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In Like Lion, Out Like a Lamb

His Fiercest or Gentlest Moment

Coming Monday March 1, 2010

Most Romantic First Kiss Paranormal

Most Romantic First Kiss Paranormal - Which of these stories wins you over as a reader in this round of the Stories Stripped Published Author Contest?

THE WINNER IS BLACK -  

Somewhere My Love By Beth Trissel

RED
Granite Kiss
by Jennifer Cole

from  Liquid Silver Books Buy it HERE

Blue
Carolina Wolf
By Sela Carsen
http://selacarsen.com/
From Samhain Publishing  Buy the Book HERE

GREEN
 A Ghost of a Chance,
Legends Book 2
by Carolan Ivey 

http://www.carolanivey.com

Samhain Publishing - Buy Here

BLACK WINNER
Somewhere My Love
By Beth Trissel
http://www.bethtrissel.com/
from The Wild Rose Press - Buy this Book 

#1 - Red

Granite Kiss
by Jennifer Cole

from  Liquid Silver Books Buy it HERE

 

“A spell was cast, there is always a way to break it.” Elena stood beside the sofa and pressed her fingers to her temples.

A challenge always got her blood flowing. Elena loved to solve a mystery. Why could she not concentrate on fitting the pieces of this puzzle together?

The reason for her distraction sat on the sofa, eyeing her as if she were a tasty little morsel he was dying to sample. Any doubts she had about Zander’s interest dissipated at an alarming speed.

No longer could she stand it. The differences between their physical forms meant nothing to her in the grand scheme of things. Elena could no longer fight the attraction, and damn it, she knew Zander felt it as well. She could see it in his eyes when he looked at her; felt it in the weight of his stare as he watched her. More importantly, she felt his need when he held her in his arms. His touch was electric.

Elena wanted more. No, she needed more.

“Oh the gods, this is ridiculous,” Elena said, and leapt through the air, landing on top of Zander.

*

The suddenness of Elena’s acrobatics threw Zander off guard, causing him to lean back into the sofa.

“What are you--” His question was cut short as Elena brushed her soft lips against his.

The room fell silent. After several moments, she pulled away from him, waggled her brow and dragged her tongue across her lower lip.

“Uh,” he managed on a hoarse exhale. “That was... nice.”

“Nice?” she repeated, narrowing her eyes.

“Well, uh, the others are--you know--here. Watching,” he said in a soft voice, trying not to attract any more attention to them. Which he knew was futile, since Elena sat sprawled on top of him, and he was panting like a dog in heat.

Elena’s heated gaze held his, and over her shoulder she growled, “Leave.”

From the corner of his eye, Zander watched his five fellow beasts stumble over one another as they raced to the open terrace door.

“See ya,” Adan said quickly.

“I was just thinking I could use some air,” Henrik announced, pushing past Mabon.

“Where are we going to go?” Kenyon muttered.

“Stop talking and just get the hell out,” Magnus said nervously, glancing back for a split second.

The loud flapping of wings carried into the suite, signaling the beasts had launched off the building.

Leaning down Elena again pressed her lips to his again.

They were just as Zander imagined, soft, confident. Elena was a woman who knew what she wanted. And by the gods, she wanted him. The taste of her made his head spin.

He needed to stop her.

The tip of her tongue teased along the seam of his lips, coaxing him to open his mouth. As he did, to utter a protest--a mild one mind you, but a protest nonetheless--Elena seized the opportunity to slip inside.

The slide of her tongue alongside his made Zander’s breath hitch. Wide eyed he watched her. Elena’s eyes were closed, lids fluttering as her excitement escalated. The subtle fragrance of feminine arousal tickled him under the nose. He inhaled deeply, her natural pheromones taunting his lust as he allowed her to control their kiss.

A moan of passion caught in her throat and her arms tightened around his neck, her fingers fisting in his dark hair.

Closing his eyes, Zander allowed himself to savor the moment. The repressed libido he had buried years ago began to emerge. With need, his hands stroked down the length of her back, over the luscious curves of Elena’s hips, to then cup and squeeze her buttocks.

If this were to be his last moment on earth, Zander would die a happy man, or rather beast. With the days of living as a man long gone, he never imagined once again living in human form. Yet right then, with Elena straddling his thighs, his body aching to be one with hers, Zander wanted nothing more than to be a man.

Just once, he began to think, and felt the instant void as Elena pulled away from his mouth.

“Do you feel it?” Her breath was harsh, her voice husky.

“W--what?” he stuttered, attempting to tamp the hoarseness of his own voice.

“The sparks. The electricity.” She paused to run the wet tip of her delicious tongue over her swollen lips. “We have chemistry.”

#2 - Blue

Carolina Wolf
By Sela Carsen
http://selacarsen.com/
From Samhain Publishing  Buy the Book HERE



Maddox caught himself against a wall, leaving a smear of blood behind.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I need a shower.”

