Read on for a taste of Sabrina's latest Highland Romp and a chance to win a Tiara!
Susana and the Scot
is an ADULT title
Bestselling author Sabrina York carries readers back to the wild Scottish Highlands, where the bravest of men surrender to no one-except the boldest of women...
Scotland, 1813.
A SCANDALOUS TEMPTATION
Andrew Lochlannach is famous for his conquests, on and off the battlefield. When a fellow warrior challenges him to a kissing contest, he wastes no time in planting his lips on ninety-nine lovely lasses-an impressive feat of seduction that gets him banished to the hinterlands. Still, Andrew has no regrets about his exploits-especially his embrace with the most beguiling woman he's ever met...
AN UNDENIABLE PASSION
With flaming red hair and a temper to match, Susana is not some innocent farmgirl who gives herself over easily to a man, even one as ruggedly handsome as Andrew. The wicked Scot may have won a kiss from the headstrong beauty in a moment of mutual desire, but Susana refuses to be just another one of his conquests. Andrew must convince the fiery lass that even though he is not playing a game, losing her is not an option...
"You can't go wrong with a Sabrina York story."-Desiree Holt
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READ AN
EXCERPT!
Susana
was annoyed. There was no doubt about it. The swish of her hips as she led him
across the bustling bailey was a dead giveaway, that and the dark glowers she
shot over her shoulder. But Andrew couldn’t help but be amused. For one thing,
she was damn alluring with she was annoyed.
Hell, she
was damn alluring altogether. The curve of her waist alone could drive a man
insane, much less that silky tumble of hair. He wanted to wrap it is his fist,
wind it around his body. A certain part of his body.
At the
thought, his cock rose.
It was
difficult to remind himself that he’d vowed to eschew seduction, but try as he
might, he couldn’t banish the fantasy of stripping those breeks from her lovely
body and laying her down in the heather. Visions of that twitching
backside—bare before him—danced in his head.
But he’d
made a vow. A sacred vow. And as tempting as she was, he would control his
baser urges. He could. Probably.
These
thoughts whirled in his head as she led him into the stables, past his men—who
were unpacking and seeing to their horses—and through the kennels. Though he
was perplexed, Andrew followed. He would probably follow anywhere she led. It
was a fact that should have scared him to death or at the very least, concerned
him. But it didn’t. However, when she started up a staircase at the very end of
the long hall, he had to stop her.
She
glared at the hand he set on her arm. He tried to ignore the sizzle that raged
through him at their first touch. It was ridiculous how much that touch
affected him. And how much he enjoyed her glare.
He edged
closer. “Where are we going?” he asked in a purr.
Judging
from her frown, his tone irritated her. He rather enjoyed irritating her, he
found.
She
ripped her arm away and continued up the stairs. He followed and found himself
in a narrow loft that ran the length of the kennels. It was dim and a little
dusty. Motes danced on the air. The roof was so low he had to duck his head to
miss the rafters.
“Your men
will stay here,” she said.
Andrew
gaped at her. The room was swept clean and empty. A thin shaft of light from
the far window illuminated it with a murky light. But the yipping from the
kennel and the stench of excrement wafted up from below. For some reason, all
thoughts of alluring backsides dissipated. Disbelief gushed through him.
“Here?”
She
crossed her arms and offered what could only be described as a smirk. “Here.”
He tipped
his head to the side. “This is a kennel.”
“I am
aware of that.”
“I have
twenty-five men.”
“The room
is quite large.”
“There
are no beds.”
She blew
out a breath. “We’ll bring in pallets.”
Andrew
blinked. He set his teeth and tried to remain calm. His men were warriors. They
did not sleep on pallets. In a kennel. “This will not do.” Surely she saw that.
Surely she understood… He caught a glimpse of her smug expression and it dawned
on him.
She did.
She did understand. She knew damn well what she was doing. Her response only
verified his suspicions.
“I’m
sorry, but you have descended upon us with no warning whatsoever with a large
group of men. I’m afraid this is all we can offer you at this time.” Her smile
was deferential, but hardly sincere. The light dancing in her eyes lit a flame
in his belly. “Of course, if our accommodations are unacceptable, you can
always return to Dunnet…”
Oh, she’d
like that, wouldn’t she?
The minx.
Rather
than the exasperation her self-satisfied look should have sparked, Andrew found
himself filled with another emotion entirely. Anticipation. Exhilaration. The
thrill of a challenge.
