Lord Regret's Price: A Jane Austen Space Opera, Book 3 Read online

  “Are you sure?”

  “I need to see how I’m going to feel when I see you touching him.” He ran his hand through his hair and ground his teeth. “I’ll be honest, Vik. It’s going to be damned hard for me to watch. But we need to start somewhere.”

  Jesse slipped off the couch and moved over to kneel in front of her. The sight of him waiting on his knees made her heart thud heavy and hard. Her pulse jumped, her blood hot and sweet, rushing through her veins. The light in his eyes was intoxicating. Touching him, even her fingers stroking his cheeks, increased that feeling of rising desire.

  She kissed him, trying to keep it fairly clean for Elias’s sake. She didn’t want him to see her gobbling up another man, but the way Jesse melted against her made her crazy. Boneless, he sank into her embrace, soft, open and willing for anything she needed. All too quickly, she found herself gripping his bottom lip in her teeth. She dug her fingers into his buttocks, pressing him as close to her as possible.

  Breaking the kiss, she dropped her head to his shoulder and concentrated on breathing. Damn it, what had happened to her control? Her desire to protect Elias as much as possible? Another few minutes and she would have shoved her hands down Jesse’s jeans.

  “Are you okay?” She didn’t dare lift her head to seek Elias’s reaction. Jesse didn’t answer—he knew who she was asking.

  “Yeah,” Elias replied in a graveled voice that made her shiver. “I’ve never seen anyone go so limp and eager like that. It’s like he’s giving you every single thing he’s got. His breath. His will. God, no wonder he makes you so hot, Vik. He’s begging you to ravish him.” He must have leaned close because his hot breath moistened her ear. “Show me some more.”

  Elias had never thought of himself as a Peeping Tom, but he couldn’t deny that he was rock-hard and throbbing at the sight of his woman kissing another man. It wasn’t any man, though. If it were anyone but Jesse in her arms, he’d probably be dead. The kid wasn’t a threat to him. Vicki wanted him, but she gave Elias no doubts about how much she wanted him too.

  She released Jesse’s ass to jerk his T-shirt over his head. Using the soft cotton, she tied his hands together in the small of his back. She’d been feeding him well, because he wasn’t as painfully thin as when she’d first taken him in. “What do you want?”

  “Rough me up a little,” he gasped. “Pull my hair or bite me. God, I’d love it if you’d bite me hard enough to bruise.”

  She wound her fingers in his hair and gave his head an experimental jerk. “Like that?”

  “Harder. Force me to bend to your will.”

  Elias made himself hold his breath for a count of ten and then let it out slowly. Damned if he was going to embarrass himself by hyperventilating…or coming in his pants like a pimply-faced teenager.

  She pulled Jesse’s head back, forcing him to arch his neck and upper body away from her. She had strong hands, so Elias knew she was pulling hard, giving him what he’d asked for. With her other hand, she began unbuttoning Jesse’s jeans. His breathing was loud, rasping through his strained throat.

  “Make me wait,” he ground out. “Don’t let me come without your permission.”

  “Okay.” She twisted her fingers tighter in his hair and pressed her mouth to his neck.

  By the way he jerked and groaned, she wasn’t kissing him. There was a reason Elias joked that she was like a shark or a crocodile—she’d always loved biting, and the neck and shoulder were her favorite targets. She ran her mouth down Jesse’s neck to his shoulder, leaving bites as she went, harder, really working the underlying muscle. He moaned louder, his breath panting, his skin a sheen of sweat.

  Finally, she got his jeans unbuttoned. His shoulders bunched, tendons standing out in his neck.

  “Not yet.” She let out a husky laugh, tracing his ear with her tongue. “You said to make you wait.”

  “I’m going to die.”

  “Good,” she purred. “Elias loves it when I do this to him.”

  “The hell I do.” He did, though, and she loved it too, because he gave as good as he got. “Why don’t you dig those claws into him? He’ll really like that.”