“You need a doctor,” she answered. “And you’re freezing. Why are you so cold?”

“No doctors,” he said, ignoring the second part of her question. “I’ll heal by morning.”

Debra bent and gathered the blanket, pulling it up around his body. She stared at his chest the whole time over the tops of her glasses. 

He would have chuckled, but it hurt too much to be amused. That clever, subtle avoidance maneuver probably fooled most people.

She took up her position under his shoulder and led him through her bedroom into the master bath. The lights were off, but he saw clearly enough to make out the light cotton blanket, the rumpled pillows, the stacks of books on and around her nightstand.

The bathroom was clean, but cluttered with female paraphernalia—makeup, mirrors, creams and combs. The smells should have been overwhelming, but they were only a stronger, colder version of her. It wasn’t until they combined with the essence of Debra that they became enchanting.

Debra, Debra. Pretty, bewitching Debra.

He didn’t realize he’d said it out loud until he opened his eyes and she was staring at him.

“Do you need something?”

“What?”

“You said my name. Do you need me?”

Wrong question. The shower was running, heating the water and steaming the air around them, cushioning his senses until all he could breathe was her.

The silver was sapping his strength, stealing the warmth from his blood. The danger of silver was not only the damage of the wound itself, it also tainted the blood, draining the heat out of their bodies. Silver-killed werewolves froze from the inside out.

He lurched to his feet from his seat on the toilet lid. She had an enclosed shower big enough for two people with glass sliding doors—no tub to step over—and he stumbled inside, hissing as the water stung his skin with hot needles. The blanket fell again, this time with a wet plop. She reached in to get it out of his way, but he snagged her arm and pulled her all the way into the shower with him.

He needed her. To hold him, to help him, to be with him, to fill him.

She squealed when the water hit her full in the face, but he slid the shower door shut. Maddox pulled her closer and brushed the wet hair out of her eyes.

She spluttered, but her words weren’t important. Nothing was important but his need. The moment her soaked clothes touched his skin, the cold went away. As long as she touched him, he knew he’d survive.

“Maddox, you’re sick. You need a doctor.”

“No. Need you. Just you.” And he kissed her.

God. She tasted even better than she smelled—purer, simpler, richer, more complex. He could willingly spend decades sifting out the different flavors of Debra. She stood stiffly in his arms and he didn’t know what to do about it, didn’t know how to help her. Didn’t know how to tell her what he needed from her now.

Maddox raised his mouth from hers and stared down into her face, water dripping from her eyelashes, running in streams down her cheeks, dangling at her chin before falling into oblivion.

“Please, Debra. Help me.” He’d never begged before. Never needed to before, but he was sick and hurt and if she didn’t help him now… 

He couldn’t even finish the thought. She had to help him, even if she didn’t know how.

He bent to her face again, but not to kiss her. Not right away. Drops of water slid over her skin as though they had the right. His tongue caught one beside her lips, and the taste of his mate exploded on his tongue, made him greedy for more. More drops enticed him and he lapped at her mouth, pulling her closer when she finally opened to him, letting him into her body. Accepting him. Trusting him.

There it was. As if a door opened and she invited him in, Maddox let his mind touch hers, its light sharp and pure and blinding.

He was stunned. Humans usually didn’t have enough of a soul-light to heal themselves, much less anyone else. But there was brilliance enough here for magic like he’d never seen. And this part of her was untouched. She’d never let anyone into her heart before. It was all for him. He was too grateful to be greedy, so he simply basked in the glow, letting it flow into him, fill him until there was no room left for the poison.

In his weakness, her hands caressed and held him as tenderly as a healer, a mother, a lover. A woman. His woman. As the light overflowed him, he left her mind and came back to his.

His senses were clearing, the toxic metal leaving his body. Maddox looked over at his shoulder and watched the sluggish trail of tainted blood seep down his arm and drip to the floor, swirl into the drain. The last atom of silver left his body and he heaved a great draft of steamy air, finally warm all the way through.

“Thank you for healing me.” Then the weakness took him.

#3 - Green

A Ghost of a Chance,
Legends Book 2
by Carolan Ivey 

http://www.carolanivey.com

Samhain Publishing - Buy Here

 
Troy had never stayed in a materialized state for this long. The strain tore at him, threatened to separate the layers of his energy field and send them flying off into space like water rings from a dropped stone.

It had taken every atom of his strength to make the three-thousand-mile spatial jump, on top of staying solid long enough to rescue the woman from the flooded cave. He’d intended to bring her all the way to the top of the cliff, leave her there to be found and be on his way about finding John.

But the effort had cost him.

Troy glanced down at the face of the woman in his arms, grit his teeth and held on.

If he lost control of his energy and faltered, she would die.

