A SCANDALOUS ADVENTURE by Lillian Marek

They’re hiding a scandalous secret

When his monarch’s flighty fiancée disappears, Count Maximillian von Staufer is dispatched to find her. His search leads Max to discover not the princess, but a look-alike who could be her double. Desperate to avoid an international crisis, he conceives a plan that will buy some time—and allow him to get to know a beautiful Englishwoman.

And time is running out

Lady Susannah Tremaine and her young friend Olivia are staying at the Grand Hotel in Baden, where so far the most exciting part of the visit has been the pastries. But when a devastatingly handsome royal Germanic officer asks Olivia to impersonate a missing princess, Susannah finds herself drawn into a dangerous world of international intrigue as she tries to protect her friend—and her heart.

Lillian Marek was born and raised in New York City. At one time or another she has had most of the interesting but underpaid jobs available to English majors. After a few too many years in journalism, she decided she prefers fiction, where the good guys win and the bad guys get what they deserve. The first book in her Victorian Adventure series, Lady Elinor’s Wicked Adventures, won first prize in both the Launching A Star and the Windy City Four Seasons contests. She was also a first prize winner in the Beau Monde’s Royal Ascot contest.

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Lillian’s Marek’s Travel Tip: It is not necessary to accept all invitations. When an unsigned note is slipped into your hand asking you to come to the ruined tower at midnight and tell no one, use some common sense.

An Excerpt

Lady Susannah burst into their hotel sitting room and marched furiously about, her hoops swinging wildly about her, endangering the ornaments cluttering the numerous small tables. It was most unladylike behavior. She did not care. She did not feel ladylike at the moment. Far from it. “Of all the improper, infuriating, arrogant, high-handed, overweening, pompous, insolent…” She pressed her lips tightly together.

“Have you run out of adjectives, dear?” asked Lady Augusta as she untied her bonnet and set it aside. “That was exciting, was it not? Positively exhilarating. But now, if you will excuse me, I believe I will take a short nap. Enjoyable though that little interlude was, I am not accustomed to so much excitement.” She smiled cheerfully at the girls and walked to her bedroom.

“Oh dear,” said Olivia. “Did we hurry back too quickly? Have we tired her out excessively? She was walking quite energetically on the way back. More energetically than usual. Unless that’s why she’s tired now.” She sat down on the sofa of their sitting room and looked worriedly at the door Lady Augusta had just closed.

Ignoring them both, Susannah continued to pace about, pulling off the remains of her hat. Its ribbons hung down dirty and dispirited. It looked as if that…that creature had stomped on it. “Look at this! It’s battered out of recognition. And it was my favorite.”

Olivia looked around at that. “It was? I thought you said this morning that you didn’t care for it and you wished the wind would blow it away.”

Susannah had the grace to look a bit embarrassed. “Well, all right. It wasn’t my favorite. But that doesn’t mean I want some ill-mannered behemoth to be responsible for its demise.”

“He was enormous, wasn’t he?” Olivia shivered delightedly. “Almost frightening, like the villain in a novel. Or the hero. You know—the dark, brooding one you can’t be sure about. You were really quite brave, the way you stood up to him.”

“Frightening?” Susannah raised her brows. “I wouldn’t call him frightening. And he certainly wasn’t brooding. He was even laughing at me. Maddening is more like it. Aggravating. Infuriating. Insufferable. I’ve never been treated in such a way.”

“But he was so very big. And he was so angry that he certainly frightened me when he appeared out of nowhere.”

Susannah wasn’t listening. “Maddening,” she repeated. “Insulting. Completely ill-mannered and boorish. Paying absolutely no attention to anything anyone was saying. He had one idea inside that thick skull of his, and nothing anyone said would even penetrate.”

Olivia tilted her head to the side and considered. “Well, he did listen to Lady Augusta. At least, he did eventually.”

“Ha. Listen to her, did he? He certainly didn’t believe her. Didn’t you notice that he followed us back to the hotel?” Susannah flopped down onto a chair and scowled.

