Showing posts with label #historicalromance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label #historicalromance. Show all posts

Sunday, July 24, 2022

Seducing His Sassenach by Ashe Barker , #historicalromance , #meninkilts , #hotromance


Seducing His Sassenach
By Ashe Barker
 


Seducing His Sassenach is a stand-alone sequel to The Laird and the Sassenach and Sassenach Bride.

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·        Loyal, courageous, Jane will do what she must to see justice done

 

 


Blurb

 

When a baby is stolen away from her mother by the English king’s men, nursemaid Jane Bartle offers her help to Robert McGregor and his band of Highlanders as they seek to rescue the child.



Publisher's Note: Seducing His Sassenach includes spankings and sexual scenes. If such material offends you, please don't buy this book.

 

 

Seducing His Sassenach : Author Synopsis

 

When the baby she cares for is stolen by the king’s men, nursemaid Jane Bartle is determined to see the child restored to her grieving mother. She is not sure how she might achieve this, but help arrives in the form of a formidable northern lord, sent by baby Cecily’s new step-father to find out what happened to the child. Jane is able to lead Robert MacGregor to where Cecily is being held.

 

Robbie is glad of Jane’s assistance. Sher has saved him a great deal of trouble, but he never expected the feisty nurse to insist upon accompanying him and his band of Highlanders the length of England. Their journey is perilous, not least because the King’s armies are on the move, preparing to confront the Scots at Flodden.

 

As they face danger together, attraction flares between the high-born northern lord and the girl from the Plymouth slums. But once their shared mission is over, what will bind them together?

 

 

Buy from Amazon    FREE to read on Kindle Unlimited

Read Chapter One for FREE

  

Excerpt 

Jane did not accept the offer of a ride at the first time of asking. Nor the second, nor the third.

But ten miles was a long way on foot. Jane might be stubborn—her mother had pointed out that fact on countless occasions. But she was not a fool. She obliged the handsome but arrogant Scot to ask her a fourth time if she would be so good as to join him on his warhorse before finally halting her stride and allowing him to reach down for her hand. He hauled her up into the saddle as though she weighed no more than a sackful of feathers and helped her to arrange herself with as great a degree of comfort as might be achieved.

She was unaccustomed to being on horseback and found the entire experience distinctly disconcerting at first.

It was so high.

And the saddle moved and shifted beneath her. She would surely fall to her death.

“Be still, girl,” the Scot growled in her ear. “I have ye.”

Normally, he would have earned a stinging rebuke and stern advice regarding the proper use of her given name, but Jane was too preoccupied with hanging onto the pommel and praying for divine deliverance.

After a mile or so, she began to relax. The horse moved with a steady gait, and the Scot’s arm was wrapped firmly about her middle. He did, indeed, have her and she knew he would not let her fall.

“Ye’re quite sure ye can recall the right way tae get tae this gamekeeper’s cottage?”

The other Scot raised the question when she directed them to leave the main track and head northeast across the open countryside. His appearance was the more fearsome of the pair, though Jane felt there was not a great deal to pick between them. Scots were a dour bunch, she concluded. The man raised one dark eyebrow to suggest he did not entirely trust her sense of direction.

Jane bristled but bit her tongue rather than point out to the fool that he was the stranger in these parts, not she. “I know exactly where it is,” she replied instead, peering into the forest of trees that lay ahead. “This way is not the quickest, but it will not require us to go anywhere near Godlington.”

“Fair enough.”

There were no paths through the dense woodland, and little in the way of landmarks. But Jane knew that they had to cross a wide brook, and she recalled seeing the rotting carcase of a long-dead oak tree close to the water.

“This way,” she whispered when the sound of fast-flowing water reached her ears, and she blessed the recent rain that had swelled the stream.

The horses waded through, and on the far side she caught sight of the felled oak. “We are going the right way. I think perhaps a couple of hours more…”

“It will be after nightfall, then, by the time we reach the cottage.” The man whose horse she shared made this observation and she could hear the displeasure in his tone.

