With his striking good looks, Ross Trevenan was one of the most attractive men Tessa Lorimer had ever seen. But five minutes in his company convinced her he was the most arrogant, infuriating man alive. That's why it was such a shock to discover Trevenan's true purpose: hired to escort her out of Paris and back
to England, he had sworn that he'd do anything to keep her safe--even if he had to marry her to do it. Now, finding herself a bride to a devastatingly
attractive bodyguard seems more hazardous than any other situation she could possibly encounter.
Yet Tessa doesn't know that she holds the key to a mystery that Trevenan would sell his soul to solve...and that a vicious murderer will kill to keep.
She should stop him, she knew she should stop him, but she felt as weak as a kitten. She said something--a protest? a plea?--and his mouth was on hers
again, and everything Tessa knew about men and their passions was reduced to ashes in the scorching heat of that embrace. Her limbs were shaking, wild
tremors shook her body, her blood seemed to ignite. She was clinging to him for support, kissing him back, allowing those bold hands of his to wander at
will from her breast to her thigh, taking liberties she knew no decent girl should permit, not even a French girl.
When he left her mouth to kiss her ears, her eyebrows, her cheeks, she got out a shaken whisper, "I never knew it could be like this. You make me feel things
I never knew existed, sensations I've never experienced before. You seem so different tonight."
And he did. His body was harder, his shoulders seemed broader, and she hadn't known he was so tall. As for his fragrance--
Then she knew, she knew, and she opened her eyes wide, trying to see his face. It was too dark, but she didn't need a light to know whose arms she was in. He
didn't wear cologne as Paul did. He smelled of fresh air and soap and freshly starched linen. Outrage rooted her to the spot, but only for a moment longer.
Those clever hands of his had slipped and were beginning to massage her bottom.
"Trevenan!" she gasped, and fairly leaped out of his arms. He made no move to stop her, but said in a laconic tone that grated on her
ears, "What a pity. And just when things were beginning to turn interesting."
She was so overcome with rage she could hardly find her voice, and when she did find it, it was high-pitched and unnatural. "Interesting? What you did to me
was not interesting. It was depraved."
As he advanced she retreated. Though she felt a leap of alarm, she was too proud to run away. When he halted beside the stone steps, so did she, but she
was careful to preserve some space between them. The lights on the terrace had yet to be extinguished, and she had a clear view of his expression. He could
hardly keep a straight face.
"Depraved?" he said. "That's not the impression you gave me. I could have sworn you were enjoying yourself. 'I never knew it could be like this,'" he
mimicked. "'You make me feel things I never knew existed.'" He began to laugh.
"I thought you were Paul," she shouted. "How dare you impose yourself on me in that hateful way."
He arched one brow. "My dear Miss Lorimer, as I recall, you were the one who imposed yourself on me. I was merely enjoying a quiet smoke when you barged
into the gazebo and cornered me. I didn't kiss you. You kissed me." His white teeth gleamed. "Might I give you a word of advice? You're too bold by half. A
man likes to be the hunter. Try,
Elizabeth Thornton was born and educated in Aberdeen, Scotland, where she taught school for a number of years.
She is the author of five Regency Romances and fifteen historical romances. She has been nominated for and received many awards including the Romantic Times Trophy Award for the best New Historical Regency Author and Best Historical Regency. Her books have appeared on best-selling lists and have been translated into many languages.
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