​Heiress Ella Davenport survived a carriage accident that killed her father.  Her life saved in exchange for savage scars marring her beautiful face.  Her friends, socialites, showed their true colors, casting Ella aside like damaged goods and leaving her a social pariah. Even her wealth can’t buy her the kind of marriage she wants. Desperate to find a husband who can accept her despite her scars and, without knowing about her money, she seeks to become a mail order bride. Matchmaker & Co. is her one chance to start over and leave the pain and betrayal far behind her.
 
Nathan Ravenclaw was run out of town by the father of the girl he was courting once he discovered Nathan’s Arapaho heritage. It didn’t matter that Nathan was a successful rancher, businessman, and a positive member of society.  The white community suddenly saw only a half-breed. Even his money couldn’t buy him a wife. That was ten years ago.   He moved and rebuilt everything that cold rancher once took from him.  He has it all...except a wife.  Matchmaker & Company promises to send him a woman willing to start a new life with him.  But Nathan's battered heart lacks the ability to trust. He longs for children, not romance.  His new bride, scarred and cast aside like himself, promises to be perfect for him. Until he meets his mail order bride. Fierce desire and an even more dangerous hope roar back to life within him. Two things he swore never to indulge in again. 
 
And love?  For these two battered souls, that's the biggest risk of all
 
EXCERPT
She arrived in Denver on April 6, 1871.  A date she would forever remember as the start of her life.  It was almost like another birthday.

The weather was cold.  The wind rushed off the plains and collided with the mountains to the west, keeping the chill in the air.  The buildings weren’t as tall as in New York, but the wind still whistled between them and over the platform where she stood.  She was glad of her good wool coat and lined boots.  They kept her warm while she waited for Mr. Ravenclaw to find her.  There wasn’t anyone else wearing a veil so she didn’t think he’d have much problem identifying her.

She wasn’t really sure what she expected, but it wasn’t the tall, devastatingly handsome man that approached her.  He had a square jaw shaved clean and a tiny dimple in his chin.  Black eyebrows slashed over his eyes, the color of which was hidden by the shadow from his hat, pulled low on his head.  For once she was glad of her veil.  He wouldn’t be able to see her mouth hanging open, gawking at him.
“Miss Davenport?”

“Yes.  Are you Mr. Ravenclaw?”

“I am.”

Ella was surprised to find her hand trembled as she held it out to him.  “Ella Davenport.”

He removed his glove and enveloped her hand in his big one.  His fingers brushed the skin of her wrist just above her glove.  The tingle that traveled clear to her toes was unexpected and her gaze snapped up to his.  She looked up into the most beautiful blue eyes.  They seemed to question the chemistry between them as much as she did.

He held her hand for what seemed like a lifetime and they simply starred at each other.

“Miss Davenport….”

“Ella.  Please.”

“Ella.  I would like for you to lift your veil.”

“Are you sure you wish to do this in public.  It can be…shocking.”

“I’m sure.”  He squeezed her hand and then let go.
“Very well.”  She lifted the heavy lace, prepared for him to be taken aback by the ugliness of it.  She wasn’t prepared for him to lift his hand and gently trace the thin, putrid purple scar all the way from her left eye over her cheek and down her neck to the top of her collar.

There was no disdain on his face.  His blue eyes took in everything and accepted it, but even so he said the last thing she expected.

“You are a very beautiful woman.”

She stood there with her mouth open until he raised her chin with his knuckle.

“Why are you surprised?  Surely you have heard the compliment before.”

She shook her head to clear it and find her tongue.  “Not since the accident, except from my brother.  But he’s biased.  He loves me.”

“He but states the obvious.  Your scars do not detract from your beauty.”

“I must thank you because good manners dictate it.  However, I believe we should see about getting you some glasses.”

He laughed.  A rich, deep baritone.  “I’m glad you have a sense of humor.”
​
“Who was joking?”

Love Historicals Presents...
ONCE UPON A KISS

Kindle
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MZA76O4
Nook
http://tinyurl.com/hkwr58a
Kobo
http://tinyurl.com/jxgk4sx
iTunes
https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/id1195459460

This week I'm featuring
ANGEL'S ASSASSIN
By Laurel O'Donnell

​

​Damien is an assassin, a man with a tortured past. Sold into slavery, he is trained to kill. Lady Aurora of Acquitaine is the epitome of purity and goodness. When Damien enters Aurora’s life, tempting her with promises of forbidden lust, he threatens to tear her peaceful world apart.
 