For that
was what she was, Susana Dounreay. A challenge.
And it
appeared she reveled in provoking him.
A pity
she didn’t understand he was a dangerous man to provoke.
The
tumult her presence sparked within him flared again, burning the edges of his
resolution; his inconvenient lust blossomed, and with it, an unruly resolve.
He
wanted, very badly, to kiss her. He
wanted to wrench her into his arms and cover her sweet mouth with his. He
wanted to taste her, consume her, possess her.
And he
would.
Clearly
he wasn’t the kind of man who could swear off women. Clearly he wasn’t the kind
of man who could keep a vow.
So be it.
Damn to
hell his ridiculous vow.
Damn to
hell the fact that she was his sister-in-law.
He was
going to seduce this vixen, and he would start right now.
Desire,
like a snarling, snapping beast, rose within him, and he stepped closer.
Susana’s
eyes flared as Andrew advanced on her, like a skulking fox that had spotted a
plump rabbit. She didn’t mean to retreat, but she had to. She’d seen that
expression in his eyes before and she knew what it meant. Something within her
howled: Run.
Perhaps
it was the expression in his eyes, or the knowledge that she was playing with
fire, or the sudden realization that she’d foolishly come here, to this
deserted loft with the most dangerous man she’d ever met, but she couldn’t
still the urge to whirl and pace to the far end of the room to peer out of the
smudged window. She was aware he followed. She felt his presence like a fire in
a forge.
Desperation
prompted her to continue their conversation, to put some space between them, to
raise a shield. “The room is perfectly habitable,” she proclaimed. “And once we
have pallets brought in, it will serve you well.”
“Will
it?”
His voice
was low in her ear, a whisper almost. And far too close. She wanted to turn, to
confront him, but she knew, if she did, they would be face to face, perhaps lip
to lip and she could not allow that. She could never allow that.
The last
time he’d kissed her, it had been her undoing.
A pity he
didn’t remember.
“My men
willna like being housed with the dogs.” Holy God. Was that his hand on her
hip? His thumb tracing her waist? “Nae doubt they will all want to find…other
beds to welcome them.”
Susana
stilled as his words sank in. The threat was clear. And it was rather horrifying.
A horde of randy warriors set loose on the innocent maidens of Dounreay? That
his hand had slid over to toy with the small of her back, to tangle in the
skeins of her hair, didn’t help.
Her pulse
thudded and her knees went weak. She couldn’t have it. She couldn’t have this
man touching her. She sucked in a breath and slipped to the side, out of his
grasp. When she was far enough away for some measure of safety, she turned to
face him, a reproachful look fixed on her face. “Are your men so lacking in discipline?”
She hoped her frown, her reproving tone, would bring him to heel. She should
have known better.
He
grinned and stepped closer. His eyes glinted, as though needling her was an
amusing sport. “They are verra disciplined…when their needs are met.”
She
crossed her arms, as though that could protect her, and pretended to study the
room. Pretended she wasn’t aware of his thrumming presence, his heat, his
intent. “Well, I shall hold you responsible for any…improprieties.” She took a
step toward the staircase, only a tiny one—surely not an attempt to escape.
He
chuckled—chuckled, the bastard—making it clear he recognized her cowardice for
what it was. And he paced her.
“They’re
all good men. They all volunteered to come with me. Each and every one of them is
dedicated to the cause of protecting Reay from the villains who have been
plaguing you. However…”
The way
he trailed off derailed her retreat. She stilled. Glared at him. “However,
what?”
“However,
they do have…needs. Surely you can find better lodgings.”
She blew
out a breath. “In time.” In time.
In time,
he would be gone, God willing.
He
stepped toward her again, although nonchalantly, as though he were not chasing
her across the room. It occurred to her they were engaged in something of a
macabre dance. It set her nerves on edge. She hadn’t realized what a long room
this was, or how far it was to the stairs.
“Doona
leave it too long.” His smile was heinous. It made all kinds of shivers dance
over her skin. “My men are…restless.” She had the chilling sense he was talking
about himself.
“I
shall…do my best.” Like hell. “And now, if you will excuse me, I have things to
do.”
His brow
quirked. She tried not to notice what a perfect brow it was. “Ah, but I thought
you and I could…talk.”
“Talk?”
She didn’t intend to squawk, but she could tell from his predatory stance, a
conversation was not the primary urge on his mind. At least, not one with
words.