His superb sense of balance, an asset in life and still now in the afterlife, didn’t fail him as he crouched on the narrow rock ledge, braced so the woman’s body wouldn’t slide off into the roiling sea. Rain slapped them from above, and the wind and waves clawed at them from everywhere else.

 Risking precious balance, he used one hand to gently unwind her long, matted black hair from around his arm and away from her face. Her lips were blue and slack, her eyes partially open and dull. 

He lowered his face to hers, checking for breath. Nothing. He let her head roll to one side and slid his fingers to the pulse point on her neck. If any life throbbed there, he couldn’t feel it for the vibrations of wind and storm.

“Oh, no you don’t. Don’t do this to me, lady…” He tilted her head back and covered her mouth with his.

He blew once, then swayed, dizzy, feeling his grip on his materialized state slipping dangerously with the extra effort it took to breathe for her. He clenched his jaw, tilted his head back and growled deep in his chest, willing his form to stay together, just a little longer. Just until help arrived. He’d seen two people poke their heads over the cliff edge above them, so he knew it wouldn’t be long.

“Not yet,” he muttered, using the vibration of his voice to send binding messages throughout his energy field, reminding it that no matter what the laws of physics said, he was in charge here. Never mind the fact that before now he’d only managed to stay solid for a few minutes at a time, and only in dire emergencies. The last time he’d done it was for the lives of his sister and Beaudry, and for his effort he’d earned a bullet in his shoulder to keep company with the gaping hole he carried around in his chest.

He lowered his mouth and breathed for her again, turning his head to feel her automatic exhale, this time accompanied by a gush of water.

Yes! Another breath into her lungs. Were her lips slightly warmer? 

He left his own there for a second or two longer than necessary, testing. A faint green color flickered in front of his eyes, like the brief flash of a hummingbird, there and gone. He tore his mouth away from hers and looked up to see what kind of strange lightning this could be, then he ducked and pressed her body tightly to his as a heavy wave broke over them. The water lifted them both off the ledge, and only by sheer will did he manage to bring them back onto the ledge safely. How much higher was the tide going to rise?

He shook water from his face, pressed the woman’s body firmly between himself and the cliff wall and bent his head to hers once again. She had to start breathing on her own soon. He couldn’t keep this up.

A movement off to his right snagged his attention. A glowing figure, winged and silent, stood on a nearby ledge, observing, not moving. 

Her guardian angel, clearly. He spared the being a two-second glare, then lost patience.

“Hey! Aren’t you going to do anything?”

The guardian’s expression grew thoughtful, then regretful. But it didn’t move, either to help or to hinder.

“Thanks a bunch.” Troy turned back to the task at hand.

Breeeeeeathe…

Without thinking what he was doing, he willed life into her. Closed his eyes and focused his energy inside her body, targeting her lungs, her barely fluttering heart.

This time, he felt her jaw move under his mouth, and her body flex in his arms. The weird, pale green lightning flickered around them again. Her first strong heartbeat resounded like a bell throughout his being, her first voluntary breath sucking in what he’d given her.

Then, before he could lift his mouth from hers, she breathed into him.

Troy nearly lost his balance, and flung out one arm to find a fingertip hold on the rock. Her breath filled his mouth, his chest, and even with his eyes closed he saw the faint green flickers of light strengthen, steady, intensify into a solid glow more brilliant than any Ireland had to offer on its best day. Heat rushed through him, and it took him a moment to register the fact that he felt it at all. As a ghost, normal physical sensations were foreign to him. Now every drop of rain hitting his skin felt like a needle. And his wounds, normally painless, now screamed at him.

He tore his mouth away and stared down at her. Her eyelids trembled, opened, light grey irises expanding as her pupils focused on his face. The same fiery emerald light that flashed round them burned in their depths. Even with their mouths now separated, her strengthening heartbeat rushed around him as if he were a child enveloped in her womb.

What the hell is happening to me?

If he was anywhere else but perched on a narrow ledge, an inch from losing her to the maw of the sea, he would have done a quick about-face and put as much space and time between them as possible. But stay he did, her life force growing stronger and flowing like a river under his hands, into him, through him and back to her. She seemed to be studying him, her mouth moving slightly as if trying to form words. But if she made any sound, it was swallowed by sea and storm. Then her eyes slid closed and her head rolled to nestle against his chest, fitting perfectly under his chin.

He swallowed, trying not to take in any more of the living energy that still enveloped them both. Something about it was as seductive as it was disturbing, and all his instincts screamed to get outside it and look at it from an objective distance before deciding what to do about it, if anything at all.

He took her cold hands, intending to tuck them inside her coat, when he caught sight of the diamond sparkling on her left ring finger.

She belongs to someone. Absurdly, the thought felt like a sucker punch to his gut.

He looked up, and finally, finally, he saw two people rappelling down the cliff, red-and-black jumpsuits making ripping sounds in the wind. A metal litter dangling between them.