Excerpt:
 
Aurora climbed to her feet.
“Where is my sword?” Damien demanded, searching the forest floor.  He could not look at her.

“Here.”  It had been hidden beneath the flare of her dress when she was lying down.

Damien nodded in satisfaction.  He picked it up, pausing as he looked into her eyes.  They sparkled a pale blue in the moonlight.

Aurora stared at him for a long, pensive moment.  Then, she dipped her head in thought.  The furrows of her brow deepened as her gaze stopped at his thigh, lingering on his wound.  “How do you feel?” she asked.

“Well enough to see you back to your castle.”  He sheathed his weapon and took a step toward Acquitaine.

“Damien,” she called.

He hesitated.  He didn’t want her to fear him.  Would she condemn him now for his violence?  The silence stretched.  Finally, he turned to her and his breath caught in his throat.

She stood in middle of the forest, bathed in a pool of moonlight.  Her blonde hair, loose from any constraints, fell to her waist in thick waves.  Her back was straight, her tiny body alluring and curvy and delectable.  But it was her eyes that captured his attention.  He saw no fear in her eyes.  It was concern.  Had he mistaken fear for concern?

Damien had never felt such an overwhelming need for anything in his life.  He trembled with his want of her.

A swirl of emotions played over her face.  Concern, regret, helplessness.

It took all Damien’s willpower not to go to her and sweep her into his embrace.  He didn’t want to scare her.  He didn’t want to harm her.  He didn’t want to taint her.

“I will never leave you,” she finally confessed and tears entered her eyes.

Damien came toward her then, like a tumultuous storm cloud.  “You don’t know what you are saying,” he warned in a savage whisper.

Aurora did not run for cover; she did not shrink from his approach.  She stared up into his face with those damned clear orbs.  And for the briefest of moments, Damien saw himself reflected as she saw him.  A hero, a good man.  A man worthy of all he could attain.

He stood before her, stunned.

The sound of horses thundering through the clearing pounded a warning through the ground.

Damien grabbed Aurora’s hand in one hand, and drew his sword in the other.  He watched the group of men approach through the forest, clumsily maneuvering their steeds through the tight trees.  He pulled Aurora behind him.

These men were no brigands.  They wore heraldry, and while Damien couldn’t be sure, he suspected they were from Acquitaine.
As they drew closer, his sus
picions were confirmed.  One of them called out, “Lady Aurora!”

Damien refused to relinquish her.  For just one moment, she had been his.  And it had been the most glorious moment of his life.

“Lady Aurora!” another called.

His time alone with her was over.

“I am here,” Aurora called out, a reluctance in her tone.

Four men came forward, three of whom wore red tunics with a white dove embroidered onto it, the symbol of Acquitaine.  But the leader wore a different crest.  A black lion on a white background.  He reached them first, reining his horse to a stop before them.  His blonde hair waved gently in the breeze.  His dark eyes swept them.  “Lady Aurora,” he gasped, dismounting.  He brushed his blonde hair aside and knelt before her.  Practiced, polished.  Fake.

Damien hated him on sight.

Aurora stiffened.  She released Damien’s hand and stepped toward the knight.  “Count Ormand,” she greeted.

Ormand stood and his gaze shifted to Damien with just the right disdainful curl of his lip, then back to Aurora.  “I came to rescue you as soon as I heard an attempt was made on your life.  Imagine my surprise at finding you gone.”

“We were attacked by an assassin.  Damien was struck by a poison arrow.”

One of Ormand’s eyebrows rose.  “Another assassin?”  He looked at Damien, then back at Aurora.  “Were you hurt, m’lady?”

“No,” she said.  “Damien saved me.  Again.”

Ormand looked at Damien.  “This must be the amazing Damien.”
Aurora nodded.  “Ormand, this is Damien.  Damien, this is Count Ormand.”
“I am Aurora’s betrothed,” Ormand stated with a slight lifting of his chin so he could stare down at Damien.

