eBook Details

The Trouble with Being Wicked

Series: The Naughty Girls , Book 1.0
By: Emma Locke | Other books by Emma Locke
Published By: Intrepid Reads
Published: Dec 18, 2012
ISBN # 9780985455842
Word Count: 104,000
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Available in: Epub, Mobipocket (.mobi), Adobe Acrobat

Categories: Romance>Historical Regency Fiction Historical Fiction

Description
HE PUT HER ON A PEDESTAL...
When Celeste Gray arrives in the sleepy village of Brixcombe-on-the-Bay, she thinks she's one step closer to leaving her notorious past behind. She even suspects the deliciously handsome—if somewhat stuffy—viscount next door is developing a tendre for her. That is, until the day Ashlin Lancester learns she's not the unassuming spinster she's pretending to be.

NOW SHE HAS FARTHER TO FALL
After a decade of proving he is nothing like his profligate father, Ash is horrified to have given his heart to a Cyprian. He launches a campaign to prove his attraction is nothing more than a sordid reaction he can't control. But he soon learns that unlike his father, he can't find comfort in the arms of just any woman. He needs Celeste. When he takes her as his mistress, he's still not satisfied, and the many late nights in her arms only make him want more...


The Trouble with Being Wicked is a full-length book (104,000 words) and the first book in The Naughty Girls series. The second book, The Problem with Seduction, is now available and the third book, The Art of Ruining a Rake, will be released in early 2013.
 
Reader Rating:  starstarstarstar (2 Ratings)
Sensuality Rating:   lipliplip
Excerpt:
She spun to face him. Her chin notched up. “I can make my own way home, my lord.”

For some reason, that only irritated him more. “That is precisely the attitude I take issue with. I don’t care what your age is or how firmly you are on the shelf. You are an unmarried woman. You ought to have a chaperone. You ought to have…well, something.”

There must have been a hundred things he could have said that would have made her less angry with him. Attacking her independence wasn’t one of them. “What gives you the right to lecture me? You are not my brother.”

“Damned right I’m not. I would have locked you in the attic, wrapped your—” he indicated the generous expanse of cleavage heaving before his eyes, “this in a blanket, and beat away all the loathsome ‘suitors’ who meant you harm.”

“Is that so? And if I had a brother, what do you think he should have done to you last night? Smacked your cheek with his glove? Called for a special license?”

Ash drew back. He hated that she’d thrown his mistake in his face. “It was just a kiss.” But there was no such thing as just a kiss. One kiss could have them leg-shackled, if the right person witnessed it. If her reputation were as clean as the driven snow, one kiss could be enough to cause her ruination.

But they weren’t being watched right now. And deep inside him, he knew his hadn’t been her first.

Indignation brought fire into her eyes. She was beautiful. Angry. But hissing, spitting mad, she was the loveliest woman he’d ever seen. Had he really imagined himself with a meek woman? Surely there would be no fun in that.

“Just a kiss,” he whispered. To himself, not her. For maybe his father had been on to something with his pursuit of passionate women. Ladies of the night, tavern wenches, even Ash’s own mother. His father had never been happy to merely exist. For the first time, Ash had an inkling why. “Just a kiss.”

And just to prove a kiss meant nothing, he stepped forward. Pressed his body to her slight, shaking one. And kissed her.

Her lips were sweet, soft, with just a hint of salt. She recoiled at the suddenness of his change of tack but he stroked his hands over her back until she eased. Then he delved into her hot mouth and thrust his hands into that mass of hair that was never tamed. He pulled her closer. Then closer still, until the swell in his breeches became unbearable.

He lifted her easily and had her against the oak in two steps. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he groaned and pressed deeper, allowing himself a hint of relief against her core. It was, in a word, madness. But he wasn’t mad. He was merely his father’s son.

Readily she responded, all curves and wanton womanliness. He should have realized sooner she wasn’t the young woman he’d imagined her to be. She was too confident, and damned if he wasn’t aware of her appeal.

“Trestin,” she said, freeing her lips to breathe his name. “Oh, Trestin. We cannot do this.”

“Yes, I know,” he replied, kissing her, squeezing his eyes shut, letting his hands roam her body. He grasped handfuls of curves. Breasts. Hips. Buttocks.

So this was how Montborne was always getting himself into trouble. This was what had killed his father.

Ash stilled. Slowly, he released her. She wasn’t angry anymore. At least, the thoroughly kissed look on her face didn’t hint at it.

Instead, she regarded him wryly, with a hint of resignation. As though she had known it would come to this.

“I cannot be cross with you anymore. You’re only behaving as men do.”

Was this how men behaved? All men? Or just the depraved ones? Just the ones who had lost control? His disgust with himself knew no bounds.

Straightening, he set her down and unhooked their hands, which somehow had become a tangle of fingers and palms. As though he couldn’t quite let her go, despite knowing it must be done.

“If you suppose this is how a man behaves,” he said, “I have some grave doubts about your past.” He grimaced. He hadn’t meant to sound so harsh. Not when it was he who’d dragged her to the tree.

She only laughed. Hollowness rang an undertone. “You amuse me, Lord Trestin, and so I shall make you a deal. Allow me to befriend your sisters and I will allow you to pay court to me. You can show me exactly how it is a proper gentleman behaves.”

A direct hit. He could no more behave with decorum around her than she could stop seducing him. “Funny, as I want neither of those things.”

That infernal eyebrow rose. “As you say.”

The Trouble with Being Wicked

By: Emma Locke
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