“Take her first,” he yelled above the crashing tide as the rescuers reached them. Their reply was lost in the noise, but they quickly assessed the situation and expertly relieved him of his burden.

The instant her body separated from his, he felt himself dissolving, the last of his strength leaving as the green light faded. One of the rescuers cried out in alarm, but could do nothing as his grip on the rock slipped, and the icy grey sea closed over his head.

#4 - Black - WINNER

MOST ROMANTIC FIRST KISS WINNER!

Somewhere My Love
By Beth Trissel
http://www.bethtrissel.com/
from The Wild Rose Press - Buy this Book 


Will blew the layer of dust from an ornate wooden box inlaid with ivory and lifted the lid. Inside were brass workings like the mechanism of a clock. He wound a small gold key in the back until it would wind no more, and released it. The wheels and cogs turned and wonderful music flowed forth, the beautiful strains of a Viennese waltz, The Blue Danube.

Julia clapped her hands. “A music box.”

He bowed. “May I have this dance, sweet Julia?”

She gazed up into his velvet brown eyes, and he gazed back. She managed a nod and he drew her into his arms. Around the attic he waltzed with her secure in his lead. Everything fell away except this moment while the haunting melody played on, taking her back to that faintly remembered place. She didn’t even stumble, not once. It was as if some inner memory guided her in the steps, even though ballroom dancing hadn’t been a part of her lessons.

The music picked up and he swung her around and around. Her dress swirled as he circled. With each turn, he was Will—then Cole, Will—then Cole, both men in rapid succession, separate and yet the same. Her heart pounded from far more than the whirling dance.

The music faded and Will slowly stopped revolving. They stood, his arms circled at her back and waist, eyes locked on each other.

His brow furrowed. “Julia, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips. “You may be the ghost.”

He tightened his mouth in an impatient line. “Don’t try to make me into Cole again.”

“Will, listen to me. I know it sounds crazy, but I think somehow you already are.”

He dropped his hands, turning away. “Only because you insist I am.”

She grabbed his arm. “No. It’s what I saw while we danced. You must believe me.”

“Believing doesn’t make it any easier,” he said flatly.

“That’s because you think I’m misled.”

He swiveled his head at her. Exasperation flared in his eyes. “There’s a simple reason for my laboring under that assumption. You are.”

“Don’t be angry. I hate that I’ve spoiled such a lovely moment.”

“You’ve a talent for that.” He turned and strode across the floor. His footsteps echoed on the boards with a hollow sound, just as her heart would beat if he left.

She ran behind him and reached out, catching his plush shoulder. “Consider me balmy, if you must, but don’t walk away. Please Will.”

He stayed as he was. “What do you want me to do, Julia?”

“I don’t know.” She wasn’t strong enough to turn him and dashed in front instead, grasping his upper arms and twisting the fabric in her fingers. “Something—anything.”

He smiled faintly. “Never say those words to a man.”

Cupping her face between his hands, he bent his head and closed his lips over hers in an all consuming kiss...so swiftly she hardly knew what had happened. Even if he hadn’t cupped her cheeks, she wouldn’t have moved. The compelling press of his mouth bound her in place.

If possible, Julia’s heart thudded even faster than it had before. The surging pulse drummedthrough her entire being, reverberating in places she didn’t even know she had. From what she could remember of her dream with Cole, her feelings had been poignant but tender. The sensations coursing through her now weren’t entirely that. An exhilarating passion was sweeping her up in a shocking tide.

“Who am I now?” Will whispered against her mouth.

She loosened her grip on his jacket in speechless surprise, too breathless to tell him she didn’t care.

Stories Stripped - Best First Kiss - Historical

Most Romantic First Kiss

Historical

And the Winner is RED!
The Geis:  The Magic Stone
by Marie Sterbenz
Wild Horse Press

 RED

The Geis:  The Magic Stone

by Marie Sterbenz

Wild Horse Press 
http://www.mariesterbenz.com/

Black Horse  

by Veronica Blake

Dorchester Publishing
Find Out More Here

BLACK

Shadowed Knight,

by Jan Alyce Avery

Samhain Publishing
 http://www.janalyceavery.com/

GREEN
SINS OF THE HEART
by Delle Jacobs
published by Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
http://samhainpublishing.com/print/sins-of-the-heart-print Author website is http://dellejacobs.com






 

 Comment and Enter below to win a copy of

Nothing to Commend Her 

by Jo Barrett 

from The Wild Rose Press

The Earl of Pensby lost his wife in a fire, one that left him scarred in more ways than one. He’s surly, brooding, and according to half the ton, a monster. Except to Agatha Trumwell, she sees so much more than his scars. But with a pitiful dowry, unfavorable looks, and a tendency to speak her mind, she has nothing to commend her, or so she believes. Can these two lonely souls find love amid the gossiping beau monde while someone plots to tear their fragile world apart?

