequel to Folly
When Lady
Helena Eloise Simpson flees an unwanted marriage to a revolting lord, she finds
refuge with James, a charming, handsome man unlike any she’s ever known. Helena
concocts the perfect solution to her problem. She asks—begs—James to ruin her.
Surely her betrothed will repudiate her if she is no longer pure. And if all
her efforts fail and she still ends up married to a horrid man until the end of
her days, she will—at least once—have known true passion.
But James is
not all he seems. He is, in fact, a wicked lord with a dark fancy. When Helena
awakens his desire, he becomes determined to take everything she has to offer
and more. No matter the cost.
An excerpt
from: DARK FANCY
Copyright ©
2013 by Sabrina York, 2013
All Rights
Reserved, Ellora’s Cave Publishing , Inc.
By reading
any further you are stating you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under
the age of 18, it is necessary for you to exit this site.
James stared at
Eloise, brave, proud, innocent Eloise. He could relate to the passion in her
plea. He had a sudden desire to be released from a betrothal himself. He
fiddled with the corner of his napkin. “There is always the chance your
betrothed won’t care if you’re ruined.” Some men did not.
Her lashes
fluttered. When they rose again, there was a look in her eye that sent lust
coursing down his spine. It settled in his cock. “If I’m to be married to a
bilious flounder of a man for the rest of my life, I should like to know
passion just once. Just once, James.”
“J-just once?”
His voice cracked.
Her smile
blossomed. “Perhaps more than once.”
He had to
laugh, although this was clearly no laughing matter. “My dear. I would be happy
to oblige.”
“Excellent!”
She clapped her hands with glee.
Unfortunate,
that, because it made her look, once again, like a little girl. But then she
picked up her cup and ran her pink tongue around the rim, lapping at the
wayward drops. He reached for the second bottle.
She held out
her cup for a refill. “You will need to show me what to do.”
He almost
forgot to stop pouring. Hell yes. He’d love to show her what to do. He’d love
to instruct her—in elaborate detail—what, precisely, to do. Something snarled
in his belly. His palm itched.
He forced down
that decadent desire. Chained the beast.
For God’s sake.
She was an innocent, a virgin. If he opened with that card, not only would she
truly be ruined, she would probably hie off to the nearest nunnery and spend
the remainder of her life in seclusion.
Oh, he would
bed her. He would despoil and beguile her, but only in the very gentlest of
fashions.
But his
fantasies, the darkling imagery of what he would truly like to do, simmered.
“Are you…” He
cleared his throat. “Are you ready for your bath?”
“Heavens, yes.”
Once again, she clapped her hands.
The childlike
gesture was off-putting since, at the moment, he was thinking of sinking his
cock into her body and swallowing her moans with his mouth. But he liked her
enthusiasm. It also made him desire—very deeply—to tie those hands to the
bedposts. So she couldn’t clap them.
Why that
thought made him salivate, he didn’t know.
Ah hell. Of
course he knew.
Despite the
lust snarling through him, he managed a modicum of chivalry, although it was
perfunctory at best. “I’ll fashion a curtain.”
Her next words
nearly unmanned him. “You don’t need to.”
“I b-beg your
pardon?”
“You don’t need
to bother with a curtain.” For a shy and demure innocent, she had something of
a brazen streak. “I mean, if we’re going to…you know…”
“Make love?”
“Yes. If we’re
going to make love, you will see me naked anyway.” A frown crossed her brow.
“Won’t you?”
He chuckled.
“Most certainly.”
“I thought so.
But people are not very forthcoming when one asks about such things.”
“Really?” That
had not been his experience in the slightest. Then again, she was a girl. The
world sought to save and protect innocence. Until it ravaged it.
He did not know
why he trembled as he poured the heavy buckets into the tub. He was a man of
the world. Jaded and used to much more decadent fare than initiating virgins to
the delights of the flesh. He should hardly be nervous about the prospect of
having her.
Then again,
maybe it wasn’t nerves. Maybe it was just pure, seething desire.
