by Genevieve Dowd
August 25, 2015
This is one wounded warrior who'll need special healing.
Reknowned healer Lily MacInnon is summoned to help the Laird of Braghmor recover from a blow to the head during battle. His wound has left him blind and in doubt of his ability to lead his clan. Lily knows just how to prove to the handsome warrior that he is as strong and powerful as ever...and every inch a man.
About the series: Sexcapades is a series of uninhibited sexual escapades from your favorite best selling romance authors. www.sexcapades-stories.com
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3rd place winner for the 2016 Book Buyer’s Best Award
Excerpt from Sexcapades: Lily and the Laird
She should have expected such foolishness. He was a man who was frustrated about his condition and would rebel any way he could. She should be angry or outraged or at least annoyed. But the man could kiss, and her body well remembered what it felt like to have a strong man curled about her in a warm bed on a cold night. And it had been so very long since she had felt that delicious pleasure.
The body beneath hers was hard muscle, his arms strong, his touch sure. A warrior’s body to be sure, and she would be less than a woman if she did not feel this lightheadedness, this giddy joy, and the heat flaring between her legs at being touched by such a man after so long.
She would re-establish her authority. In a minute.
For this brief, stolen moment, she allowed her mouth to open beneath his, her tongue to tangle with his. She grew lax against him, curling the fingers of her free hand into his bare chest. Sweet Jesu, he could kiss, and when he stroked the length of her body to rest his hand on her bottom, she nearly exploded.
Beneath her relaxing thighs, the hardness of his cock tented beneath the blanket. A good sign of health, that. Did he wear anything at all under the bed clothes? The idea that she could slide her hand beneath the coverlet and curl it around that cock, stroke him, bring him pleasure, taunted her like a dark dream. She dug her nails into his chest, torn between the temptation of audacity and the practicality of not losing her employment.
And the vision. She must not forget the vision.
That last thought jarred her from her sensual haze. She knew what she had to do. She pulled her mouth from his. “If this was a battle of wills, who won?”
He stared at her for a moment. Through the darkness—and why was the bloody room so dim anyway—she could tell that he had been as lost in their passionate moment as she had been.
He cleared his throat, but his voice remained husky as he replied, “I think ‘twas an equal match.”
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