He
nodded. Though his features were patently earnest, the sincerity was patently
affected. “About the defenses you have in place…so I can decide what needs
improvement.”
Aggravation
rippled. It displaced her concerns about being here, with him, all alone. Fury
did that, she’d often found. Overrode common sense and led one into dangerous
waters. Her hands curled into fists. She strode toward him until they were
nearly nose to nose. “Nothing needs improvement,” she snapped. They didn’t need
him. Or his men. Or his stupid ideas.
“Nonsense.
Now that we’re here, we intend to make a statement to Stafford, or whatever
miscreants are lurking out there thinking Dounreay is an easy target. But
before I set my plans in motion—”
“Your
plans?” He already had plans? Och! He was so exasperating.
She
barely noticed that he stepped closer…until their chests brushed. He was hard
and hot; the touch made her tingle. His voice, low and luring made her tingle
as well. His gaze skated over her face, then stalled on her lips. “Let’s meet
and discuss—”
Her pulse
skittered. “I doona have time to meet with you. Not today.” She took a step
back. He followed.
“Nae?” A
whisper. And his caress over her shoulder, that was a whisper as well. Like a
panicked fawn, Susana eased back again. And again. He matched her, step for
step.
She
swallowed heavily. “I… You have descended upon us with no warning—”
“My
brother sent a letter.”
He was
too close. Far too close. She swallowed heavily. “Twenty-five men that now need
to be housed and fed. On top of that, I have many other duties that need
attending.”
He cocked
his head to the side. “Which duties?”
“Many duties.”
She frowned and glanced toward the staircase. Ah, lord. It was so far… He was
too warm. Too broad. Too alluring. Though she didn’t intend to, she took
another step back and—
Oh hell.
He’d backed her against the wall. That he couldn’t stand straight in the
low-ceilinged room was a small consolation.
“Susana,”
he said as he leaned closer. His breath was a tantalizing trail over her face.
An unholy
thrill snaked through her. Surely that wasn’t anticipation? Hunger? Need?
She could
not allow him to kiss her. She could not—
Her knees
nearly melted at the touch of his lips. His warmth, his taste, his scent made
her mind whirl. Thank God he had his hands on her waist and was holding her
steady, or she might well have collapsed.
It
occurred to her that she should push him away, fight him, but she couldn’t.
Something, something deep within her resisted. Something deep within her needed
him. Needed this.
And ah,
it was glorious. As glorious as she remembered.
His lips
were soft, gentle, questing as they tested hers and then, with a groan, he
pulled her closer, melding their bodies together. He deepened the kiss, sealing
his mouth over hers and dancing his tongue over the seam.
She
opened to him. She couldn’t resist. He filled her senses with his presence, his
heat. With tiny nibbles, sucks and laps, he consumed her, enflamed her. All
sanity fled. All logic and resolution and anger flitted away as Andrew tasted
her, tempted her.
His hands
were not still. They roved over her body from her shoulders, down her arms to
her waist. They tangled in her hair and stroked her cheek and chin.
Heat
blossomed, skittered through her veins. Her body softened, melted, prepared for
him.
She
should not have responded the way she did. She should not have pressed against
him, rubbed against the hard bulge on his belly. She should not have explored
the hard flesh of his back, cupped his nape, raked his silken scalp. She should
not have moaned.
Surely
all these things would only encourage him.
He lifted
his head and stared at her, an odd mixture of befuddlement and awe in his eyes.
His tongue peeped out and dabbed at his lips, snagging her attention. Surely
she didn’t lean toward him in a mute plea for more.
Was she
truly so weak?
Aye. She
was.
WHAT PEOPLE ARE SAYING ABOUT SABRINA YORK’S UNTAMED HIGHLANDERS
Bold and steamy—Publisher’s Weekly
A stunning tale from beginning to end—Love, Life and Booklust
Top Pick—Night Owl Reviews
York turns her talent for sizzle to men in kilts—and the women who love them—in her newest sexy romp—RT Magazine
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Untamed Highlanders Series:
Hannah and the Highlander
Susana and the Scot
Lana and the Laird—Coming in May 2016
Want More Highlanders by Sabrina York?
Laird of her Heart--Highland Time Travel Tarnished Honor--
Waterloo Heroes Romance
About Sabrina York
Her Royal Hotness, Sabrina York, is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of hot, humorous stories for smart and sexy readers. Her titles range from sweet & sexy to scorching romance.
Visit her webpage to check out her books, excerpts and contests.
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