“He did?” Olivia sat up in momentary alarm. “How do you know? You weren’t looking behind us.”

“I didn’t have to. There are so many windows on the Kurhaus that they reflect everything several times over. Shop windows too.”

“Does that mean he knows where to find us?”

“Well, of course he knows where to find us. Aunt Augusta told him where we are staying, remember? He was following us because he thought she was making it all up. He’s obviously incapable of recognizing the truth when he hears it. As if a lady like Aunt Augusta would tell lies.” Susannah sat up straighter and drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair. She ignored the fact that Aunt Augusta was capable of making up all sorts of tarradiddle if it amused her.

“Oh.” Olivia sat there chewing on her lip for a long minute. “Does that mean he still thinks I’m that princess? Is he likely to try to drag me off again? I don’t think I would care for that.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you. If he has any sense—and I’m not saying he does—but if he has any intelligence at all, he will ask about us at the hotel, and they will tell him how long we have been here. Sooner or later he will have to accept that we are who we say we are. After all, he can’t refuse to believe everyone in Baden.”

Unable to sit still any longer, Susannah sprang up, shook out her skirts, and strode over to the window. Holding the heavy velvet drape to the side, she looked out at the busy street in front of the hotel. Busy, but not hurried. People walked slowly, many of them with the aid of canes. Even the horses pulling the open carriages plodded along, moving scarcely faster than the pedestrians. Every now and then a breeze would come along to swirl the leaves that had begun to fall. How depressing that the most exciting sight from her hotel window was the dance of autumn leaves.

Review of A PROMISE OF FIRE: Kingmaker Chronicles, #1 by Amanda Bouchet

 

KINGDOMS WILL RISE AND FALL FOR HER… BUT NOT IF SHE CAN HELP IT

Catalia "Cat" Fisa lives disguised as a soothsayer in a traveling circus. She is perfectly content avoiding the danger and destiny the Gods—and her homicidal mother—have saddled her with. That is, until Griffin, an ambitious warlord from the magic-deprived south, fixes her with his steely gaze and upsets her illusion of safety forever.

Griffin knows Cat is the Kingmaker, the woman who divines the truth through lies. He wants her as a powerful weapon for his newly conquered realm—until he realizes he wants her for much more than her magic. Cat fights him at every turn, but Griffin's fairness, loyalty, and smoldering advances make him increasingly hard to resist and leave her wondering if life really does have to be short, and lived alone.

 

 ******

Debut author, Amanda Bouchet's A Promise of Fire is an enchanting tale set in a fascinating new world filled with emotionally and physically complex characters. As I opened the book and began reading, I quickly became absorbed into the story. Only emerging when I was forced to put the book down (adulting can be so inconvenient at times!).



I have always been fascinated by Greek mythology and I enjoyed how Ms. Bouchet entwined the myths and fantasy with a bold and daring plot. Loaded with brazen escapades, sizzling hot passion and romance, A Promise of Fire is a fast-paced book that you need to put on your TO READ list.



I loved following Cat and Griffin through their travels as they grew not only to know and trust one another, but also as they experienced the adventures and trials that life threw at them. A Promise of Fire: Kingmaker's Chronicles #1 has most definitely earned a spot on my keeper shelf, I can't wait to add a print copy.

Award-winning author Amanda Bouchet grew up in New England and studied French at the undergraduate and graduate levels. She moved to Paris, France, in 2001. Her first novel, A Promise of Fire, won several Romance Writers of America chapter contests, including the Orange Rose Contest and the paranormal category of the prestigious Golden Pen.

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Sourcebooks Casablanca is thrilled to announce that we are releasing our very first fantasy romance! Coming August 2016 from debut author Amanda Bouchet is the un-put-downable A Promise of Fire, the first in the Kingmaker Chronicles series.

To celebrate, we’re giving you the first FIVE chapters to read FOR FREE!

Download the first five chapters here.

To get you started, we’ve included the first few pages below.