“That cannot be helped,” she snapped. “Are you afraid of the dark, sir?”

His companion chuckled, but the arm around her waist tightened a little, to the point of discomfort. Perhaps she should learn to guard her tongue more. After all, she needed these two. She could hardly rescue baby Cecily on her own.

“The man, this gamekeeper, may no’ give the child up easily,” the Scot explained. “If it comes tae a fight, he will have an advantage since he is on land he knows. Better for us tae take the child i’ the mornin’, then we have the whole o’ the day tae put distance between ourselves an’ this place.”

“Oh. Yes.” She had not thought of that but could see the logic clearly enough. Perhaps there was more to her companions than mere brawn. “Then, we should get as close as we can without being seen, and camp for the night.”

“Have ye ever slept under the stars, Jane?” he inquired softly.

“No, but I am sure it will be perfectly fine. The evening is warm.”

“Aye, but no’ quite so warm ye will no’ require a blanket or two. I suppose ye did bring a blanket, Jane?”

“I…”

No she had no blanket, no food, no flask of ale to swig at when the sun became too hot.

Worse, she had nothing for Cecily, either.

“I thought not.” Can this man read my very thoughts? “Ye shall have tae share one of ours, then.”

“I—”

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him to go straight to the devil, but she thought better of it. The night might well become chilly. And, whilst his companion might look rather more ferocious than she cared for, the one who now pressed his body close to hers was undeniably easy on the eye. It would be no real hardship to share his blanket.

 

 

 

More about Ashe Barker

 

USA Today best-selling author Ashe Barker has been an avid reader of fiction for many years, erotic and other genres. She still loves reading, the hotter the better. But now she has a good excuse for her guilty pleasure – research.

Ashe tends to draw on her own experience to lend colour, detail and realism to her plots and characters. An incident here, a chance remark there, a bizarre event or quirky character, any of these can spark a story idea.

Ashe lives in the North of England, on the edge of the Brontë moors and enjoys the occasional flirtation with pole dancing and drinking Earl Grey tea. When not writing – which is not very often these days - her time is spent caring for a menagerie of dogs, tortoises.  And a very grumpy cockatiel. 

At the last count Ashe had over sixty titles on general release with publishers on both sides of the Atlantic, and several more in the pipeline. She writes M/f, M/M, and occasionally rings the changes with a little M/M/f. Ashe’s books invariably feature BDSM. She writes explicit stories, always hot, but offering far more than just sizzling sex. Ashe likes to read about complex characters, and to lose herself in compelling plots, so that’s what she writes too.

Ashe has a pile of story ideas still to work through, and keeps thinking of new ones at the most unlikely moments, so you can expect to see a lot more from her.

 

Ashe loves to hear from readers. Here are her social media links:

www.ashebarker.com

Facebook

Twitter

Instagram

Pinterest

Goodreads

Or you can email her direct on ashe.barker1@gmail.com

Best of all, why not sign up for her newsletter?  

 

 

Anita 

Thursday, May 19, 2022

Do I Make Myself Clear? #Vikings #historicalromance #ashebarker

Media Kit
Her Celtic Captor
By Ashe Barker



“You shall not raise your hand to me again, lady, lest you wish to find yourself upended across my lap and spanked. Do I make myself clear on this?"



Blurb:
As the sister of a powerful Viking chief, Brynhild Freysson is used to giving orders and having them obeyed, which makes it all the more difficult to accept when she suddenly finds herself at the mercy of a Celtic warrior intent on bringing her back to his village whether she likes it or not.

Taranc was a leader of his people before he was taken captive by Viking raiders, and now that he is a free man once more he has no intention of allowing a headstrong Norse woman to slow down his journey home with her stubborn disobedience. When Brynhild refuses to do as she is told, he wastes no time in baring her bottom for a thorough switching, and he makes it quite clear that she can expect even more painful and humiliating punishments if she continues to defy him.

