Her mind was scrambling for an explanation before she broke down and cried. She wanted to throw her arms around him, shower him with kisses—but he was a stranger. A stranger with her Thorn’s face. Apparently he was the new neighbor she had been worried about.
“I met you before I went to Europe, didn’t I?” she asked him hopefully. “I just can’t recall exactly when or how…”
“No, I would have remembered meeting you, believe me,” he said with a look that set off heat waves in her belly. “But it’s possible you saw me. I was here a couple times while the movers were getting my things settled in. I think that was before your trip.”
She nodded. That had to be it. She’d seen him, his image had stuck in her mind without her realizing it, and since she found him handsome, very, very handsome, his was the image she’d put into her dreams. Maybe she wasn’t losing her mind after all.
“I heard you’re a college professor. That was the career I nearly chose myself, until someone steered me into writing instead.”
“What do you write?”
“Fantasy fiction. My last book came out a couple of months ago. Maybe you saw it in the airports during your recent traveling?”
The only memory she had of her trip to Europe was of being so rushed because she’d gone back home for Blooddrinker’s Curse, that she’d snatched up a book in the airport newsstand without really glancing at it. But of course, that had been part of her dream. Her real flight to England must have been so mundane, she didn’t recall it at all. So it was possible she’d seen his book. She just had no memory of it.
“What was it about?” she asked, merely to be polite.
“A fantasy about the Viking god Thor’s unknown brother Thorn. Fascinating concept, dealing with a cursed sword and time traveling—what’s wrong?”
Her knees had buckled. Her vision blurred for a moment. She came about as close to fainting as she ever had, and he’d reached to grab her when she’d started to sink to the floor. His touch, his closeness, only made it worse. Her system was going haywire, thinking he was Thorn, making her want…Oh, God, was she dreaming again?
“It’s okay,” she got out, but it wasn’t. Now she was certain that she was losing her mind. “I just felt a little dizzy. And I—I think I have read your book. I must have picked it up in the airport.”
“Really?” He beamed. “How’d you like it?”
“It was—very unusual. There was a love story in it too, wasn’t there?”
“Yes. I don’t usually do love stories—just not my thing. But it seemed appropriate for this book.”
“I don’t recall finishing it. How did it end?”
“Odin told my hero that his lady lied. She did love him. She loved him enough to send him away, because she thought she knew what was best for him. She thought he couldn’t be happy in her time.”
She knew that she was imagining that his expression was now somewhat reproachful, as if he were actually blaming her…
“I hear the phone ringing,” she lied. “Why don’t you ask Carol for that sugar.”
She closed the door on him before he could make a reply and leaned back against it, closing her eyes as she groaned. Her heart was pounding erratically. And then she felt utterly foolish.
Of course he hadn’t been looking at her reproachfully. She’d only imagined it because she deserved it. And she really must have read his book on the way to England. Gail had even suggested something like that. And nothing else made sense. Somehow, when she’d been sick, she’d lived the book in her delirious dreams, put herself in the heroine’s shoes, and because she was so sick, her mind had somehow obliterated some of her real life in order to substitute those dreams, making her think they were real, rather than what really was real.
The doorbell rang again, drawing a startled gasp from her. It was him again. She knew it. She counted on it. Thorn would never have given up that easily…Oh, God, what was she thinking? She had to stop that. He wasn’t Thorn, he was a complete stranger.
But as soon as she opened the door again, that complete stranger pulled her into his arms and kissed her. And it was no how-do-you-do-ma’am type of kiss, if there was such a thing, but a deep, welcome-home-I-missed-you-like-crazy type of kiss that she found very, very familiar.
When he let go of her, setting her back on her feet—she hadn’t realized they’d left the floor—all she wanted to do was leap back into his arms. There was no thought of slapping him for his audacity when that kiss had been so damn familiar to her.
“I’m not going to say I’m sorry for that,” he told her, his expression now looking seriously possessive. “I hope you don’t think this is a come-on, but for some reason I can’t begin to explain, I felt I had the right to kiss you.”
She knew why she felt she had that right, but him? Better not to even discuss that kiss, so she merely nodded and changed the subject. “I forgot to ask how the love story part of your book ended.”
He grinned. “My hero couldn’t stay in Valhalla, of course. He’d only been a guest there, thanks to his brother’s intercession, but that was a place for the dead, and he was still very much alive. So Odin took pity on him—he really had a bad case of the broken heart—and granted him his choice of times to live out his life. You can guess what time he picked.”
She managed a grin herself. “Oh, I don’t know. Considering how much he loved fighting and war—”
“He loved her more, Roseleen,” he said, and he was suddenly looking at her so seriously, so intently, her heart skipped a beat. “He would have done anything to get back to her, even if he had to live his life over again in her time, and wait until he reached the age at which she knew him, before he could finally find her and make her his again.”
“Is—is that what he did?”
“Oh, yes, and he considered it well worth the wait. Don’t you agree?”