Betrothed.  The word rang in Damien’s head like a thunderous bell and his teeth clenched.  Betrothed.  Betrothed.  What did it matter?  But the word did not stop clanging in his thoughts.  Betrothed.
​
Ormand’s pompous stare swept Damien suspiciously from head to foot.  “Why is he half naked?  And what in heaven’s name were you doing out in the forest knowing that your life is in danger?”

Love Historicals Presents...
ONCE UPON A KISS
Kindle
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MZA76O4
Nook
http://tinyurl.com/hkwr58a
Kobo
http://tinyurl.com/jxgk4sx
iTunes
https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/id1195459460


This weeks featured book is
THE PRINCE'S PASSION
by Nancy Morse (me)

​

​By secret decree, Nicholas Romanov, a prince of Imperial Russia, is next in line to the throne. Driven by dark passions and yearning for freedom, he has sworn to avenge the death of his father who led an ill-fated revolt against the Tsar and the murder of his mother who spurned the Tsar’s love. But the dangerous charade he plays is threatened by those who would stop at nothing to prevent him from reaching the throne, and by the fiery American beauty who teaches him that, without love, freedom is just an illusion.

What begins for Alana Welles as a capricious European holiday turns into a journey of deceit and betrayal, where friends become adversaries and misguided affections lead to heartbreak. From the blood-soaked sands of the Spanish bullring to the verdant English countryside, from the war-ravaged Crimea to glittering St. Petersburg, Alana follows her reckless heart into the arms of the handsome Russian prince whose secrets can topple an empire.

Excerpt:
“Leaving so soon?” Nicholas asked. He stepped in front of her, barring her path with his tall frame. “Tell me, what is your name?”

She answered with all the courtesy due royalty.

“Ah, the Senator’s daughter from America. If I am not mistaken, your room should be on the floor below this one. Are all Americans so lacking in direction? Or is it discretion?”

Alana’s blue eyes flared. “I told you, Your Highness, I lost my way.”

His green eyes sparkling brightly, he said with a laugh, “I assure you, Miss Welles, the title is as decorous as the uniform. I don both for special occasions. As you can see, my personal tastes are somewhat simpler.”

He had removed the jacket with the gold buttons and was dressed casually in a plain white cambric shirt that was opened to expose a chest of darkly curled hair. The black trousers tucked into the tops of well-worn riding boots and the wind-tossed look of his hair told her he’d just come back from an evening gallop. Without the garnishment of his uniform and jewel-studded scabbard, there was nothing to distract from his alarmingly good looks. That, and his disarming candor, threw Alana off her guard.

“Why do you dress like that, then?” she inquired.

“They have come to expect it to me.”

“And you oblige them?”

He shrugged elegantly. “Whenever I can.”

She began to grow uncomfortable beneath the heavy weight of his stare. Gathering her skirts in her hands, she brushed past him. “If you will excuse me, I’ve been gone far too long and I wouldn’t want Monica to worry.”

He stepped aside with a speculative look. “I see. But it is rather uncommon of you to care what others think, is it not?”

The accuracy of his remark took her back. “How would you know what is uncommon of me?”

With a cool but devastating smile, he replied, “Just a guess.”

Alana started for the door.

“Will you join me for a ride in the morning?”

His invitation sounded more like a command, causing her to bristle. Tersely, she replied, “I have promised someone else.” She saw no particular reason to tell him that she had already committed her morning to Ross.

“Perhaps you would consider changing your plans to accommodate me.”

She whirled to face him, indignation brimming in her blue eyes. “I realize you must be accustomed to having your way,” she said heatedly, “but in this case, I’m afraid you cannot.”

“Oh?” he ventured. “And is that a guess into my character?”

“Not at all,” she replied. “Your reputation has simply preceded you.”

She was almost blinded by his luminous smile “I will take that as a compliment.”
​
“It was not intended as one.” And with that, she swished past him out the door.

Love Historicals presents...
ONCE UPON A KISS
Gladiators, cowboys, knights, dukes, princes and rogues. A hero for everyone in one great set!
​
Kindle 
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Nook 
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/love-historicals-presents-once-upon-a-kiss-laurel-odonnell/1125454182;jsessionid=268F4B199A6DFCB4EA51C96FD6C581F5.prodny_store01-atgap09?ean=2940154233863
iTunes 
https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/id1195459460

This week's featured book is
SWEET TASTE OF LOVE
By Anna Markland

​

Bound by guilt, freed by love
Riddled with guilt after the drowning deaths of his parents, Aidan FitzRam takes himself off to Lindisfarne in Northumbria, determined to atone. He immerses himself in caring for the bees essential to the production of mead the abbey is known for. 