  She cupped Jesse’s balls, using her nails to grip that fragile skin. His eyes fluttered shut. Completely surrendered to her, his body hummed and vibrated like a delicate instrument in her hands. It was all Elias could do not to jerk open his own pants. Then she could have a cock in each hand. Maybe even have a contest over who could last the longest when she started using her mouth.

  Christ, all the blood must have leaked out of my skull for me to even think about such a thing.

  Shifting around to Jesse’s side so he was between them, Vicki stared over his shoulder at Elias. Her eyes were dark, gleaming pools of need. She tightened her hands, drawing a louder cry from Jesse. Defenseless, eager, softly pained male, it was a sound that Elias never thought he’d hear, let alone one that would turn him on. But it did. Because the woman he loved had drawn out that sound from the other man’s throat.

  Still holding his gaze, she bit Jesse’s left shoulder, gripping the top muscle in her teeth firmly like a pit bull. He arched in a trembling, straining bow, his cock rising hard and desperate to rub against her, but she only bit him harder. “Please!”

  She released him enough to speak. “Say my name.”

  He shuddered, as though she’d told him to stick his finger in a light socket. “I can’t. I’ll come, I swear it.”

  “Then come.” She jerked his head to the side and sank her teeth into his straining neck.

  His greatest creation could be the death of them both.

  The Iron Heart

  © 2012 Leslie Dicken

  One woman swears to avenge the savagery of a ruthless killer loose on the streets of Lundun; if only she can stay one step ahead of an inventor who fears that his greatest work, a labor of love, has turned on humanity.

  Grieving the loss of her beloved cousin, Ella Wilder is determined to catch the murderer. Infuriated by the fumblings of the constable, she seeks the assistance of a handsome noble who seems to be looking for his own answers, and whose reluctance tells her he has something to hide. Over time, hesitant intimacy grows into fiery passion but brings them no closer to finding the madman.

  As the killer reveals darker inventions that blur the boundary between man and machine, Ella fights the fear he may be after her next. Can Ella trust her heart to the man who refuses to share his secrets yet swears to protect her? Will Bennett be able to choose between keeping terrifying family secrets…or losing Ella to the iron-hearted killer who stalks the night?

  Warning: This book contains a dirigible, flying machines, automatons, a sexy but secretive hero, a stubborn heroine, and a very determined killer.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for The Iron Heart:

  “I found the candle!” She held it aloft. Her fingers enclosed the diameter as if it were the rigid shaft of his flesh. Her thumb caressed the length in slow, lazy circles.

  The vixen! She was torturing him on purpose, pushing him beyond any sense of restraint. He crossed the room in long strides. “What schemes have you planned, Ella?”

  Her eyes widened but he could hear her breathy gasps. “What-what are you talking about?”

  Bennett snatched the candle from her hand. “This. Do you know the game you play?”

  Her cheeks bloomed to a charming pink. “I found the object required of us. Why does that vex you?”

  “You feign innocence. But all night you have batted your eyelashes at me, given me wicked grins, and fondled candles.”

  “Fondled candles?”

  Bennett arched his gaze over her in a long, deliberate stroke. He began at her bright lips, slipped over her silken shoulders, and then lingered on her generous breasts. His mouth watered, lips parted.

  His voice lowered to a hoarse whisper. “Whatever your agenda, you have won. I cannot stand the torment any longer. Give me what I ask of you and you may have whatever you want of me in return.”
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  Ella’s tongue swept across her lower lip. “A…a fair bargain.”

  Bennett snatched her against him. His hands plunged into her upswept hair, his mouth crushed on hers. She relaxed his embrace, enfolded her arms around his neck. Her hot, eager mouth opened to him.

  He thrust his tongue inside her warmth and shivered when she matched his caress. She tasted of sweet wine and keen desire.

  Devour.

  Bennett could consume every cell of Ella and still not be satisfied. Once free of its confines, his hunger now roared. Blood surged, blazing and delirious.

  He explored the warm margins of her mouth then demanded she discover his. She responded without hesitation, gave to him just as he’d asked. Her tongue delved between his lips and sought a most basic truth.

  A truth he could not give.