Visit The Wild Rose Press to Learn More

Excerpt

“I—am—leaving!”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Magnus growled, as he turned, the scarred side of his face a pale contrast to the angry red flush of his skin.  

But Agatha refused to be bullied.  “It is apparent that you’ve no need of a companion, since we speak hardly a word during meals, nor do we engage in any semblance of a conversation afterward,” she said, her breathing quickened by her fury.  “And you’ve made it painfully obvious you don’t want me in your bed!”

 She threw the shawl into her trunk and slammed the lid.  “You couldn’t even bring yourself to kiss me on our wedding day.  Well, your mistress, or whoever this demon stalking me is, can bloody well have you!”

In two strides, he was in front of her, gripping her arms with such strength, a spark of fear gripped her as strongly as he did.  Would he harm her, beat her?

Then she looked into his turbulent gray eyes.  No, he was furious, but there was something else, something deeper, something that told her he would never raise his hand against her.

“There is no mistress,” he snarled.

Odd that she believed him, but she would not remain where she was of no use, where she wasn’t wanted.

“And I was pushed,” she ground out.

“Then I’ll assign you a bloody guard, but you are not leaving,” he demanded with a vigorous shake.  “Do you hear me?”

She couldn’t utter a word amid the chaotic emotions flashing across his face and in his eyes.

“You cannot leave me,” he said, his words broken and pain-filled.  Then his lips crashed into hers. 

 Visit Jo Barrett's Site to learn more about her books - http://www.jobarrett.net/

#1 - Red

The Geis:  The Magic Stone
by Marie Sterbenz
Wild Horse Press

http://www.mariesterbenz.com/

Excerpt

When morning came she donned her work clothes, braided her hair, and headed for her workshop. She opened her shop and inspected her goods to determine which ones she would give to Brendan to sell. She selected five pieces, a round high domed cabochon, an oval cabochon, a Celtic cross, a Triskele, and a clover. These she put aside for Brendan to peruse. She picked up her latest piece and began to work the stone. As she did so her thoughts turned to her fathers men-at-arms. But try as she might she could not bring forth a single face or name all she could recall was a pair of sky blue eyes.

Brendan’s shadow fell across her work bench and she paused to look up at him. The sun was behind him so that she could not see his face well enough to read his expression. She waited for him to speak first, but he said nothing as he walked to where she stood. “Good morn,” she finally spoke first.

“Good morn to you fair lady,” he spoke in a melodious tone. “I have come for your wares. I can not tell you how pleased I am at your change of heart.”

“Mind,” she said.

“What?” he questioned.

“My mind, I changed my mind not my heart.”

“I see, well it matters not which it was.”

“It does,” she muttered.

“Does what?”

 “It does matter which it was,” she sighed. “In my heart I still do not want you to sell my art, but my mind and my sister tell me I should.”

“So I have Maeve to thank?”

“Aye, you do.” She returned to her work. “There are five pieces on the bench for you to choose from, you may take three.”

She watched him from the corner of her eye as he picked up each one and carefully inspected them. In the end he took the clover and the Triskele and put them aside. He took a piece of cloth from under his belt, and carefully wrapped the other three so they did not touch each other.  She was surprised at how discerning he was. He had selected the three finest pieces to sell. She gave him a direct look and raised her left eyebrow.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing, I, I am curious as to your selection.”

“I do not see why,” he answered. “They are the finest quality craftsmanship. Did you think that I could not tell that?”

“Well frankly yes, since you seemed to think that the ones you stole and sold previously were fine.”

“Oh fair lady they were fine but they were not the finest.” He moved closer to her, “you would not let me have your finest so I had to settle for that which was just fine.”

She wanted him to go back to Cork and not stand so close to her. His nearness seemed to steal the very air from around her, and he was so close to her that she could feel the heat emanating from his body. She placed her hands on her workbench so he could not see them shake. 

“You may go now,” she hoped he would turn and walk out the door.

“But I have not properly thanked you yet,” he said.

“It is,” she did not finish her words.

His mouth came down on the nape of neck and sent a chill down her spine. He took her by the shoulders and spun her around as his mouth pressed against hers. She stood there stunned by what he was doing, and confused by her own reaction. A fluttering sensation started in the pit of her stomach. His lips were warm and firm against hers and she fought for breath. He lifted his mouth from hers still holding her shoulders.

“You have never been kissed before,” he exclaimed!

She caught her breath, “of course I have, many times.”

“Maybe by your family but not by a real man,” he chuckled.  

“You kiss like a girl but you are a woman. I have a few days in which to give you lessons on how a woman should kiss.” With that statement he wheeled around and walked out the door.

Siobhan felt outrage, not at his actions, but at his words. She did not want him to teach her how to kiss like a woman, it was utterly ridiculous. She lifted her fingertips to her quivering lips, and sucked in a deep breath to calm the conflicting feelings warring within her. Truth be told his kiss had affected her in ways that she had never before imagined. How would she feel if Aidan kissed her like Brendan just did? Perhaps she should find Aidan and kiss him to find out.