Chapter 1

I pluck at my crimson tunic, tenting the lightweight linen away from my sticky skin. The southern Sintan climate isn’t my worst nightmare, but it sometimes ranks pretty high, right along with the stifling layers of cosmetics masking my face, my leather pants, and my knee-high boots.
Heat and leather and heels don’t mix, but at least looking like a brigand means blending into the circus. Here, discreet only gets you noticed.
Craning my neck for a breath of fresh air, I navigate my way through the beehive of tables already set up for the circus fair. The performers on the center stage are the main attraction. The rest of us surround them, carving out places for ourselves amid the crowd. Tonight, hemmed in on all sides in an amphitheater lit by hundreds of torches and filled to capacity, I feel like a Cyclops is sitting on my chest—suffocated.
Damp curls cling to my neck. I peel them off and tuck them back into my braid, scanning the crowd as I walk. I recognize some of the regulars. Others I don’t know. My eyes trip over a man and get stuck. He’s looking at me, and it’s hard not to look back. He’s striking in a dark, magnetic way, his size, weapons, and bearing all telling me he’s a tribal warlord. His build is strong and masculine, his gait perfectly balanced and fluid. He walks with predatory confidence, unhurried, and yet there’s no mistaking his potential for swift, explosive violence. It’s not latent or hidden, just leashed.
Watchful, alert, he’s aware of everything in his vicinity. Especially me.
Our gazes collide, and something in me freezes. His eyes remind me of Poseidon’s wrath—stormy, gray, intense—the kind of eyes that draw you in, hold you there, and might not let you go.
Adrenaline surges through me, ratcheting up my pulse. My heart thumping, I blink and take in the rest of him. Intelligent brow. Strong jaw. Wide mouth. Hawkish nose. Black hair brushes a corded neck atop broad shoulders that have no doubt been swinging a sword since before he could walk. Body toned to perfection, skin darkened by a lifetime in the sun, he’s battle-chiseled and hard, the type of man who can cleave an enemy in two with little effort and even less consequence to his conscience.
He keeps staring at me, and a shiver prickles my spine. Is this man my enemy?
There’s no reason to think so, but I didn’t stay alive this long without the help of a healthy dose of paranoia.
Wary, I sit at my table, keeping an eye on him as he weaves a bold path through an array of potions, trinkets, and charms. He’s flanked by four similar men. Their coloring varies, but they all have the same sure look about them, although they pale in comparison to the warlord in both authority and allure. The man with the gray eyes is a born leader, and only an idiot would mistake him for anything else.
He stares for so long that I start to wonder if he can somehow bore through my layers of face paint and unmask me, but I’ve never seen him before, and he can’t possibly know the person underneath. I’m from the north of Fisa, where magic is might. He’s from the south of Sinta, where muscle and cunning decide who lives or dies. Our paths would never have crossed in the past, and warlords don’t usually frequent the circus.
I look away, hoping he’ll do the same. There are plenty of reasons a man stares at a woman. An exotic face and generous figure attract as much attention as a good mystery, if not more, and the warlord’s intense scrutiny feels more appreciative than alarming.
Ignoring the flush now creeping into my cheeks, I smooth the wrinkles from the coarse wool blanket covering my table and arrange my paraphernalia like usual. My glittering, gold-lettered sign advertises Cat the Magnificent—Soothsayer Extraordinaire, even though flashes of the future only come here and there, usually in dreams. Luckily, it only takes a few questions for truths to reveal themselves like flowers opening for the sun. I read people’s body language and glean who they are, what they want, and maybe even what they’re capable of. It’s about knowledge and illusion. I get a copper for it, which is more than a fair deal for me. I won’t peddle futures. I have an idea of my own, and that’s more than enough.
My leg starts a nervous bounce. Prophecies can be interpreted loosely, right?
