Renna Scot does not suffer fools, gallantly manages her Victorian Estate outside of New York City, as well as many successful business concerns. Among her world are sidekick Gabriel, young, and as sweet as he is mischievous. Seth, her right hand, silent but intentional, grounding, but with his own past. Bella, Bella, Bella, beautiful actress, long time love – a bond sealed by many years of friendship, their shared past, passion. Wild Dove, her childhood friend, guide, and so much more. Renna, however, is an unconventional woman of many tastes, tends to juggle infatuations as a means of balancing her dedication, hard work, intensity – luckily her charm, or if it comes down to it, fierce independence, keep her a step ahead of most trifles. Enter Comtesse de Havana, a dark, mysterious traveler who instantly gets under skin, is not conditioned to the other’s carefully constructed world, or likely to bow to it the way others do. Their impossible attraction is immediate, though neither has any intention of admitting, or accepting it - as if they have a choice.
Book II picks up as the Comtesse is invited back after much consternation, following her abrupt departure. Will they continue to struggle to occupy the same space peacefully (attraction, strong wills, a bit of mystery)? Even as time goes on, and the worldly Comtesse may be the first to consider there could be more between them, are her wit and wiles enough to work through the other’s stubborn resolve, draw them into a dark romance? For Renna, things will hinge on whether there is safe ground between attraction and surrender. Is there ever?
Note: Not for the faint of heart - delves into a truly dark, intense attraction (possible romance), wanders through unconventional predilections, occupations, in a rough and tumble time, setting.
From ‘Comtesse de Havana – In For A Penny – Book II’:
The following afternoon I am in the kitchen canning even though there are staff who could certainly manage it. An odd thing that I like it, but I do. Transforming one thing to another is satisfying - and practical, for that matter. I can let my mind drift, while my hands are busy - almost like being with a woman. Looking around at the pots and mess in front of me, I laugh at myself. Except for the flame to heat the water, the sweetness of the berries, there is really no comparison.
“A watched pot never boils,” says an accent behind me.
I turn to find the Comtesse looking splendid in a light green dress that sets off her skin tone, and displays more than a little cleavage. Her smile is mixed, eyes full of that ever-present smolder. “Really?” I am in a mood where I wonder if I stare long enough, will she boil? But here I contradict myself, having deemed her too uneven for my taste – and men, I think, are her thing anyway.
“It is what I have heard.”
The woman does nothing without sensuality. The graceful way she lays her hand on the back of the nearest chair. The tilt to her head. The arch in her brow. The full, nicely shaped lips turned up on only one end. I have to turn away. “I suspect I may not want to know where you heard it,” I remind myself.
Arriving beside me, “nonsense - my mother liked to cook. I don’t remember her as well as I’d like, but it was something she used to say to me, especially when I was being impatient.”
I steal a glance. She is perfect. “Oh, well, that does seem innocent enough.”
“See,” she tries to smile demurely, “I am not entirely bad.”
“Perhaps not entirely,” is the most I can consider.
“You should get to know me, you could be surprised,” eyebrow hopping.