Nolana Kyncade is a Scot fleeing the tyranny of a cruel stepfather when she bumps into Aidan at the market.

Smitten with her, Aidan quickly realizes that he is not cut out to be a monk.  But her stepfather intends to marry her to an older man who will pay handsomely for the privilege.
 
Excerpt:
Aidan was ready to collapse with fatigue. He had never been a lethargic man. His mother had often complained he had too much energy. He and Blythe had on occasion led their parents a merry dance when they were growing up. What he wouldn’t give now for a scolding glance from his mother.

He raked his fingers through his hair and leaned back against the wooden frame of the stall, brushing away the horseflies drawn by the honey. What would it be like once he was tonsured? His hair had always been long, dark like his father’s.

Memories of his parents filled his head. A lifetime would not be enough to atone for the manner of their deaths. Their bodies had never been recovered. His father’s long-held desire to be interred alongside his father in the crypt at Montbryce would not be fulfilled.
A shuddering breath caught in his throat. He eyed the containers of mead, estimating how much longer they would remain in the crowded marketplace. His sandaled feet were caked with dust, his throat bone dry. Idly wondering how he might filch a sip of the precious mead without the Abbot noticing, he closed his eyes, absorbing the sounds of commerce around him.

A fly buzzed in his face. He swatted at it and forced one eye open. A young woman was walking to the haberdashery stall across the way. At least, he thought she was a young woman. How odd to be shrouded by a playd on such a warm day. But her bearing and figure bespoke a young person. He stood up straight to get a better view. Her garb indicated she was a Scot, but not a lowlander, and not a person of low birth. Her léine had been dyed saffron. She reached out to finger the colored ribbons hanging from the crossbeam, glancing around furtively, drawing the brown playd further over her head.

She’s afraid.

His gut clenched. When she turned to look directly at him, her obvious nervousness did nothing to detract from her loveliness. His mouth fell open. She turned back to the stall, reaching up to point to a particular ribbon. The merchant handed it to her. She raised her arms. The playd fell to her shoulders, revealing the flame red bounty of her hair. Aidan’s breath caught in his throat. For once he was glad of the shapeless robe. His erection was a rod of iron.
​
She replaced the shawl quickly and paid for the ribbon. Four or five armed men came into view, sauntering through the market. He did not recognize the devise they bore on their tunics. The woman lowered her head, turned away and hastened in the direction of the stall selling mead.
Jesu! She’s coming this way!
​

LOVE HISTORICALS PRESENTS...
ONCE UPON A KISS
Gladiators, cowboys, knights, dukes, princes and rogues. A hero for everyone in this set from the Love Historicals authors.

This week's featured book is 
A KNIGHT TO REMEMBER
By Catherine Kean

​When widowed Lady Aislinn Locksmeade finds a naked, unconscious man in the forest, she wonders if he's Hugh Brigonne, her first and only true love. When he wakes, he can't remember who he is or what happened to him.

Does she dare to love the roguish stranger, or is there far greater danger to Aislinn than risking her heart?
 
 
Excerpt:
 
Aislinn walked toward the man, who was lying exactly as when she’d first spied him. The nettles and dock slid against the hem of her cloak, making a soft hissing sound. Her view was partially blocked by the greenery, but he was clearly a broad-shouldered, well-muscled fellow. No doubt he fought for a living, whether as a knight or an outlaw.
Nearing him, her eyes traveled the expanse of naked flesh, mottled by the sunlight filtering though the boughs overhead. Blotchy red patches covered his arse. Her focus shifted, running up the curve of the man’s spine. His back was also dotted with red spots—places where he’d been stung by the nettles, she realized.

His sun-bronzed flesh also bore the scars of long-healed wounds. Such marks were common for a man who’d trained from an early age to first become a squire, then a knight, and who’d fought in battles. The torso of her late husband, Matthew, had borne many scars, most from local skirmishes or weapons training. The marks on this man in the forest could have come from wounds he’d gotten while on Crusade in the Holy Land with England’s late king, Richard the Lionheart.