The audience gasps, and I turn to see what’s happening on the stage. Vasili is throwing knives at his wife. She’s strapped to the flat side of a vertical, rotating wheel, and he’s blindfolded. He’s never hit her, but my heart still comes to a complete standstill every time they perform. Tonight is no exception, and I hold my breath, both riveted and terrified, until he runs out of knives.
The crowd is too caught up in the circus to take advantage of the fair, so I get up again and head to the performers’ gate to watch the end of the show and put some distance between the warlord and me. He’s still looking when he shouldn’t be.
The air coming through the gate is fresher, bringing with it the sound of Cerberus’s chuffing breaths and the scent of sweaty dog. He’s Hades’s pet, so I doubt the heat bothers him. I toss him a wave, and two of his three upper lips curl in a snarl of acknowledgment. One of these days, I’ll get all three, although in eight years I never have. I think his middle head just doesn’t like me.
Finished with his performance, Vasili unstraps his wife while Aetos launches himself onto the stage with a triple flip and lands in a fighter’s crouch that shakes the platform. The solid wood creaks under his colossal weight, and the rapt crowd murmurs in awe. Aetos straightens, pounds his chest, tears the horse pelt off his giant back, and catches fire. His roar shakes the amphitheater. No one can roar like Aetos. I’ve seen him perform hundreds of times, and I still get chills.
Seven and a half feet tall, muscle-bound, and tattooed blue from head to toe with Tarvan tribal swirls, he moves his hands in an impossibly fast dance, weaving fire until he’s encased in a sphere of living flame. He bursts through the crackling barrier with another roar. The explosion blasts the hair away from my face and dries out the inside of my nose. I’m forty feet away but feel like I’m in the furnaces of the Underworld. Fanning myself is useless. I’ll never get used to the southern heat, and with Aetos performing, it’s even worse.
The Sintan Hoi Polloi can barely contain themselves. It’s like doing tricks for children—everything enchants. For them, the circus is a whirlwind of power and impossible magical delights. Everywhere from the hard-packed dirt floor surrounding the fair tables and stage to the high, far reaches of the circular stone seating, people jump up and down, hooting and stomping their feet.
My feet tap along with the crowd’s, my eyes following Aetos around the stage. What a relief to be back in Sinta, even with all the dust and heat. I do whatever I can to stay on the west side of Thalyria. Our recent sojourn in the middle realm of Tarva made my lungs tight and my fingers itch for a knife. I’d probably start jumping at shadows if the circus ever went all the way east to Fisa. Just the thought of my home realm makes my sweat turn cold.
Sinta. Tarva. Fisa. West to east. Here to… Nothing I’m going to think about.
The audience whoops in approval of Aetos’s fiery moves. Hoi Polloi in the amphitheater are ecstatic—and not only with the show. They’ve been celebrating ever since a warlord from the tribal south hacked his way north to Castle Sinta to put his own sister on the throne. You’d think Dionysus had dumped a three-month supply of wine over the entire realm. Temples are overflowing with Sintans offering prayers of gratitude, their holy men overcome with gifts to help clothe and feed the poor. Statues of Athena, who is apparently well loved by the conquering warlord, have been spontaneously erected in towns and villages from here to the Ice Plains in Sinta’s north. Happiness and generosity abound, and I don’t even want to think about how many sheep have been slaughtered for celebratory feasts.
For the first time ever, the magicless majority is in charge, and Hoi Polloi are literally dancing in the streets—but only when they’re not throwing themselves in abject loyalty at the feet of the new royal family. Or so I’ve heard. I haven’t actually seen the new royals, but news spreads fast when there’s something to say. After the warlord and his southern army secured the Sintan throne last spring, his family took weeks just to move north. Not because they’re slow, but because of the sheer number of adoring people in their way.
It’s no secret the northern-born Magoi royals here in Sinta were despots, just like everywhere else in Thalyria. Hoi Polloi know they’re better off with one of their own in charge.
But royals without magic? My cynical snort is lost in the boisterousness of the crowd. It’ll never last.