  Bennett brushed from her mouth to her neck. He nibbled the silken skin, listened to her throaty whimpers. Large earrings blocked his path, so he gently slipped them off and tucked them in a pocket.

  “Ella…” The word rolled off his tongue and into her earlobe. She quaked against him and then gave a reckless sigh.

  Her hands slid down his arms, squeezing as they went. She thrust her body against him. “Touch me.”

  Bennett smoothed his hands down her shoulders then across her crushed mounds. His erection jerked as he fully encircled her breasts. It did not matter why she invited him, whether her wishes were real or motivated. This need was so primal, so selfish, it was a wonder he’d not yet stripped her bare.

  “Yes.” Her sigh washed over in an urgent wave. Her hips rubbed his groin. Raw lust consumed each fiber, every nerve.

  Bennett nuzzled her ear, squeezed her luscious flesh. “This is dangerous, Ella. This need haunts me.”

  She whimpered. “I have a hollow ache. I…I don’t know what to do.”

  His lip curled. He knew what to do. He could take care of her ache. With his fingers, his mouth, his pulsing arousal.

  Her lips found the hollow of his neck. She pressed them to his skin in small, wicked nibbles. Bennett moaned, gripped Ella tighter when her tongue licked circles at his jugular.

  His restraint unraveled like the laces on a woman’s bodice. It slipped out from the eyelets and loosened the control on his guard.

  Something moved in his waistcoat. Her hands. Her fingers. Sweet heaven, she sought to undress him!

  The movement continued unabated, even as Ella shifted in his grasp. Through the thick fog of lust, Bennett fumbled in his pockets. At last he touched the vibrating metal.

  “What is it?” she whispered near his ear.

  He withdrew the pocket watch and shifted the lever to stop the alarm. He’d been here too long. He’d nearly forgotten his duty.

  The haze lifted. Sanity returned. Bennett stepped away from Ella.

  “What…where are you going?”

  He smoothed a hand through his hair and tugged on his clothes. “I must go.”

  “Now?” She stepped toward him. “Where? Why?”

  Bennett looked again at her kiss-swollen lips then headed for the door. He’d let his guard down too long.

  “Good night, Ella. I’m sorry I was not more help with the riddles.”

  She ran after him. “Wait. What about the bargain?”

  The bargain. She only kissed him for whatever ridiculous task she had, used her body to just satisfy his offer.

  Lord, he still tasted her on his tongue, still breathed in her divine scent. Was it all a lie?

  Bennett left the room. The cold, lonely darkness awaited him.

  The only way to save her life is to resurrect the dead…

  Darke London

  © 2013 Coleen Kwan

  Uncanny Chronicles, Book 1

  Julian Darke was only a newborn when he was abandoned on the doorstep of a gentleman doctor. Though raised with love, he is driven to discover his true origins.

  Convinced Sir Thaddeus Ormond knows something, Julian shadows him one night—and is shocked to see a young woman thrown from Ormond’s carriage and accosted by a thug. Julian manages to save her life, but not her face and hands from horrific injuries.

  Nellie Barchester doesn’t recognize the scarred, disfigured stranger in the mirror. Though the gifted doctor and engineer has done his best to repair the damage, scars ravage her body, and chill her soul with the realization that her own husband may have plotted her death.

  Julian’s tenderness is a balm to her soul, and Nellie is drawn to the edge of passion by a man not repelled by her deformities. But as their pursuit of the truth draws them into London’s underbelly, they cross the path of a ruthless enemy who will stop at nothing to fulfill his schemes.

  Warning: Can a brilliant but troubled doctor find happiness with a woman scarred both inside and out? A hint of the supernatural plus a night of passion spice up this Uncanny Chronicle.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Darke London:

  Through the long hours of the night London pitched and groaned, a restless creature in uneasy slumber. A thousand fires flickered across its twitching back. Over rivers and hills it sprawled, swallowing up quiet fields and meadows, an insatiable protean organism powered by a life of its own. To the north, the edge of the city lapped up against ancient hamlets, preparing to overtake them one by one. And just a few miles past, surrounded by winter fields lying fallow, sat a crumbling manor house, its lichened facade bravely and futilely facing the city’s inevitable onslaught. Tonight its peace was broken by a rider galloping up the drive, his horse all afroth, a limp figure clasped in front of him. They slithered to a halt outside the stout oaken door. Still carrying his load, the rider dismounted awkwardly and ran towards the house.