Of course, he could also be a mercenary, a killer who fought for money.

Tilford emerged from the trees. “He is alive, milady, although badly wounded.”

“Thank you.”

His sword held ready for attack, Tilford headed back into the undergrowth.

Aislinn’s gaze settled on the tangled mass of the injured man’s chestnut-brown hair, then slid to his left arm, reaching out as though he’d tried to fend off attackers. Around him, plants lay crushed. A tremendous struggle had taken place. A tingle of admiration, of gladness that the man hadn’t fallen easily, raced through Aislinn. Ridiculous, since she had no idea who he was, but the emotion was still very real and poignant.

“God’s bones,” Gilly whispered. She stood behind the prone figure of the man, her gaze on his bare buttocks.

Aislinn walked down the length of his body to his feet, then up the other side of him. The man was a magnificent creature, his skin satiny and bronzed, his arms and legs bulging with muscle. A large, ugly bruise darkened his right hip, as well as his right forearm.
​
She dropped down in front of him. His eyelids didn’t flicker, his breathing didn’t change, and he didn’t stir or give any other sign of being aware of her. He had strong features—high cheekbones, a prominent nose, a bold jawline darkened with a day’s growth of stubble. His lashes, where they lay against his face, were long, dark, and thick. His features held a harshness that suggested his life hadn’t been easy or kind.
Disquiet raced through her. His face wasn’t one she recognized. Twelve years ago, when she was just ten and five, she’d known--loved—a young lad with hair as dark and silky as this man’s, and with a mouth as wide and sensual. She brushed away the memory of Hugh Brigonne and the accompanying anguish, for ’twas unlikely this was the same man but twelve years older. Indeed, ’twas about as likely as a hard frost in July.

ONCE UPON A KISS
Gladiators, cowboys, knights, dukes, princes and rogues - all the heroes you love in one amazing set from the Love Historicals authors!

Kindle
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MZA76O4
Nook
http://tinyurl.com/hkwr58a
iTunes
https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/id1195459460
Kobo
http://tinyurl.com/jxgk4sx


​This week's featured book is VAIN
by Jill Hughey

​

​Lily had her life planned, neat and tidy as thread on a spindle, until her mother died and her father snipped at the seams of her future by abandoning Lily in their shop. A nobleman unexpectedly gives her hope when he brings fabric for a special garment. Lily survives on his first payment, and immerses herself in sewing and embroidering an incomparable tunic for him, as her tidy plan continues to unravel.
 
Theophilus, Lord of Ribeauville, takes his responsibility to his townspeople seriously and, therefore, does not dally with local women. Desire wars with duty when Lily glances up at him while adjusting the hem on his Easter tunic. As her deteriorating circumstances push them together, Theo and Lily learn that the path to his heart just might be through his wardrobe, though the exquisite outfit she creates is the only part of her that fits in his precarious aristocratic world.
 
 
EXCERPT
 
She rushed out the door, flustered. What had happened? Everything had been fine until she’d begun making adjustments to his hem. That had felt horribly awkward to her. Had it bothered him too? She had been trying to do her job briskly, just as her father had always done. Maybe a man did not mind another man touching his hem but very much minded a woman doing so. Lily sighed, pressing her back against the wall, then resting her head there, as well. Even though she occupied the same world she always had, every day brought unforeseen and unfamiliar questions and challenges. She did her best to guess and fool her way through it all. In truth, the only time she felt comfortable in her own skin was when she worked on the lord’s tunic. Or at least she felt comfortable when her lord was not in the tunic as she worked on it.
 
She sighed. If only her father had returned. He would have that hem rolled and marked in a thrice. He would explain Riculf. He would talk to Cluny and set her life on the right course again.
 
Her lord emerged, once again smartly attired in the green tunic and mantle she had sewn last spring about this time. He did not know she had sewn it. Her father had done the fitting. She had made every cut and stitch. “Father is never coming back, is he?” she blurted.
The question did not surprise him. He stood straight and proud and confident in his own comfortable life. “Not soon enough,” he said.
 