Want more? Download the first FIVE chapters here.

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Giveaway & Spotlight for ROSE BRIDE by Elizabeth Moss

Hilary Mantel meets Sylvia Day: the final installment in a deliciously erotic trilogy begun in Wolf Bride, set against the sumptuous backdrop of the scandal-ridden Tudor Court by Elizabeth Moss.

SHE’S FALLEN TOO FAR...

Margerie Croft yielded her virginity before her wedding night, and then fled King Henry VIII’s court, knowing she couldn’t marry a man she did not love. Now she is viewed as soiled goods, fit only for the role of a courtier's plaything.

Virgil Elton has heard the wicked rumors, but something about Margerie calls to him. Drawn close despite himself, he invites her to help in his work to restore the king’s flagging health. But as he comes to know her, Virgil discovers beneath the layers of protective reserve a woman who is as intelligent and passionate as she is beautiful. He will stop at nothing to heal the damage the court has inflicted, even if it means falling himself…

Born into a literary family, Elizabeth Moss is a keen countryside walker who writes fun and sexy historical romances. She also writes award-winning fiction as Victoria Lamb. She lives with her husband and five children in South-West England.

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Giveaway A GIFT FOR GUILE by Alissa Johnson

She's a liar.

She's a con.

She's a thief.

And God help him, but he'll do anything to keep her safe.

Beautiful and conniving, maddening and brilliant, Esther is everything private detective Samuel Brass shouldn't want. Esther knows she's put herself in terrible danger, but nothing will stop her from making amends—not her family's enemies, not old fears, and certainly not the domineering, interfering, and undeniably handsome former officer of the Scotland Yard. Yet whenever he's near, Samuel makes her long for a life that can never be hers…and wish she were worthy of being saved.

Second in an exciting late Victorian romance series from a RITA Award nominee!

  

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Fun Fact about the Victorian Age

Victorians had a taste for invention. In 1851, The Great Exhibition opened its doors in London. Showcasing everything from the Bell telegraph to the latest in corset design, the exhibition drew more than six millions visitors in the six short months of its existence. With rapid advances being made in science and technology—not to mention a nearly complete lack of government oversight—it’s no wonder Victorian men and women dreamed, planned, and experimented their way to all sorts of inventions, including quite a few we still use today, like rubber tires, light bulbs, pasteurization, and steel. And, naturally, they came up with a few clunkers as well, such as the, no doubt well-intentioned, but ultimately unsuccessful, “anti-garroting cravat.”

Samuel grabbed Esther and shoved her behind him just as the gig raced by, launching a great wall of ditch water over the curb and onto him.

It soaked him through to the skin, and there was nothing he could do but drag a hand down his face and flick the excess moisture from his fingers.

Esther snickered. Actually, she coughed, but it was a hide-the-snicker sort of cough. It didn’t fool anyone.

He glowered at her.

She snickered again.

“Get in the carriage, Esther.”

For once, she complied without argument. She clambered inside, one hand covering her mouth. The moment the door was closed, her laughter filled the carriage.

“Oh. Oh, Lord.” She flipped up her veil. “I’m sorry. I’m terribly sorry. But the state of you. Good heavens.” She calmed herself a bit and reached over to pat his knee. “My hero.”

Then she laughed some more.

He ought to be offended, really. Annoyed at the very least. But he couldn’t seem to move beyond amazed.

He’d never heard her laugh before. Not like this. Not with her head tipped back and the sound just flowing from her.

Samuel wracked his brain for a single memory of Esther laughing, really laughing, and came up blank. Years ago, when she’d been little more than a girl, she had giggled. Once or twice, she may have chuckled. Certainly, he’d heard her snicker. But he hadn’t heard her laugh. Not as a child, and not since he’d known her as an adult.

The woman simply didn’t laugh in front of him.

It seemed an odd thing not to have noticed before now. Stranger still that he should find an ordinary sound so extraordinarily appealing. There was a sweet, clear tone to it that made him think of wind chimes. Not the tinny sort Mrs. Lanchor had hung in the garden two years ago (and the beast had mauled into oblivion three days ago) but the solid sort that put one to mind of woodwinds.

Her laugh reminded him of wind chimes that reminded him of woodwinds. By God, he was England’s finest poet.