Siobhan contrived to never be alone with Brendan for the remainder of his stay, so there could be no lessons on kissing. Every time she let her thoughts wander to Brendan’s kiss her stomach did funny things to her. She made sure to spend time with her sister in the hall, and did not go to her shop till Brendan left.

#2 - Blue

Black Horse  

by Veronica Blake

Dorchester Publishing
Find Out More Here



      Now, sitting here on the hard ground with his long ebony hair tousled around his face and the bewildered expression on his face, he reminded Meadow of a lost little boy.  She had the urge to put her arms around him, and tell him that everything would be well.  Instead, she began to focus on the way he held her hand so gently in his own—and, of the way this simple gesture set all of her insides ablaze with that odd feeling of pain and pleasure.

Meadow ran her tongue across her parched lips and held her breath for a moment. She knew he had to leave before someone caught them like this, but she could not force herself to pull her hand away. Her gaze met his, and it was as if the rest of the world did not exist. She leaned forward, instinctively drawn to him.

His lips touched hers lightly at first, as if he ached to be near her but was slightly unsure of her reaction. He reached up and placed his hand around her head. She could feel the strands of her long hair entwined in his fingers. His lips pressed harder against her soft mouth, and she leaned in even closer to him.

Never had Meadow imagined that she would experience such an overpowering feeling of bliss from her first kiss. All of her fears dissolved, and every inch of her body felt like a million hot coals had just invaded her. The feel of his lips against hers was like a magical journey that she wished would never have to end.

When they were forced to part for air, Meadow thought she could live forever without taking another breath if it meant she could feel his lips against hers for the rest of her life. She felt his hand slide under her chin, raising her face up so that they were staring into one another’s eyes again. His dark gaze caressed her, and everything outside of this moment was mute.

              “Oh, green-eyed woman, what strong magic you must possess.  You have put me under a spell,” Black Horse said softly. 

#3 - Green

SINS OF THE HEART
by Delle Jacobs
published by Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
http://samhainpublishing.com/print/sins-of-the-heart-print Author website is http://dellejacobs.com



    The sea was yellow gold as the sun dropped toward the horizon, a quiet plane of precious metal that melted into silvered sand, and as far as the eye could see, changed from gilded sea to brilliant amber sky. All the world was silver and gold.
 

   The horses paced across the wet sand, their steps muffled, disturbing the metallic sheen that settled back to serenity in the little rounded puddles they left behind. Only the quiet huffing of the horses' breath and the faint screech of gulls far out from the shore broke the silence.
 

   She had long ago loosened her bonnet and let it fall behind her, to feel the delicate breeze in her hair as they rode. Beside her rode the man with silver eyes and golden hair, his face dark in the shadow, as silent as the quiet water. It had been his idea to ride along the shore, taking advantage of the long beach created when the tide ebbed. But low tide was a curious thing, that made one believe in the forever of an instant. She had come along, appeasing him because . . .Was it because she must keep him occupied, to keep him from making discoveries about the people she loved?
 

   Oddly, though. She had come to expect, almost to want his companionship. Never knowing when he would turn the quiet of the moment into some strange demand that ruined all that was beautiful. Or if he would not. Perhaps today was one of those times when he would remain silent, or trade the silence for small, beautiful words.
 

   He was, in so many ways, a strange man. He did not court her. But he shared beautiful things with her, often in silence, as if he accepted or believed they saw them the same way. She wondered if they did. Did he see and feel the colors with the sort of passion that invaded her?
 

   They reached the headland that separated this beach from the next, and he pulled ahead. Here, their ride must come to an end.
 

   "Don't go there," she said, and reached for the bridle on his bay.
 

   "Why?"  But he reined in his horse.
 

   "It isn't safe beyond this point."
 

   "Is that a cave?"  His head inclined in the direction of the sharply jagged cove tucked between two cliffs.
 

   "Yes. But you can only see it when the tide is out."
 

   "Then I want to see it."
 

   "No. It is dangerous. There have been too many rockfalls into the sea, and it's hard to go around except when the tide is very far out. And if you stay too long, the tide will trap you."
 

   "I could climb out."
 

   "But your horse could not."
 

   For an answer, he stroked the bay's mane. She knew he was fond of Hector. Something about her told her he had a fondness for all horses.
 

   "Is it a smuggler's cave?"
 

   "It's called Colliver's Cove. They say it was used by Robert Colliver, but they also say Robert Colliver left Looe in his youth and never returned. Both could not be true. They also tell tales of men who drowned because a high sea came up and caught them inside. When the tide comes in, the cavern floods."
 

   "Is there another way out?"
 

   "There is a hole near the top, but it cannot be reached from inside."
 