At first she did not understand the answer. Then it clicked. Not soon enough to help you. Not soon enough to manage Riculf or Cluny. Not soon enough to return you to normalcy or even respectability. “He lives with a woman?” she asked, eager to familiarize herself with all the ugliness at once.
 
Her lord cursed softly under his breath. “Yes. He misses your mother desperately.”
 
Her hand flew up, and she pressed the back of it to her mouth, stifling an unwanted sob of distress. She turned away to compose herself. “It must be very difficult for him,” she observed with the feeling of seeing things from a great distance.
 
“I did try, Lily. I reminded him of his duty to you. I reminded him of your mother. I tried every argument.”
 
Unwarranted resentment boiled up in her. Who was this Theophilus to involve himself in her life? Why should she feel gratitude when he stood so calmly to tell her how bad things were? Why should he be allowed to make her uncomfortable in her own shop? How dare he? She bit the inside of her cheek against the angry, unfair slander she wished to shout at him. “Thank you, my lord,” she gritted as meekly as she could manage. “I appreciate your efforts today. I am sure you have pleasanter plans for tomorrow. Now, I must continue my work.”
 
She forced herself stiffly through the door. She did not close it until she heard her lord’s retreating footsteps. The tunic waited, lovingly spread on the worktable. Her strange, quick anger receded, replaced with the more sane and familiar despair. Her fingertip traced across the slightly overlarge shoulder to the clever neckline. This neckline was the only perfect thing left in the entire world, as near as she could tell. Tonight, she would rework the shoulders. Tomorrow, she would sew the pleats and join the body pieces and sleeves. Soon, she promised herself, she would make tiny invisible stitches around this neckline, and that would be one right thing. And she must consider the embroidery. She must devote some time to the pattern.
 
Blessedly immersed in her work, she did not let herself think about Father anymore.

ONCE UPON A KISS
Gladiators, cowboys, knights, dukes, princes and rogues. The heroes we love all in one set.
Amazonhttp://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MZA76O4
B&N http://tinyurl.com/hkwr58a
Kobo https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/love-historicals-presents-once-upon-a-kiss
iBookshttps://itunes.apple.com/us/book/id1195459460

This week's featured book is LOVE & LIES
By Gina Danna

Rome 100 CE
 
Conquered, beaten, sentenced to die in the Colosseum, Ganius of Gaul escapes his execution only to find himself enslaved as a gladiator. His rise to champion ensures his life, but does nothing to lessen his desire for vengeance against the Roman soldiers who destroyed all he knew.
 
Locked into a repugnant betrothal, the beautiful Roman Aurelia turns to her brother’s champion gladiator for help. Promising him his freedom if he helps her escape, Aurelia soon discovers she wants not only Ganius’s help, but to capture his heart as he’s captured hers.

In love with his sworn enemy, Ganius realizes Aurelia is the key to his freedom. But to take her with him would risk both their lives, yet leaving her behind to be a pawn in her brother’s machinations is a wretched alternative. Ganius must choose - love of a Roman or freedom to make the Romans pay. This is a fight the champion gladiator might lose...
 
EXCERPT
 
Rome 100 CE – The Colosseum
 
Aurelia sat rigid on the bench, quiet as a mouse, like the rest of the crowd. The Celt, condemned to die with his countrymen, stood victorious on the sands. He was the one with that mark upon his arm. Her gaze riveted to him, amazed, appalled and so attracted to him that it sent a thrill through her.

Suddenly, the stands burst into applause and demanded for him to live.

The man stood, in the midst of a filthy, blood-covered arena, the remains of the dead and dying lay around him. He was covered in sweat, blood and sand. His muscles—prominent from fighting the gladiators—were corded, detailed like the statues of the gods, and the effigies of dead victorious gladiators, both forms standing virtually nude throughout the city. But he was living, breathing, on fire. When he shot a glance up at the podium, where the Emperor’s appointee sat in his absence. Even Aurelia could see the flames of violence tangible in his stare. She could not pull her eyes off.

Aurelia’s brother had secured them the box seats next to the podium, quite a sign of position she usually didn’t give a moment’s consideration, but today was more than thankful because they were very close. She gazed at the Celt and in the sunlight, despite his dirty appearance, his eyes glowed, the color like amber in the brightness.

He looked like a god.