“You’ve changed,” he murmured. There used to be a brittleness about her, a deep unhappiness she kept hidden away along with her kindness and honesty, all buried beneath a layer of cool indifference. He couldn’t see that brittleness anymore.

“Beg your pardon?” Her laugh tapered off slowly, and she looked at him uncertainly. “I didn’t mean to cause offense.” A spark of mischievousness lit in her blue eyes. “Well, maybe a little offense, but—”

“I’m not offended… Maybe a little offended,” he corrected with humor. “But I wasn’t implying that you’ve changed for the worse. It’s for the better.”

“Oh.” Her lips curved in a small, hesitant smile. “Thank you.”

“You’re happier, aren’t you?”

“I am,” she agreed, and so readily that he could only assume she’d given the matter some thought recently. “I am starting to be.”

“It is nice to see.” It was more than nice. It was something else, something more.

Here, he thought, was the woman he’d caught glimpses of before. The remarkable one who amazed and fascinated him. Only it wasn’t just a glimpse. He remembered her insistence that he wasn’t a hard man and her defense of the little boy. And he wondered now if the traits he admired in her had never been quite as buried or transient as he imagined. Anything could seem like a glimpse, he realized, if one looked away too quickly.

Excerpt & Giveaway BACKSTAGE PASS: Sinners on Tour book 1 by Olivia Cunning

THE SINNERS ARE BACK - Reissue of the first in a sizzling rock-star romance series from USA Today bestselling author Olivia Cunning.

It’s been months since Brian Sinclair, lead guitarist for the famous rock band, The Sinners, composed anything. Unable to write the music that once flowed so naturally, Brian is lost without his musical mo-jo. But when sexy psychology professor Myrna Evans comes on tour to study groupie mentality, Brian may have found the spark he needs to re-ignite his musical genius. When lust turns to love, will Brian be able to convince Myrna that what they have is more than just a fling, and that now that he’s found his heart’s muse, he doesn’t want to live without her?

About Olivia Cunning:

Raised on hard rock music, award-winning author Olivia Cunning has been known to travel over a thousand miles to see a favorite band in concert. She lives in Quincy, Illinois, where she enjoys sitting on the beach with her feet in the surf and penning naughty books about rock stars.

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Excerpt

There was another knock at the door. Brian stiffened and broke the contact between his lips and Myrna’s.

“Sheezus,” Brian muttered under his breath. “What?” he yelled at the door.

The door opened and Sed ducked his head in. “You busy?”

“I was about to get that way.”

“I think you’ve hogged the bedroom for long enough.”

“The other bus—”

“Trey’s occupied over there. Besides, you promised.”

“Yeah, I know.” He looked down at Myrna. “Let’s go get your car.”

She nodded, positioning her partially naked body behind Brian so that he blocked her from Sed’s view. “Just let me get dressed.”

“Two minutes.” Brian held up two fingers in Sed’s direction.

Sed closed the door. Brian pecked her on the cheek and retrieved her blouse from the floor.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “I promised him he could have the bedroom tonight. Of course, that was before I knew you’d be staying. Ah…shit.”

“It’s okay. We can just hang out. I’m fine with that.”

He smiled broadly. “Really? That sounds nice, actually.”

She slid into her blouse and skirt, buttoning and tucking as fast as she could. Brian pulled his T-shirt over his head. He reached for her hand and led her to the door. Exiting the room, they continued down the narrow hall, flanked on either side by bunks concealed behind curtains, and into the main room. Myrna counted eight people. Sed, three girls, Eric, and a few roadies.

“All yours, Sed,” Brian said.

Sed picked up the nearest girl, tossed her over his shoulder and headed down the hall toward the bedroom. The attractive young woman squealed in delight as he burst through the door and tossed her on the bed. The other two girls and Eric followed in their wake, excitement emanating from their bodies.

Myrna must have looked as stunned as she felt. Brian laughed at her expression.

“He’s always like that,” Brian said. “I’m surprised he didn’t just burst in on us earlier. It’s not like Sed to knock.”