   "So you have seen it."
 

   "Yes."
 

   "You got out safely."
 

   "I went when everything was right. I did not stay."
 

   Edenstorm leaned forward in his saddle. He planted a fist on his hips and narrowed his eyes as he studied the small, dark opening that marked the top of the cave. "If I were a smuggler, I'd think it ideal. Drop ropes through the top. Hide the ankers, strung together inside the cave. Let them float. But pull them through the top when there is no one around to see."
 

   "But you are not a smuggler, and you do not know everything you would need to know."
 

   "And you do?"
 

   "More than you, and that is not enough. They say, once the kegs floated out to sea, and the entire cache was lost."
 

   "So they have used it. Do they use it now?"
 

   "There is no need for it these days."
 

   "Why?"
 

   "There is a war. No one pays much attention to free traders these days. You have never seen a riding officer near Looe, have you?"
 

   That deep dimple formed in his right cheek. "No."
 

   "Don't go there," she said again. "There are many ways to be killed on the Cornish Coast. That is one of them."
 

   His ghostly silver eyes studied her for a moment, then he dismounted. He held his hands up to her and she slid down, his hands catching around her waist. And they turned back to the beach they had just left.
 

   He stopped, scanning the distant horizon where the sun dropped lower in the sky and began to tinge the gold with pink.
 

   "If you painted, how would you paint this?"
 

   "Rapidly. Soon the sun will go down and we will never see it quite this way again."  She swept her hand in an arc along the horizon. "It is not simply golden, anywhere. It is only the way the many colors work together that makes it so."  She pointed to a distant promontory. "Look over there. Even the rock in the distance is bathed in gold, yet none of it is truly the color it seems."
 

   He stood there, his eyes intense and hazy, darkening to smoky pewter. She was aware of the scent that was his, so close and mingling with the salt of the sea, and flesh of horse, with leather and brawn.
 

   "I could never paint," he said, his voice as soft as fine doeskin. "But I could never forget this. If I could paint, I would paint you, bathed in gold, just as you are right now. The gold is the color of your hair. It gleams like tiny strands of gold. No, like golden light."
 

   He took one of her curls into his fingers, then slipped a hand into her hair. A tangle of longing twisted and turned in his eyes. "I'd want to capture the light shining in your hair and playing across your face, the softness of your lips."
 

   "How do you know they're soft?" she whispered.
 

   "I just do."  The pad of his thumb crossed over her lower lip. "Yes, soft."
 

   She gasped as his lips touched hers, but not from fear or outrage, but because she had not known her own longing. Had not known the feel of his arms circling her and pulling her close to his body where she could feel all his firmness as if she flowed into it, his kiss deepening and stroking in ways that set her afire inside. Her heart raced with the pounding of an unexplainable wildness within her, the heat she had not understood that had been building from the moment she had first seen him on the beach.
 

   Abruptly, he pulled back, frowning, and dropped his hands from her waist. His jaw took on that hard, jutting look it had when he was getting stubborn. He turned away, and walked back to the standing horses.
 

   The wildness drained out of her like water through a hole in a pot. Sometimes she wanted so much to slap him.
 

   "Well, I would say I did that wrong," she said, and strode back to the gentle brown hack she had been riding.
 

   "You did nothing wrong."  But his face was hard like an iron mask.
 

   "Oh, my," she said, and sneered. "I would never have known."
 

   "I told you I do not feel things."
 

   "You lie. You feel things as much as anyone else. You just lie to yourself about it."
 

   His shoulders stiffened, and she could see his jaw jutting even more. He stormed across the sand, his bay gelding in tow, toward the line of brush and furze that grew close to the shore, and found a bush that almost could be called a tree. He tossed the reins over a branch, then turned and stalked back toward the promontory that separated the sandy beach from the cove that ended in Colliver's Cave.
 

   Oh no!  He wouldn't!  But yes, she knew him all too well. And it was her fault, for she had told him not to go.

#4 - Black

Shadowed Knight,
by Jan Alyce Avery
Samhain Publishing
 http://www.janalyceavery.com/

Fuming at his own carelessness, Fitzwilliam went in search of Lady Ann, to be told by the first house servant he asked that she was in the kitchen. He checked with the cook.

“Outside, sir.” The cook, chopping joints of meat with a huge cleaver, cocked an eyebrow at him, no doubt contemptuous of people who cut themselves with a mere dagger. “In the garden. Around the east side of the wall.” He brought the cleaver down with a whack that dug the edge deep into the wood block beneath. “Just go right out that door, sir.”