Though her hatred of the Celts runs deep, Taranc’s stern dominance awakens desires in Brynhild that she thought she would never feel again, and when he takes her in his arms and claims her properly it is more pleasurable than she would have thought possible. But though her passion for him grows by the day, can she ever truly love a man whose people are enemies of her own?

Publisher’s Note: Her Celtic Captor is a stand-alone sequel to Her Rogue Viking and Her Dark Viking. It includes spankings and sexual scenes. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book

Buy Links




Excerpt

Taranc bowed politely to Brynhild. "Lady, " he murmured as be bent to wind Njal's line around his pole.
He expected Brynhild to stalk off after her nephew, but she did not. Instead, she remained where she stood, her eyes narrowed in a malevolent glare which remained fixed upon him as he busied himself clearing up his own fishing rod. That task accomplished he attached each of the three landed fish to hooks from Njal's bag in readiness to hang them from his own belt for the journey back to the slave barn. All set to leave himself, he made to pass the still fuming Norsewoman.
"You will excuse me," he murmured.
"Why?"
He glanced at her, surprised. "Because I am leaving."
"I mean, why are you spending time with my nephew. What do you plan to do?"
"Plan? Nothing." Well, nothing that concerns the boy, at least. "He is lonely, and curious. There is no harm in him. And I mean him no ill."
"I do not believe you."
Taranc's slender patience frayed. "And I do not care what you believe. Good night."
She moved fast, he would allow her that much. He barely even saw the slender hand which snaked from within the confines of her cloak to land a resounding slap across his cheek, and certainly he had no opportunity to dodge that first blow. Not so the second. As she drew back her hand to strike him again he grabbed her wrist and squeezed, only relaxing his grip marginally when she let out a startled squeal.
"I shall let the first slap go, since you are a woman and no doubt consider yourself provoked. But you shall not raise your hand to me again, lady, lest you wish to find yourself upended across my lap and spanked. Do I make myself clear on this?"
"How dare you? Let go of me! I shall—"
"Do I make myself clear?" His grip remained firm despite her frantic tugging to be free.
At last, with no other choice if she was to be released, Brynhild gave a sharp nod. "Very well, I shall not slap you."
"Excellent decision. And I shall not spank you. This time. Instead…"
He bent his head, lowered his face to hers. Taranc took in the startled expression, the widening of her kingfisher-blue eyes as his mouth descended to brush across hers. Despite his words of just moments ago he was without doubt inviting another slap and the Viking woman could hardly be blamed for delivering it.
Her mouth was soft under his, her breath warm in the cool evening. She parted her lips as though unable to prevent her artless response and his tongue found the seam of her mouth. She opened fractionally more, and it was enough. He slipped his tongue between her lips and caressed the inner surface of her teeth with the tip.
Her hands were on his shoulders, and she clung to him, her fingers curling into his rough tunic. The sane part of his mind expected a protest, expected her to shive him away, to screech her outrage, to summon her guards but the madness which drove him now ignored all of that.
What am I doing? I don’t even like this haughty, cruel woman.
His cock disagreed. His rampant erection liked her perfectly well and tented his pants in instant recognition of the Norsewoman’s ample charms. He deepened the kiss, tunnelling his fingers through her blonde locks to hold her head still. Brynhild let out a soft moan, followed by a gasp. Now, at last and somewhat belatedly, she stiffened in his arms and sought to be free.
Fuck!
Taranc broke the kiss and released her, his own breath less than steady. Brynhild backed away, her stunned expression one he found he did not entirely care for.
“You… you should not have done that.”
Probably not.
“Why…? I do not understand…”
Neither did he.
“Go! Go Back to the slave barn. Now!”
A decent plan, at last.
Taranc stepped back to execute an exaggerated bow. "Sleep well, Lady Brynhild."