“Sed’s reputation precedes him for a reason,” one of the roadies said. He could have passed as a member of the band himself. Tattooed. Dark hair. Sunglasses at night. Chains, piercings, and muscular.

“Who’s driving tonight, Travis?” Brian asked.

“I’ve got the truck. Matt the other bus. I think Dave’s driving this one.” He nodded at the normal looking blond guy to his left. Dave gave a curt nod.

Brian turned toward a third roadie, who was without a driving assignment. “Jake, would you do me a favor?”

“Anything,” he said without batting an eyelash.

“Myrna needs someone to drive her car to Des Moines.”

Jake smiled slyly. “I see. Sure, no problem.” Tall and slim, sporting a short mohawk hairstyle, he looked down at Myrna. “Where’s your car?”

“It’s out in the parking lot. I’ll go get it,” she said. “Should I just park it outside the bus and give you the keys?”

“That would be perfect. It isn’t some lame minivan, is it?”

“Erm… ’57 Ford Thunderbird convertible. I just had her restored to mint. You’ll be gentle, won’t you? I’m sort of protective of her.”

“Sweet,” Dave said. “I’ll trade you, Jake. You can drive the bus. I’ll take the Thunderbird!”

“Hell, no,” Jake said. “Brian asked me.”

“I must warn you that it’s pink,” Myrna interrupted.

“Pink? Aw, how could you do that to a classic car?” Jake said, running a hand over his forehead and mohawk.

She laughed. “I am a girl, you know.”

“I’m pretty sure everyone here recognizes that,” Brian said into her ear. Her entire body throbbed in response to his low voice.

“I’ve got no problem with pink,” Dave said, his blue eyes wide with eagerness. Dave looked like a clean-cut kid. Myrna wondered how long he’d been working with the band. Jake, on the other hand, looked wild. Based on looks alone, Myrna would prefer Dave drove her car, but she knew that wasn’t fair. The roadies all worked hard, and the band trusted them with expensive equipment and their lives. “Trade me, Jake. Come on, dude. You like to drive the bus and you know I hate it.”

“You two fight this out,” Brian said. “We need to go get the car before it’s time to leave. Is the truck loaded?”

“I suppose we should get to work,” Dave said.

“Whoever gets their equipment loaded first gets to drive the T-bird,” Jake said. He pushed open the bus door and headed down the stairs.

“Hey, that’s no fair,” Dave called after him. “I’m in charge of the drums! There are, like, a million of them!”

Jake’s voice grew more distant as he walked away from the bus, calling over his shoulder, “Yeah, but I’ve got amps in addition to Trey’s guitars. Quit complaining.”

“Let’s go,” Brian said.

“Wait,” she said. “I need my suit jacket. My keys are in it.”

He waited for her to put on her jacket, then took her hand in his and helped her climb down the steep steps to the pavement.

The crowd outside the barriers was thinner than earlier, but when Brian stepped off the bus, they emitted a loud cheer.

“Shit,” Brian said. “Um… Hold on a minute, okay?”

He kissed her on the temple. Several camera flashes went off. She wished people would stop snapping pictures of her with Sinners’ band members without her consent.

Brian headed for the crowd, starting at one end of the barrier fence and working his way down. He signed autographs, shook hands, offered the occasional hug, allowed his picture to be taken dozens of times and put up with a heck of a lot of groping from female fans. Myrna waited patiently, trying to curtail her jealousy. She knew this was important. His fans made his entire career possible. Still, she didn’t like all the touchy-feely young women rubbing up against him while he was distracted with signing an autograph or answering a question.

After about fifteen minutes, he offered a salute to the crowd and returned to Myrna’s side.

“I’ll have to go around the front of the bus and then sneak along the back side. Otherwise, they’ll see me again and we’ll never catch a break. You go between the buses and meet me on the other side. Pretend like we’re saying good-bye now.”

“Okay.”

