Every Saturday, a group of romance authors share sexy snippets from their published works or works-in-progress. We share seven paragraphs, seven sentences, or seven words. To read some selections from other authors, click here.
My snippet comes from the second book in The Lords of Oxford Series. I’m going to share seven paragraphs of a weak-in-the-knees moment from A Marquis For All Seasons.
“Close your eyes,” he commanded, chuckling slightly as she quirked her brows, both of course, without acquiescing. “Please.” He chuckled again as she harrumphed then closed her eyes. Stafford stepped closer until they were nearly touching from head to foot. He drew a finger up to stroke the outline of her countenance. “Your face is the shape of a heart, your jaw stubborn and proud, and the strength of your character and determination can be easily seen,” he began, “but it’s also soft as the finest silk, tempting a man to feel if it is as smooth as it seems.” He traced the line of her jaw, from ear to chin and back. She trembled slightly. He smiled. He moved his finger to her cheek.
“Your skin here is so fine, the color of the most delectable cream, and flushes a pretty pink with your every emotion.” At his words she pinkened but did not retreat from his touch.
“Your nose is neither aristocratically long nor snubbishly pert. I love the way it wrinkles when you have a problem to solve or find fault with something.” He drew his finger down the bridge, tapping her nose lightly on the end. He paused in his inventory, smiling to himself as she unconsciously scrunched her nose. He moved his exploration to her eyelid, tracing first one, then the other.
“These protective folds cover a most intriguing pair of eyes – blue as the most precious sapphire of India, yet bluer than the sky on the clearest summer day. They are as mesmerizing and captivating as water of the Channel you so love near your summer home.” A sigh escaped her and he moved to her brow.
“These specimens are most provocative; perfectly proportioned, slightly darker than your honey-colored hair, and so expressive.” He drew a light finger over each one, marveling at the tiny shiver it elicited from her. “I find it fascinating how they raise in simultaneous salute when you mock me, or think you return my quizzical stare.” She gasped and tried to open her eyes but he rested both forefingers against her lids. “You do, raising both brows rather than one, and it is most endearing. I hope that never changes,” he confided almost absentmindedly, distracted by his next object.
“Lastly, your lips . . .” he began softly, tracing first the top, then the bottom, slowly, deliberately, focusing intently on the path of his fingers. Her lips parted slightly under his touch, her tongue darting out to moisten them. Stafford’s gut clenched, and he leaned in to whisper, so closely his lips might have brushed hers with certain syllables, but he could not be sure. He was falling under his own spell, and could not find cause to care one whit. “These are most enticing to a man, like the petals of a bud that has yet to bloom, its promise of secrets hidden within more intoxicating than the strongest of spirits.” He brushed his lips across hers. Miranda gasped and grabbed his arms for support. Her eyes popped open to stare deeply into his. Stafford felt as if all the air fled from the room, his gut clenching awkwardly again.
“You are not merely pretty, Lady Miranda, nor beautiful. You are enchanting.” She stared deeply into his eyes, possibly his very soul, before dropping her gaze to his lips. He swallowed convulsively at the sight before kissing her lightly again. Where these words and feelings were coming from he knew not, but the compulsion to speak them, then drown in another of her kisses, was irresistible.