A Dangerous Love
Passion, Power, Romance. A new era begins in The de Warenne Dynasty with Brenda Joyce's latest novel A Dangerous Love on sale April 1, 2008.
He was dancing.
Her heart stopped; she stared, stunned.
In the center of the clearing, he danced alone. He held his arms high, fingers snapping, his white shirt unbuttoned to the waist. His chest gleamed in the firelight as he danced; the fabric of his breeches strained over his thighs and hips, and each step was impossibly seductive and sensual. Each step brought him a bit closer to where she stood. Her mouth became dry.
His eyes were closed. His dark lashes fanned out in his high, flushed cheekbones. His expression was tight and was one of sheer pleasure. A sheen of perspiration covered his face, too, and as he gyrated, she could see far more than the two glistening slabs of his very muscular chest; she could see his navel. Ariella tugged at her bodice. Every solid inch of his anatomy was visible in that open shirt and those doeskin breeches and she was terribly, uncomfortably hot.
She swallowed. She could not look away and she did not care. She knew her thoughts had become more than improper. She was thinking about his masculinity, his virility, and his bar
ely leashed power. She was thinking about his sexuality, too. He was dancing as if alone?but somehow, it was terribly suggestive?as if he would soon take a lover to his bed.
She did not know what was happening to her. She had never thought about a man this way. What he might or might not do after dancing was not her concern.
His eyes suddenly opened. Although there were many people dancing, and a few exotic women had surrounded him, his gaze swung directly across the dancers?at her.
He was dancing.
Her heart stopped; she stared, stunned.
In the center of the clearing, he danced alone. He held his arms high, fingers snapping, his white shirt unbuttoned to the waist. His chest gleamed in the firelight as he danced; the fabric of his breeches strained over his thighs and hips, and each step was impossibly seductive and sensual. Each step brought him a bit closer to where she stood. Her mouth became dry.
His eyes were closed. His dark lashes fanned out in his high, flushed cheekbones. His expression was tight and was one of sheer pleasure. A sheen of perspiration covered his face, too, and as he gyrated, she could see far more than the two glistening slabs of his very muscular chest; she could see his navel. Ariella tugged at her bodice. Every solid inch of his anatomy was visible in that open shirt and those doeskin breeches and she was terribly, uncomfortably hot.
She swallowed. She could not look away and she did not care. She knew her thoughts had become more than improper. She was thinking about his masculinity, his virility, and his bar
ely leashed power. She was thinking about his sexuality, too. He was dancing as if alone?but somehow, it was terribly suggestive?as if he would soon take a lover to his bed.She did not know what was happening to her. She had never thought about a man this way. What he might or might not do after dancing was not her concern.
His eyes suddenly opened. Although there were many people dancing, and a few exotic women had surrounded him, his gaze swung directly across the dancers?at her.
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