Revenge should be sweet, but it may cost him everything...
The Marquis de Valère escaped certain death in the French Revolution and is now an infamous privateer. Out to avenge the death of his mentor, Bastien discovers himself astonishingly out of his depth when confronted with a beautiful, daring young woman who is out for his blood...
Forgiveness is unthinkable, but it may be her only hope...
British Admiral's daughter Raeven Russell believes Bastien responsible for her fiancé's death. But once the fiery beauty crosses swords with Bastien, she's not so sure she really wants him to change his wicked ways...
Today, Shana has been kind enough to share an excerpt from her latest release. It's actually one of my favorite scenes in the book. Besides The Sexy. :)
“If you’re going to do this, it’s personal. Make it personal. Use your dagger.”If this excerpt doesn't entice to read the book, I don't know what will. Perhaps another excerpt on Shana's website? Not as sexy as this one though. Click on the covers below to read excerpts from the other two Sons of the Revolution books. Also, be on the lookout later next week for a fun post and giveaway from Shana.
She had the dagger strapped to her thigh under the thin dress, and she knew it would feel even more familiar in her hand than the sword. She looked at his neck, could almost see the pulse beating steadily there. With one flick of her dagger, she could end that pulse, that life—just as Cutlass had ended Timothy’s life.
She reached for the dagger, aware he watched as she lifted her skirt and unsheathed it.
“If I’m going to die, at least my last view was pleasant,” he drawled.
If he was trying to enrage her, it worked. She clutched the dagger tightly and looked down at him. He didn’t blink, didn’t flinch as she raised it. She could see her hand waver, see the dagger shake, but she gripped it tighter. She could throw it now. He’d seen her skill and aim. He must have known he was in danger, and yet he didn’t move. Didn’t try to block her.
She moved closer, rested one knee on the edge of the berth. Through the thin material of the gown, she could feel his heat, feel his comfortable warmth against her cold leg. Gaze never leaving his, she bent and pressed the dagger to his throat. She thought perhaps his pulse jumped, but she couldn’t be certain. She waited, dagger ready, hand still shaking but steady enough to do what needed to be done.
And then he turned his head slightly—toward the dagger. He didn’t dislodge it, didn’t move his hands from where they rested behind his neck, but he turned into the blade. Raeven frowned, certain the sharp tip must cause his some discomfort. He glanced up at her, and she could feel his breath on her wrist. And then very slowly, he pressed his lips against her skin.
She gasped, shocked at the feel of his mouth on her and even more at his audacity. She was about to kill him, and he was kissing her.
“What are you doing?”
He nuzzled her wrist with his cheek, and she could feel the prickly stubble on her sensitive skin. A shiver ran up her back, but she battened it down before it could spread farther. She gripped the dagger tighter, tried to muster the effort to dig the blade into his flesh, but it was difficult to think when his warm breath tickled her. It was difficult to think when he touched the tip of his tongue to her pulse—once, twice, no, three times.
“Stop it,” she whispered.
“Make me.” He lifted his head slightly and kissed the skin above her wrist. She inadvertently pulled the dagger back slightly, not wanting to stab him.
Not wanting to stab him! What was she doing! She was supposed to stab him!
“If you’re trying to save yourself, it won’t work.”
“I’m not trying to save myself,” he murmured, soft lips pressing against her skin, warm breath tickling her. “I haven’t moved my hands. Go ahead and do it. But I deserve one last moment of pleasure.”
He slipped back, moved his lips away from her wrist, and she let out a pent up breath, only to draw it in again as he drew her last and smallest finger into his mouth.
“Stop.” But her words were a whisper. The feel of that moist mouth on her finger, the gentle suction as he drew her inside, the rasp of his soft tongue on her skin…she couldn’t think. She didn’t want to think. Didn’t want him to stop.
He released her finger, looked up at her, his eyes smoky and full of sultry promises. “Kiss me, ma belle.”
“You’re trying to trick me.” Her voice wavered, shook.
He feigned innocence. At least she thought it was feigned. “Have I moved my hands? Have I dislodged your weapon? Kiss me or kill me. It’s your decision.”
She was unable to move. His body seemed to burn her wherever they touched. She was too warm. She could feel a trickle of perspiration roll down her back, could feel another meander between her breasts.
“Or perhaps kiss me then kill me,” he suggested. “There’s time for both.”
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