“Caius,” she whispered to her brother. “Don’t you need a new man for your stable of fighters?”

He laughed. “What a strange thing for you to say, dearest.” He looked beyond her to see her fascination. “Aurelia…”

“Oh Caius, can you imagine? He defeated three gladiators! The odds stood against him!”

“They were not from the best house…”

“But they were gladiators,” she argued and bit her lip. “Brother, the man must be blessed by the gods to have won so, and to win over the crowd to spare his life.” She gave him her innocent but pleading look. With the exception of severing her betrothal, he never denied her anything.

“She is right, Caius,” Aulus joined in. “I could have him trained. His winnings would bring you considerable coin.”

Caius looked at her. His eyes narrowed. They darted to the Celt in the arena and back to her. The air grew heavy as she waited, though the longer he took to say a word usually meant she won. Holding her breath, she silently prayed to Jupiter.

Caius’s lips slowly curled up into a smile. “So be it. Aulus, let us see if we can’t alleviate the state of her impertinent prisoner.” He kissed her cheek. “And my darling sister, don’t push me for any more extravagant dresses or jewelry, for I fear this animal may take many coins to train before I see the favorable results.”
​
As he walked away, Aurelia’s gaze returned to the man on the sands. As the property of her brother, a slave, she’d have easy access to see the mark on his arm. Her lips curved at what other opportunities might be available to own a man so blessed by the gods… 

ONCE UPON A KISS
Gladiators, cowboys, knights, dukes, princes and rogues. The heroes we love all in one set.
Amazonhttp://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MZA76O4
B&N http://tinyurl.com/hkwr58a
Kobo https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/love-historicals-presents-once-upon-a-kiss
iBookshttps://itunes.apple.com/us/book/id1195459460

This week's featured book is LOVE & LIES By
Gina Danna.

Rome 100 CE
 
Conquered, beaten, sentenced to die in the Colosseum, Ganius of Gaul escapes his execution only to find himself enslaved as a gladiator. His rise to champion ensures his life, but does nothing to lessen his desire for vengeance against the Roman soldiers who destroyed all he knew.
 
Locked into a repugnant betrothal, the beautiful Roman Aurelia turns to her brother’s champion gladiator for help. Promising him his freedom if he helps her escape, Aurelia soon discovers she wants not only Ganius’s help, but to capture his heart as he’s captured hers.

In love with his sworn enemy, Ganius realizes Aurelia is the key to his freedom. But to take her with him would risk both their lives, yet leaving her behind to be a pawn in her brother’s machinations is a wretched alternative. Ganius must choose - love of a Roman or freedom to make the Romans pay. This is a fight the champion gladiator might lose...
 
 
 EXCERPT
 
Rome 100 CE – The Colosseum
 
Aurelia sat rigid on the bench, quiet as a mouse, like the rest of the crowd. The Celt, condemned to die with his countrymen, stood victorious on the sands. He was the one with that mark upon his arm. Her gaze riveted to him, amazed, appalled and so attracted to him that it sent a thrill through her.

Suddenly, the stands burst into applause and demanded for him to live.

The man stood, in the midst of a filthy, blood-covered arena, the remains of the dead and dying lay around him. He was covered in sweat, blood and sand. His muscles—prominent from fighting the gladiators—were corded, detailed like the statues of the gods, and the effigies of dead victorious gladiators, both forms standing virtually nude throughout the city. But he was living, breathing, on fire. When he shot a glance up at the podium, where the Emperor’s appointee sat in his absence. Even Aurelia could see the flames of violence tangible in his stare. She could not pull her eyes off.

Aurelia’s brother had secured them the box seats next to the podium, quite a sign of position she usually didn’t give a moment’s consideration, but today was more than thankful because they were very close. She gazed at the Celt and in the sunlight, despite his dirty appearance, his eyes glowed, the color like amber in the brightness.

He looked like a god.

“Caius,” she whispered to her brother. “Don’t you need a new man for your stable of fighters?”

He laughed. “What a strange thing for you to say, dearest.” He looked beyond her to see her fascination. “Aurelia…”

“Oh Caius, can you imagine? He defeated three gladiators! The odds stood against him!”

