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Overview
Highland beauty Catriona Kincaid cares nothing for propriety—or even her own safety—when she storms the grounds of Newgate Prison. Determined to return to Scotland and restore her clan's honor, she seeks the help of Sir Simon Wescott, a disgraced nobleman and notorious rogue. She is prepared to offer him both wealth and freedom, but she never dreams the wicked rake will be bold enough to demand a far more sensual prize.
Some like it seductive . . .
Simon is shocked to discover the tomboy he met long ago has blossomed into a headstrong temptress. Although he's sworn off his dreams of becoming a hero, he can't resist playing knight errant to Catriona's damsel in distress. Both adventure and peril await them at her Highland home, where they will risk their lives to vanquish her enemies . . . and risk their hearts to discover a passion beyond their wildest dreams.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780061235351 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | HarperCollins |
| Publication date: | 07/29/2008 |
| Series: | Kincaid Highlands , #1 |
| Pages: | 384 |
| Sales rank: | 302,436 |
| Product dimensions: | 4.00(w) x 6.70(h) x 1.20(d) |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
Some Like It Wicked
Chapter 1
England1805
A throaty feminine moan disturbed the cozy peace of the stable loft. As Catriona Kincaid jerked up her head, the drowsy bit of fluff draped over the back of her neck let out a shrill mew.
Fortunately, the kitten's protest was drowned out by another moan from below, this one underscored by a husky, knowing chuckle that sent a warm shiver tingling down Catriona's spine.
Still gripping the book she'd been reading, she used her elbows to wiggle forward on her stomach through the slanting beams of shadow and sunshine. The kitten began to gnaw at her hair with the ferocity of a lion cub. As an insipid giggle drifted to her ears, along with the intriguing rhythms of labored breathing, she leaned down and pressed her eye to a generous crack between two boards.
Even in the faded light, her cousin's hair gleamed like a tousled blond halo around her flushed face. Alice was pinned against a stall door opposite the loft, caught in the fervent embrace of an officer of His Majesty's Royal Navy. As he pressed his open mouth to the pale column of her throat, she tilted her head back, revealing shuttered eyes and moist lips parted with some indefinable hunger.
Catriona's own mouth fell open. She'd never seen her vain cousin so unconcerned about smearing her powder or rumpling the elegant train of her garden gown. This dashing new beau of hers must weave a powerful spell indeed.
Catriona's curious gaze shifted to his back. The young officer's dark blue dress coat had been tossed over a nearby stall door. His dazzling white shirt was stretched taut over his broad shoulderswhile his waistcoat hugged his lean waist. White breeches clung to his narrow hips, tapering down over muscular calves and thighs to disappear into a pair of shiny black Hessians.
It wasn't the sculpted beauty of those hips that drew Catriona's eyes back to them, but the subtle movement that accompanied each of his forays against her cousin's throat. The provocative motion struck such a delicate balance between coaxing and demand that it was as if his lean, clever body had been created for just such wicked pursuits by God Himself. Or by Lucifer.
When he shifted his avid attentions from Alice's throat to her parted lips, Catriona gaped, mesmerized. Not even in her most wicked dreams had she imagined such kissing! It bore no relation to the grudging buss on the cheek her aunt allowed her uncle each night before they retired to their separate chambers. She touched her fingertips to her own tingling lips, wondering how it might feel to have them devoured with such tender ardor. Her parents had been generous with both their hugs and their kisses but since coming to live with her uncle's family, she hadn't received so much as a dry peck on the brow.
The shameless scapegrace took advantage of her cousin's distraction by dipping his long, tapered fingers into the lacy décolletage of her gown. Alice murmured a halfhearted protest. Catriona rolled her eyes. Alice had pitched a more convincing fit at breakfast that morning when Catriona had wolfed down the last kipper. Between one breath and the next, Alice's objection melted to a mewling gasp of pleasure. She arched her back to better fill the officer's skilled fingers with her ample breasts.
Catriona wanted to turn away in disgust, but couldn't. She hadn't been quite so captivated since Monsieur Garnerin had crashed his hot-air balloon into a flock of bleating belles at Vauxhall Gardens.
With a grace more deserving of a minuet, the man pivoted, gently backing Alice toward the bed of hay directly beneath Catriona's perch. The sun-dappled shadows flirted with his face, making it impossible to get a clear look at him. Catriona suppressed a groan of frustration as they disappeared from view. If the man could handle a warship with half that finesse, she thought, Britain's victory over Napoleon's navy should be assured.
The intriguing rustle of both hay and clothing being rearranged whetted her curiosity beyond bearing. Scrambling to her hands and knees, Catriona crawled forward until she could hang her head over the edge of the loft.
She had forgotten about the kitten perched on her shoulder until he dug ten tiny claws into her tender nape. Sucking back a yelp of pain, she let go of her nose and made a grab for the kitten. A cloud of dust and pollen flew up her nose. A mighty sneeze gathered in her lungs. Even if the good Lord had blessed her with three hands, she wouldn't have had time to decide which one to use to grab the kitten, muffle the sneeze, and maintain her teetering balance.
As it was, she could only bat wildly at the air as she tumbled headfirst out of the hayloft and crashed into the imposing back of the man preparing to settle himself between her cousin's pale, shapely thighs.
Simon Wescott could feel the hot breath of hell blowing down his neck.
It wasn't the first time he'd experienced that particular whiff of brimstone, nor was it likely to be the last. Hazardous experience had taught him that enraged papas, the self-appointed guardians of their daughters' virtue (either real or illusory), were even more dangerous than irate husbands. Fearful that it was just such a papa who had landed on his back, he waited for a muscled forearm to tighten around his throat.
Some Like It Wicked. Copyright © by Teresa Medeiros. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.