  Julian Darke battered his shoulder against the oak door. His arms were fully occupied with the comatose woman, and he dared not set her down. In his agitation he had some strange notion she would disintegrate if he loosened his hold.

  “Figgs! Open up,” he bellowed, his lungs burning with the effort. Despite the frigidness of the night, sweat poured down his back, soaking into his shirt and britches. He kicked at the front door with his scuffed boots and cursed like a tar.

  On the other side of the oak, heavy feet shuffled, then a key rattled in the lock, and the door finally groaned open. Julian barged in, shoving aside the lumbering manservant.

  “Call my father,” Julian ordered. “Rouse him if you must. Quick, man. Don’t just gawp there. Can’t you see this is a dire emergency?”

  Not pausing in his stride, he moved down the dimly lit hallway. His shoulder muscles twinged under the weight of the woman in his arms. She couldn’t have weighed much, but he’d held her debilitated form steady on his mount for what had felt like hours, and his limbs shrilled for respite. Not yet, not yet. The peril had not yet passed.

  He kicked open the door to his father’s examination room. Despite the darkness he trod surefooted to the table in the centre of the room, where he gingerly lowered his burden onto the surface. Not the faintest sound issued from the bundle of cloak that was the woman he’d carried home. His throat tightened. Surely she hadn’t perished just when he’d brought her to safety?

  “Julian? What’s going on?”

  He turned to see his father entering the room. Despite the lateness of the hour, Elijah Darke was still fully dressed in suit and waistcoat, reading spectacles perched on the end of his nose, an unlit pipe in his hand.

  “This woman needs our help.” Julian gestured towards the figure lying on the table. “She’s gravely injured. She needs both our expertise.”

  Pocketing his pipe, Elijah approached the table and turned on the twin lamps suspended above the examining table. Julian let out a small sigh of relief. In a crisis, his father was always clear-headed. He would act first and ask questions later.

  “What have we here?” Elijah lifted the stained cloak covering the woman. He froze. “God in heaven! Her face—”

  Julian nodded grimly. He had seen her face earlier on and, after a cursory ex
amination, had instinctively hidden it with her cloak.

  “Good grief, son, you’re injured too!” His father’s face whitened as he stared at Julian. “You’re covered with blood.” He moved towards Julian and hauled open the lapels of his rumpled coat.

  “A few scratches only. Most of the blood is hers.” Impatient, Julian tore off his bloodied coat and dropped it to the floor. “It’s nothing, Father, nothing compared to her wounds.”

  His father made a testy growl. “Your injuries need proper seeing to.”

  “Later.”

  “You cannot assist me in that state. At the very least wash your hands.” Elijah divested himself of his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and scrubbed his hands at a washstand.

  Julian hurriedly followed suit, flung on one of his father’s clean aprons and within moments was back at the table. His father had peeled the cloak back from the woman’s body and was bending over her.

  “Well?” Julian asked.

  His father grunted. “See for yourself.”

  For some reason, instead of staring rudely at her exposed face, he found himself reaching for the hood of the cloak and smoothing it back from the woman’s head. A handful of brown curls tumbled out, incongruously bright and clean and fresh against the oozing mess staining everything else. The tang of spilt blood hit the back of his throat, like the taste of pennies. He swallowed hard, aware of his roiling innards. Why was the smell of blood unmanning him like this? Since he was old enough to walk, he’d assisted his father. He had lanced boils, drained suppurating wounds, stitched up gaping cuts, all with nary a wince. And he was a qualified doctor too. He’d dissected corpses, amputated arms and legs, trepanned a number of patients. In all these years he’d never suffered a queasy turn, and yet now his stomach threatened to unman him. Why now? Why did this woman affect him so?