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...
Read on for an exclusive excerpt of Susana and the Scot and a chance to win a sparkly tiara!
Susana and the Scot, Book 2 in the Stand Alone Untamed Highlanders Series
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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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.
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WHAT
PEOPLE ARE SAYING ABOUT SABRINA YORK’S UNTAMED HIGHLANDERS
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Top
Pick—Night Owl ReviewsYork
turns her talent for sizzle to men in kilts—and the women who love them—in her
newest sexy romp—RT Magazine
Untamed Highlanders Series
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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
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