Fitzwilliam went out the door indicated. There seemed to be a  half-dozen gardens behind the curve of the tower. The first was the kitchen garden, surely, with peas twining around staves, the tops of onions thrusting green through well-tilled soil, new lettuce and cabbage growing in long rows. Beyond these were precise square beds of plants he couldn’t name, though the scents argued herbs, and beyond those, along the surrounding stone wall, were twining roses, lilacs and a fringe of lilies, the flowers running to the edge of a clear bed of turf that surrounded a flowering apple tree. A faint hum revealed bees at their work, the sound counterpointed by birdsong. Fitzwilliam took a deep breath, intoxicated by the rich scents.

He heard another soft humming, from just beyond the tree, a wordless melody sung in a girl’s pure voice, and an instant later Lady Ann came from behind the trunk, her head bent over a basket she carried. She wore her green wool gown and her head was bare. Her loosely braided hair glowed a rich chestnut in the sun, tendrils escaping to curl against her cheeks. Still absorbed by the contents of the basket, she came toward him, her body moving with a grace that made him catch his breath.

“Spring,” he said softly, and she looked up, startled, then realizing who it was, she smiled. “Sir?”

“I was thinking of the goddess Spring and—here you are.” It seemed perfectly natural to extend his hand, perfectly natural that she should take it. “The very image of that ethereal being. If I were an artist, I could ask for no better model.”

Her cheeks flushed a delicious rose, but her eyes danced. “A very pretty speech, Sir John. Far too fine to waste on a respectable widow.”

“I can think of no one who looks less like a widow, lady. As for respectable,” he grinned, “well, that remains to be seen.”

“Rogue! Did you come to help me gather herbs or are you fleeing honest work?”

“Herbs?”

She indicated the basket. “Fennel and thyme, rosemary and lemon grass. To spice your food, sir knight. I, you see, am hard at work helping the cook.”

“Well, I was hard at work as well, mistress, in the weapons room. I came to you because Sir Richard said that you have healing skills. See,” he lifted his bandaged hand, his voice comically tragic, “I’ve been wounded in the line of duty.”

“Oh, Sir John!” She was instantly serious, setting the basket down, then taking his hand in both of hers. “Let me see.”

He laughed, suddenly a little embarrassed. “A nick, lady, no more, hardly worth bothering about—”

“The smallest scratch can fester, sir, if not cared for properly.” She unwound the rag. “Not deep enough to need stitching, but it must be cleaned. And bandaged with clean linen, not something you’ve used to polish rust off armor. Come with me.”

She led him to the far side of the tree to a small plank table set against the wall, where she ordered him to stay before hurrying away. It was only a minute or two before she was back with a bowl of water, clean rags, a flask of ale and a small pot with a lid. She cleaned the cut with the water and one of the rags, rinsed it with the ale—ignoring both his protests at the waste of good spirits and his exaggerated groans of pain—then opened the pot to reveal a pale green paste, which she spread with some care over and around the wound. “You’re to keep this dry,” she ordered as she secured a linen strip around his palm. “And not use the hand for a day or two to let it heal. Does it feel better now?”

“Yes. There’s magic in your ointment.” And in your touch, he thought. “Do you make many such medicines?”

“Yes.” She smoothed the wrinkles from the bandage, her fingers brushing his skin, and even that slight contact sent a shiver through him. “I’ve a hut on the other side of the garden, and there I store herbs. My nurse taught me how to use them to make medicines, for the easing of pain, to aid sleep, to lower fevers—”

“And what ingredients do you use, lady, to make love potions?” he asked softly.

She was bent over his arm, but she looked up at him, startled. “Sir?”

“Surely you brew such cordials.” Her face was only a few inches from his, so close he could smell the warm fragrance of her skin. Her lips were parted, her eyes so pure and rich a green it was like looking into the heart of a newly leafed forest. “And surely you’ve given me some, for I’m drunk with it—”

Ann found herself unable to move. His hand lifted, his fingers gently touching the curve of her cheek, then moving slowly down the line of her throat to brush the soft swell of her breasts. Trembling, she caught her breath in a sob. “Ann!” he whispered—and then his arms were around her and his mouth came down on hers.

Heat surged through her. Her body seemed to melt into the hard strength of his embrace. She moaned, her lips parting, and the kiss deepened, his mouth devouring hers, his hand lifting to cup her swelling breast. Her body burned, trembled, her senses drowning in a shuddering wave of pleasure so intense it was almost pain.

And then he wrenched himself away. “Sweet God, Ann—I didn’t mean… I could never…”

Dazed, fevered, she stared at him, bewildered—then the look on his face struck her like a blow. Without a word, he turned and strode away.

Ann shivered. The warm spring day suddenly seemed to darken, grow chill. I didn’t mean… I could never… The look of misery on his face, misery mixed with shame…

Suddenly she realized why he’d said what he’d said, what he meant, why he’d fled from her, and the realization was like a spear of ice into her heart. It was so obvious… She’d been so blind…

She buried her face in her hands, trying desperately to choke back sobs, while the blossoms of the apple tree spread their fragrant petals and the bees droned, uncaring and indifferent, from flower to flower.