More about Ashe Barker

USA Today best-selling author Ashe Barker has been an avid reader of fiction for many years, erotic and other genres. She still loves reading, the hotter the better. But now she has a good excuse for her guilty pleasure – research.
Ashe tends to draw on her own experience to lend colour, detail and realism to her plots and characters. An incident here, a chance remark there, a bizarre event or quirky character, any of these can spark a story idea.
Ashe lives in the North of England, on the edge of the Brontë moors and enjoys the occasional flirtation with pole dancing and drinking Earl Grey tea. When not writing – which is not very often these days - her time is divided between her role as taxi driver for her teenage daughter, and caring for a menagerie of dogs, tortoises.  And a very grumpy cockatiel.  
At the last count Ashe had over forty titles on general release with publishers on both sides of the Atlantic, and several more in the pipeline. She writes M/f, M/M, and occasionally rings the changes with a little M/M/f. Ashe’s books invariably feature BDSM. She writes explicit stories, always hot, but offering far more than just sizzling sex. Ashe likes to read about complex characters, and to lose herself in compelling plots, so that’s what she writes too.
Ashe has a pile of story ideas still to work through, and keeps thinking of new ones at the most unlikely moments, so you can expect to see a lot more from her.
Ashe loves to hear from readers. Here are her social media links:
Or you can email her direct on ashe.barker1@gmail.com
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Anita Philmar
Allison West
Jessica Brand
Libby Campbell
Measha Stone
Jaye Peaches
Adrienne Blake
Summer Graystone
Ashe Barker
Maisy Archer
Felicity Brandon
Kryssie Fortune
Daryl Devore




Monday, March 28, 2022

Pursuing Her Pirate by Jaye Peaches , #piratepassions , #historicalromance , #pirates



Pursuing her Pirate

Jaye Peaches

Previously published as part of Pirates, Passion and Plunder Anthology
(22.6k words)
Tagline:

Held captive as the personal hostage of a pirate captain,
Esme desperately pursues her true love.


Blurb:
Esme has her heart set on one man. Unfortunately, he’s a pirate. Her only hope in catching his attention is to do something drastic and risk her life. Relying on the loathsome act of pressganging, she uses her disguise to gain access to his ship. However, Captain Flynn Bartoc has other plans for Esme, and she’s not going to win anyone’s heart if she’s tied up in his cabin.



Excerpt 

She was by the stern window of his cabin. “What’s going on?”
“A frigate of His Majesty’s navy. We must make sail. With luck we’ll be away before it can turn to follow.” The wind at least was in his favour.
“Leave!” She held out her wrists. “Untie me. I’ll row myself ashore.”
“It’s too late.”
“Nonsense.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “Don’t argue with me.”
“I’ll swim—”
He laughed. “The current will drag you out to sea. It’s called the tide.”
She stamped her foot. “I know about tides, and the stars and the leeward winds. I know how a ship tacks and wears. I can read a chart.”
“My, my. You have been well-schooled, but by whom?”
She bit her lip. “Nobody,” she said, surly.
“I thought as much. Getting grand ideas will not serve you well aboard my ship.”
“You can’t keep me here—”
“What do you propose I do with you? Let you wear a dress among my men or have you continue your disguise?”
Her lips trembled. “I do not want them to know.”
Her bare breasts, which she’d tried to cover with her buttonless shirt, were topped by the prettiest of nipples. Firm little pebbles that caught his eye. She tossed her long hair off her shoulder. Another tease that invigorated the hardening member in his breeches. Now that she wasn’t going anywhere, there was plenty he planned to do once they were safely away. He couldn’t believe his good fortune. He’d have to tread carefully, though. His men would be quick to envy him if they knew that he had a woman in his cabin every night. They’d chosen him to be captain because he was considered lucky, and dangerous. He was also making them richer, and in their hearts, they would give him whatever he wanted if there was gold in their pockets.




Bio:
Jaye Peaches is an Amazon and USA Today bestselling author of historical, Sci-Fi and paranormal erotic romances. These stories weave together the kinky journeys of lovers, their struggles and dedication to each other. All her books contain spicy scenes of carnal pleasure and sensual exploration. If you desire a little thrill, something to entice, then delve into one of her books. 



Thanks for sharing,

Anita

PS: check out other NEBT authors