“They were not from the best house…”

“But they were gladiators,” she argued and bit her lip. “Brother, the man must be blessed by the gods to have won so, and to win over the crowd to spare his life.” She gave him her innocent but pleading look. With the exception of severing her betrothal, he never denied her anything.

“She is right, Caius,” Aulus joined in. “I could have him trained. His winnings would bring you considerable coin.”

Caius looked at her. His eyes narrowed. They darted to the Celt in the arena and back to her. The air grew heavy as she waited, though the longer he took to say a word usually meant she won. Holding her breath, she silently prayed to Jupiter.

Caius’s lips slowly curled up into a smile. “So be it. Aulus, let us see if we can’t alleviate the state of her impertinent prisoner.” He kissed her cheek. “And my darling sister, don’t push me for any more extravagant dresses or jewelry, for I fear this animal may take many coins to train before I see the favorable results.”
​
As he walked away, Aurelia’s gaze returned to the man on the sands. As the property of her brother, a slave, she’d have easy access to see the mark on his arm. Her lips curved at what other opportunities might be available to own a man so blessed by the gods… 

This weeks featured book is
​NEVER TEMPT A ROGUE
by Christy Carlyle
​
​An infamous rogue meets his match in a feisty chaperone who has all but given up on love.
 
Felicity Beckett’s uncle has tasked her with one goal for Lord and Lady Forsythe’s country house party. Keep her innocent cousin away from the notorious rake, Lord Lindsay. The man’s Rogue’s Rulebook has earned him the most scandalous of reputations, but no one warned Felicity how irresistible a rogue can be.
Alex Evering, Lord Lindsay, agrees to attend his aunt and uncle’s party for a bit of enjoyment before embracing the duties of his newly inherited title, but he loathes their scheme to redeem his reputation and marry him off to a proper young lady—until he meets Miss Beckett.
 
Excerpt 
 
“Lord Lindsay, there will be no more of these. If you send any further unwanted communications, I will tell Lord and Lady Forsythe of your outrageous behavior.”
 
He was surprised she could say so much when fury stiffened every line of her body.
Perhaps he was as debauched as he pretended to be in The Rogues’ Rulebook, because her ire aroused him. He liked the way it made her lips quiver and infused her cheeks with blood. When her eyes sparked, he could smell anger curling off her like the burn of an electric charge after a lightning storm.
 
“I have no idea who sent that or what it says.” He didn’t need to examine the folded missive to know it had nothing to do with him. “I assure you, I’ve only arrived half an hour ago and spent much of that time on this balcony. I haven’t sent a note to anyone.”
 
She faltered, her sensual mouth quivering even more in her uncertainty. A mad impulse made him want to claim those lips, use her trembling moment of doubt to break through her fury. Now, when he might taste all that passion.
 
Unfolding the letter in her hands, she held it up in front of him, a wall of paper between them.
 
“Is that not your initial? Signed with an L. That’s you.”
 
“It is not. My name is Alexander, though my friends call me Alex.” He tipped his head toward her and caught a whiff of vanilla. “I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume we’ll become friends. You may call me Alex.”
 
He’d never been more eager to hear a woman say his name, to watch her mouth form the word, her pink tongue playing over the syllables. A wave of lust rocked him as he considered what else he could teach her to do with her tongue.
 
She glanced at the paper in her hand and then up at him, studying his face as if attempting to decide whether or not he could be trusted.
 
“What’s your name?” He knew enough of decorum to realize their whole encounter was inappropriate, but he was damn well going to know her name. She was the first indication that coming to his aunt’s house party might have been a good decision.
 
“My name is irrelevant, my lord.”
​
“I’m very sorry to hear that. Your parents were cruel to name you such a thing. A lady like you deserves a much prettier name.” He couldn’t resist teasing her. Later he’d be a gentleman, perhaps even apologize for his behavior, but now, when this woman stood looking at him as if she’d like his head on a spike, he could only think of ways to make her eyes to flare again.
 
“My name,” she bit out, her straight white teeth clenched in a grimace, “is Felicity Beckett.”
 
Laughter rumbled up his chest. “Felicity?” He looked at her lovely flushed face and roared with mirth. He hadn’t laughed in six months, and it felt freeing and glorious. “You do know what that word means, don’t you?”
 
She scowled. “I assure you I am very happy when men like you don’t provoke me.”