He had planned
to seduce her—expected it to take hours of sweet whispers and furtive caresses. Never in his wildest dreams could he have anticipated this—that she would gaze
at him across the dinner table and politely ask him to ruin her.
She was,
altogether, a different kind of woman. Unlike any lover or mistress or
professional girl he’d ever been with. And the prospect delighted him.
He swished his
fingers in the water and added another bucket of cold to balance the
temperature. He didn’t want her delicate skin burned because he was in such an
all-fired hurry to get her naked. “There. Perfect.”
“Thank you,
James.” Her voice was low, melodious. It sent a ribbon of pleasure through him.
“Are you
ready?”
“I cannot tell
you how ready.”
He swallowed.
Yes. He felt the same. His pulse thrummed in his temple. And elsewhere.
“Milady, your bath awaits.” He gave a great flourish, his gaze firmly fixed on
her.
She reached for
her hem and then stilled. “Could you turn around?”
Disappointment
raked him. “Of course.”
“I’ve just
never disrobed before a man before.”
“I understand.”
Damn. Damn, damn and damn. He turned his back. Every rustle of fabric grated on
him. He wished—oh so fervently—that Babbage had a mirror. He so would have
liked to watch.
A small splash.
He winced. His
pulse pounded. God. She was in the water. Naked.
She sighed.
Moaned.
His cock
lurched.
“Is it good?”
His words were, at best, a strangled rumble.
“Oh yes. Yes.”
He had to look.
He couldn’t not.
The sight he
beheld was exquisite. Eloise had leaned back in the water to wet her hair. Her
breasts, delectable pink islands in the sea, thrust up. The nipples were fat
and hard, distended.
He swallowed
around the tight ball in his throat. His nails scored his palms.
Though he was
rooted to the spot, determined to give her some modicum of privacy, his
imagination ran rampant. What he wouldn’t like to do to those tempting tips.
“James?” Her
soft call wrenched him from a delirious fantasy. Her expression was tentative,
shy, but he could see the light of determination flickering there.
“Y-yes?”
“Do you suppose
there’s any soap?”
He
blinked. Soap? He had trouble interpreting the word. His mind
was occupied elsewhere. “Ah. Soap.” He rummaged around in Babbage’s cupboard,
cursing himself for not remembering soap. He found a thick chunk of lye soap
and brought it to her. How he hated that it wasn’t something more delicate.
Something lilac-scented.
“Thank you.”
She didn’t take his offering. Rather she peered up at him with those beautiful
emerald orbs and said, “Will you wash my hair?”
His breath
stalled. Would he? He fell to his knees at her side—unmindful of the puddles on
the plank floor—and looked at her. Her nipples pebbled even more at his
perusal. His mouth watered.
“James?”
He dragged his
attention back to her face. “Y-yes?”
“My hair?”
God. Yes. He
made a lather and scrubbed it into her hair. It was glorious, golden, smooth
and silky. He worked the soap through the strands and as he did, massaged her
scalp. She closed her eyes and groaned.
Thusly freed
from her inspection, he allowed his attention to wander. He nearly expired when
it lit on that tempting triangle of fair curls at the crux of her thighs. He
imagined her touching herself there. Then imagined him touching
her there. Then imagined opening her and stroking. Licking—
“James?”
“Huh? What?”
“Are you
finished? I’d like to rinse.”
“Of course.”
Reluctantly, he drew away. And she submerged.
This time he
could not resist.
About Sabrina York
Sabrina is an award winning author of erotic romance with over a dozen titles available, ranging from
sweet & sexy erotic romance to BDSM to erotic horror. Connect with her on
twitter @sabrina_york or Facebook.
·
Dark Fancy: Erotic Regency
·
Folly: Erotic Regency
·
Adam’s Obsession: Contemporary Erotic Romance
·
Extreme Couponing: Contemporary BDSM
·
Pushing Her Buttons: Contemporary BDSM
·
Rising Green: Steamy Erotic horror
·
Training Tess: Contemporary BDSM
·
Trickery: Magical Domination
·
Tristan’s Temptation: Contemporary Erotic Romance
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