Her smile came slowly, but soon it was blinding. She wasn’t going to question how it happened. Either she had really lived those dreams and her own life had been somewhat altered, so that at least she could retain her memories of him after she’d sent him away, which Odin could have easily seen to, she supposed. Or a glimpse of him and a fantasy story had so impressed her, that she’d actually fallen in love in a dream, because her illness had made that dream seem so real.
Did she agree? “Actually, I think she should spend the rest of her life making it up to him, for being so foolish as to think she knew what was best for him.”
His curt nod was achingly familiar. “A woman’s opinion. Not bad. I’ll have to consult you about the ending of my next book.” And then he was smiling at her with promise in his eyes. “I kind of like the idea about her making things up to him, though.”
She lifted a brow. “That’s not the way you ended it?”
“No, my ending was rather abrupt. They find each other again and she invites him to dinner.”
Roseleen took the hint and laughed. “Speaking of which, how would you like to come to dinner tonight—to further discuss your book?”
“Careful, Roseleen,” he warned, managing to sound both teasing and serious. “Once you invite me in, it’s hard to get rid of me.”
As if she’d want to get rid of him. She wasn’t about to make that mistake twice, and the smile she gave him assured him of that. She had her Viking back. And she wasn’t going to let him go again.
Enter the World of Johanna Lindsey
Welcome to the world of Johanna Lindsey, and enter into a fantasy of your choosing. Immerse yourself deep into times when men were warriors, tamed only by very special women, and romance reigned supreme. Whether it is against the backdrop of glamorous Regency England society, the pageantry of a medieval court, the wild wilderness of the American West, or any other you can imagine, Johanna Lindsey knows how to make a love story come alive. Enjoy!
Captive Bride
Johanna Lindsey touched deep into the soul of her readers with her first romance. The world realized a new star was born with this
tale of an arrogant Arab prince cut down to size by a strong-minded English miss.
Philip Caxton saw Christina as soon as she entered the room. She turned away with contempt when she saw him. Well, he didn’t expect an easy conquest. She had seemed to hate him last night.
He sighed, cursing the lack of time. But perhaps Christina Wakefield was just playing hard to get. After all, young women came to London to look for husbands. And he wasn’t such a bad catch. But still, with only one day’s acquaintance, the odds were against him. Damn, why hadn’t he met her sooner?
Anne Shadwell drew Christina toward Philip. “Miss Wakefield, I would like to introduce—”
She was cut off abruptly.
“We’ve met,” Christina said contemptuously.
Anne Shadwell looked startled, but Philip made an arrogantly graceful bow, took Christina’s arm firmly, and walked her out onto the balcony. She resisted, but he was sure she wouldn’t cause a scene.
When they reached the railing, she whirled to face him defiantly.
“Really, Mr. Caxton! I thought I made myself quite clear last night, but since you don’t seem to understand, let me enlighten you. I don’t like you. You are a rude, conceited man, and I find you quite intolerable. Now if you will excuse me, I am going back to join my brother.” She turned to leave, but he grabbed her hand and pulled her back to him.
“Christina, wait,” he demanded huskily, forcing her to look into his dark eyes.
“I really don’t think we have anything to say to each other, Mr. Caxton. And please refrain from using my first name.” She turned to leave again, but Philip still grasped her hand in his. She faced him once more, stamping her foot in fury.
“Let go of my hand!” she demanded.
“Not until you’ve heard what I have to say, Tina,” he answered, pulling her closer to him.
“Tina!” She glared at him. “How dare—”
“I dare anything I damn well please. Now shut up and listen to me.” He was amused at the disbelief written on her lovely face. “Tina, I want you. I would be honored if you would consent to be my wife. I would give you anything you want—jewels, beautiful gowns, my estates.”
She was looking at him in a most unusual way. She opened her mouth to say something, but the words wouldn’t come out. And then he felt the sting of her hand across his cheek.
“I have never been so insulted in my—”
But Philip didn’t let her finish. He gathered her in his arms and silenced her words with a deep, penetrating kiss. He held her tightly against him, feeling her breasts pressed against his chest, crushing the breath from her body. She was struggling to free herself, but her efforts only increased his desire.
Then, unexpectedly, Christina went limp in his arms and threw him off guard. Philip thought she had fainted but winced when he felt a sharp pain in his shin. He released her instantly to grab his leg, and when he looked up, Christina was running into the drawing room.
He should have known better, Philip told himself.
He should have gone to her home in Halstead and courted her slowly. But that wasn’t his way. Besides, he had never courted a woman before. He was used to getting what he wanted immediately, and he wanted Christina.
A Gentle Feuding
Sheena Fergusson is the most prized beauty in Scotland. Every man wants to possess her—except for Jamie MacKinnion, the avowed enemy of her clan. But when the proud laird finally lays eyes on Sheena, his warrior’s heart is conquered by the ethereal magnificence of this woman.
James MacKinnion moved slowly. An enveloping mist still clung to the dewy ground, and he was sopping wet from crossing the second of the two Esk rivers. He was tired from lack of sleep and the rough ride south. There was something wrong in all this, but he didn’t know what it could be.