He hugged her with the same kind detachment he hugged enthusiastic fans, and waved at her slightly before turning in the opposite direction. She walked along the side of the bus facing the venue, watching the roadies pushing equipment out a door toward the large moving van parked next to the second tour bus. She glanced over her shoulder and then slipped between the two buses. Shouts of passion and pleasure came from the bedroom at the back of the bus as she walked behind it. She paused, glancing up at the window above her. Sed must be really working one of those girls over. She screamed Sed’s name at the top of her lungs. Myrna flushed, wondering how much of her earlier vocalizations had been overheard.

A hard body pressed her against the back of the bus. A hand groped her breast in the darkness. Her heart hammered in her chest. She struggled against the man, trying to twist away.

Jeremy. Oh God, he’s found me. How?

The man grabbed her wrist before she could connect a blow, and slammed the back of her hand against the bus next to her head. She opened her mouth to scream, but found a tongue shoved in her mouth. She knew this taste. Brian?

He’d scared her. Really scared her.

She shoved him away.

“What are you doing?” she said. “I thought I was being attacked.”

“You are,” he growled and crushed her body between his and the back of the bus.

When he tried to kiss her, she punched him in the stomach. “Stop it.”

“Ow. No one can see us.” Shadows completely obscured them.

He held her up against the bus with his body and released her wrist so he could push her skirt up around her waist. Though she knew he wouldn’t hurt her, her heart drummed faster and harder in her chest. She hit him as hard as she could in the arm. He paused. She couldn’t see his expression in the darkness, so didn’t know if he was getting the message.

“Do you really want me to stop, Myrna? I thought we could get in a quickie back here, since Sed has seized the bedroom.”

“Don’t sneak up on me like that. You scared the hell out of me.”

He pressed his fingertips to the center of her chest. “Your heart is really pounding, sweetheart. You knew it was me, didn’t you?”

“No,” she whispered. “I thought…I thought he…” She fought tears, feeling stupid. “It doesn’t matter what I thought. Just don’t ever do it again.”

He hugged her gently. “I’m really sorry, Myr. Forgive me?”

How could she stay mad at him? She knew she’d overreacted. Jeremy was out of her life for good. Sure, he was out of prison now, but he didn’t know where she was. Hell, he didn’t even know her name anymore. And this…this was Brian, not Jeremy. She liked Brian. Perhaps a bit too much, considering their short acquaintance.

Once she tackled her fear, she sought Brian’s mouth in the darkness and kissed him gently, a soft smile on her lips. “You’re wasting time. The buses will be leaving soon.”

“You’re game for this?” he asked incredulously.

“You promise not to sneak up on me, again, right?”

“Yeah, I promise.” He drew her closer and whispered in her ear, “Take your panties off.”

Her hand moved to his crotch to find his cock hard as granite. He drew a pained breath through his teeth. She pushed her panties down her thighs and allowed them to fall to her ankles. She stepped out of them with one foot. Cold air bathed the hot flesh between her thighs as Brian forced his knee between her legs to part them.

“That’s good,” he murmured. “Don’t move now. I’ve got to warn you, I never last long after a show.” He pinned her against the bus with his body.

KILL OR BE KILT by Victoria Roberts

About the Book

It’s been three years since Lady Elizabeth Walsingham ended her childish crush on Laird Ian Munro, the fierce Highlander who scared everyone but her. She’s a grown woman now, heading to London to find a proper English gentleman. But when the wild Highland laird walks through the door, she’s that breathless youth all over again.

Ian tries hard to avoid the young lass who’s confounded him for years. But now that they’re attending court, he must keep watch on her night and day. Danger is at every turn and advisors to the Crown are being murdered. Ian soon realizes the girl he’s been protecting is a beautiful lady who needs his help, almost as much as he needs her.

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About the Author

Victoria Roberts writes sexy, award-winning Scottish historical romances about kilted heroes and warriors from the past. Prior to ever picking up a single romance novel, she penned her first young adult novella at 16 years old. Who knew her leather-studded motorcycle hero would trade in his ride and emerge as a kilt-wearing Highlander wielding a broadsword? Victoria lives with her husband and their two beautiful children in western Pennsylvania. 

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