Suz DeMello Brings the Heat and the Tartan!

Check out one of my more popular books, Temptation in Tartan. This book sat at #1 on its list at All Romance Ebooks for a week! If you’re intrigued by the idea of sexy vampires in kilts, this is the book for you! Here’s a snippet to sharpen your appetite:

Stop! You cry. What’s it about?

Okay—here’s the blurbage:

She had to marry a monster…

Rumors had followed the chieftains of Clan Kilborn for centuries. Said to be descended from the Viking Berserkers, they were ferocious in battle, known for tearing off the heads of their enemies and drinking their blood.

But English noblewoman Lydia Swann Williston would marry Kieran, Laird Kilborn, to bring peace to the Kilborn lands after the horror of Culloden and the brutal pacification. A widow, she also brought needed wealth to Clan Kilborn. For her part, eighteen-year-old Lydia wanted children. With her husband killed at Culloden, she would make a new life in the Highlands.

The old chieftain of Clan Kilborn also died in battle, and she hoped that the new young Laird would lack his ancestors' ferocity.

She was wrong.

And now, here’s the excerpt:

Edinburgh, 1747

The dark, mysterious stranger took Lydia’s free hand and led her into the garden surrounding the Menhardie mansion. The broad summer moon cast shadows that shifted with the breeze, so she could see little but could scent much—the fragrance of plants and newly turned earth, the attar of roses she’d touched to her pulse points and, daringly, between her breasts. Most of all, she drew in the male aroma of the stranger who’d taken possession of her hand, a scent reminiscent of midnight and secret longings.

He led her deeper into the knot garden. Trees, swishing in the breeze, blocked the manse from her view. She inhaled sharply, realizing she’d walked willingly, alone, with a man she knew nothing about, into what was not only a compromising position but possibly a dangerous one.

As though he sensed her fear, he released her hand. “Would ye wish to sit?” He waved his hand at a stone bench.

She touched it with a forefinger. Moisture seeped through her glove.

“Dinnae fash yerself.” The stranger sat and held out his arms. “Come here.”

She hesitated. “I’m affianced. ‘Twould offend my new husband.”

“No one can see us, and I’m just asking ye to sit.” His gaze was not merely open and guileless, but oddly compelling.

He seemed so kind, and her worries so silly, that she complied, moving closer. He reached for her waist to help her arrange her skirts and panniers. Finally she’d settled onto his lap, sitting crossways so she was looking at his chiseled features, distinct in the moonlight, as pale as new milk.

A strange energy thrummed through her body. She was acutely aware of the firm, muscular thighs beneath her, for she had never sat on a man’s lap before. Neither her father nor her husband had asked for or taken this intimacy. Did she like it? She wasn’t sure and became even less sure when the stranger, who had one arm touching her waist already, slid his other wide palm up her calf toward her knee.

Though his touch sent a tremor of desire shafting through her being, it unnerved her even more. She squirmed but he held her fast.

“Lassie, what worries ye?”

“You are taking liberties, sir, and we…haven’t been introduced.” What a stupid thing to have said. He must think her a fool. But what did it matter? She’d never see him again.

He chuckled. “Let’s just say that I’m a man who finds you quite alluring.”

Alluring. Lydia blinked. William had never said that.

“Remember, I’m affianced.”

“Ye’re here with me. Do ye love him?”

She cleared her throat. “We’ve never met.”

“Then ye’re sharing a stolen moment with a man you…dare I say a man you like?” He flirted, but his voice held a dark timbre that seduced her soul. And yet a note of humor, kindness even, tinctured his tone.

She hesitated, then looked into his eyes and was immediately calmed. She said, “Yes. You may dare.”

“And what else may I dare?” The hand on her leg rose to her face to play with a curl, stroke her cheek. She quivered and her breasts swelled, her nipples rubbing against the lawn of her shift. Flesh for which she had no words, the secret place at the junction of her thighs, heated, tightened, moistened.

She shifted on his lap, opening her legs and leaning forward a trifle, and that sensitive, secret spot rubbed against his leg, bringing a charge of pleasure she hadn’t known before. She hid her gasp behind her fan.

He smiled at her, his eyes knowing… Did he understand how powerfully he affected her?

This was wrong, wrong. She had to stop.

“Your eyes are warm chocolate on a chilly day.” His voice was as soft as the breeze, as soft as his caress down her cheek to her mouth, which he traced. “Your lips are a temptation that I cannae resist.”

“You presume much, sir.”

“Aye, I do, but I feel I know your heart.”

If he knew her heart, then he knew it beat faster than a racing stallion’s hooves.

He inclined his head toward her. His lips were carved marble in the moon’s silver rays. “Ye desire me, do ye not?”

“Desire isn’t enough.” She’d desired William, and her marriage bed had been either empty of her husband or the scene of brief trysts devoid of pleasure. She wouldn’t be seduced by a handsome stranger. What for?

“Please.” He asked, but then he took. His mouth felt cool on hers but with a touch of fire beneath. That fire raced through her, igniting parts of her she hadn’t known could feel such heat, such rapture. She gasped again from sheer surprise, and something intruded between her lips… Before heaven, was that his tongue?

No, Lydia thought. This isn’t me.

She reached for his wrist to slide her fingers toward his elbow. She wrapped her hand around his arm and dug her thumb into the muscle just in front of the joint.

He yelped and jerked away, dumping her off his lap. She landed gracefully, stood and stepped back a pace.

“Good,” she said. “I must have hit just the right spot.”

His eyes were amazed. “Where did a lady like ye learn such a trick?”

“My brother taught me.” She couldn’t help shooting him a triumphant smile as she tucked her fan into her reticule.

He shouted with laughter. “Ye’ll do, yes, ye will! Ye’ll make a fine wife.”

“I beg your pardon?” she said stiffly.

He grinned at her. “I’m Kieran.”

She gaped at him.

“Kieran Kilborn,” he added helpfully. “The man ye’ll marry.”

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There's more, of course...a lot more! If you like what you read, buy it here in digital: http://www.ellorascave.com/temptation-in-tartan.html

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