The mist swirled and parted before him in a gentle breeze, revealing for a moment a wooded glen not far ahead. Then the mist settled again, and the vision was gone. Jamie rode for it; the trees were a pleasant change from the barren moors and heather-clad hills.
He had never been this far east on Fergusson land before. He had never raided Lowlanders in the spring before, either.
Jamie’s anger warred with his common sense. Dead men demanded he ride to avenge them. A scrap of plaid demanded he ride south. Yet…why? He would have given anything for more evidence. The act bordered on insanity. Was he sure of what he was doing?
The mist was rising steadily as Jamie entered the wooden glen.
Then he heard a sound, and in a flash he slid off his horse and ran for cover. But when he listened again, he recognized the sound as a giggle, a feminine giggle.
Leaving his horse behind, he moved stealthily through the bracken and trees toward the sound.
When Jamie saw her, he wasn’t quite sure he believed the vision. A young girl was standing waistdeep in a small pool, the mist swirling about her head. She looked like a water sprite, a kelpie, unreal, yet real enough.
The girl laughed again as she splashed water across her naked breasts. The sound enchanted Jamie. He was mesmerized by the girl, rooted where he was, watching her play. She was frolicking and having a joyous time of it.
She was like nothing he had ever seen before, a beauty, and no mistake about it. In a moment she faced him, and he saw nearly all of her loveliness. Pearly white skin contrasted starkly with brilliant, deep red hair. Almost magenta, it was so dark and gleaming and long. Two strands waved around her breasts and floated in the water. And those breasts were tantalizing, round, high and proud in youthful glory, the peaks sharply pointed because of the caress of icy water. Her features were unmistakably delicate. The only thing not clear to Jamie was the color of her eyes. He was not quite close enough to see, and the reflection of the water made them appear a blue so clear and bright as to be glowing quite impossibly. Was his imagination running wild? He wanted to move closer and see.
What he really wanted was to join her in the water. It was an insane idea, born of the strange effect she was having on him. What if she let him come to her, let him touch her as he ached to do? He had to leave before common sense completely fled. As if to point out his folly in tarrying, the first rays of sun broke through the glen, showing him the time he had wasted. His brother and the others would have all returned to the men by the river. They would all be waiting for him.
Jamie was suddenly sickened. Watching the girl, being transported to what seemed a sphere outside reality, he was appalled by the contrast between the lovely scene before him and the bloody one he would see in just a short while. Yet he could no more stop the one that was soon to happen than he could forget the one he was watching. Both seemed inevitable.
Jamie’s last look at the girl was a wistful one. Beams of sunlight dotted the pool, and one touched the girl and lit her hair like a burst of flame. With a sigh, he turned away. That last vision of the mystical girl would be etched in his memory for a long time to come.
Love Only Once
With Love Only Once, Johanna Lindsey introduced her beloved Malory family. The romances of these outrageous and outspoken sensualists, set in the ever-popular Regency era, are pure magic. Nicholas Eden, the rakish fourth Viscount of Montieth, is as enchanted as readers during this first encounter with Regina Ashton. Having just discovered that he has accidentally kidnapped the Malory ingenue, he is now setting her free. But if he is expecting anger from his unintended hostage, he’s in for a surprise.
She stood framed by the window, gazing at him in a startling direct way. There was no shyness in her look and no fear either on that exquisite, delicate, heartshaped face. The eyes were disturbing, with an exotic slant. Such dark blue eyes in that fair face, so blue and clear, like colored crystal. The lips were soft and full and the nose was straight and slender. A thick fringe of sooty lashes framed those extraordinary eyes, while black brows arched gently above them. Her hair was raven black, too, in tight little ringlets surrounding her face, giving her fair skin a glow like polished ivory.
She was breathtaking. The beauty didn’t stop with her face, either. She was petite, yes, but there was nothing childlike about her form. Firm young breasts pressed against the thin muslin of her rose gown. He wanted to pull the rose muslin down a few inches and watch those lovely breasts spring free. He received another jolt then, feeling his manhood rise against his will. Lord, he hadn’t lost control like that since his youth!
Desperate to bring everything under control, he cast about for something—anything—to say. “Hello.”
His tone implied “What have we here?” And Reggie grinned despite herself. He was gorgeous, simply gorgeous. It wasn’t just his face, though that was striking. There was a sexual magnetism about him that was quite unnerving.
“Hello, yourself,” Reggie said impishly. “I was beginning to wonder when you would realize your mistake. You certainly took enough time about it.”
“I am just now wondering if I have in fact made a mistake at all. You don’t look like a mistake. You look very much like something I did right for a change.”
He quietly closed the door and leaned back against it, those beautiful amber eyes boldly moving over her from head to foot. It was not at all safe for a young lady to be alone with a man of his stamp, and Reggie recognized that. Yet for some reason he couldn’t fathom, she wasn’t afraid of this man. Scandalously, she wondered if it would be such a terrible thing to lose her virtue to him. Oh, it was a reckless mood she was suddenly in!
She eyed the closed door and his large frame blocking that only exit. “Fie on you, sir. I hope you don’t mean to compromise me more than you already have.”