Sunday, January 5, 2014


Book 2, Velvet Lies Series
by Adrienne deWolfe
Book Excerpt

Story Notes:  And now for our last excerpt of the party:  the first kiss! Eden and Michael are squaring off in the dining room, after Sera tried to match-make for them and failed. (Or so she thinks!) The scene is written from Michael’s point of view.  (Need more of a book description?  Visit this site.) Enjoy! ~ Adrienne deWolfe

Rural Kentucky, 1881

"You suffer romantic delusions about me, Eden."

"You'd like to think I do. You'd like to convince us both you don't feel any grief or pain."

Michael didn't like where this conversation was heading. "Are you sure you haven't set your cap for me?"

That derailed her from her track. Her chin rose, quivering beneath flashing, storm-flecked eyes.

"I told you I haven't."



His gaze roamed over her ribbon-bound hair, shimmering like molten copper in the lamplight. Renegade wisps curled softly in the hollow of her throat, just beside the flurry of her pulse, and his lashes fanned lower. He didn't want her to see the long-constrained hunger that would have made him feast upon that column of peaches and cream—or, God help him, the ripe, pouty handfuls that heaved just an arm's length away. Lightning surged to his loins as he envisioned the globes of her breasts spilling over his palms, their tender rosettes jutting into his mouth.

"Because I'm not the angel I was named after."

"You're just saying that," she said tremulously. "To make me think less of you. You couldn't bear it if anyone tried to hold you up to your own impossible standards."

Her insight, spoken with such hard-won defiance, was almost as unnerving as the realization that the seventeen-year-old who'd once bathed his wounds had grown into a woman wiser than her years, a woman who could see clear to the charred bottom of his soul.

But Michael had never cowered before a worthy opponent, and he wasn't about to start. He stepped closer. Then closer still. He halted only when his thighs were bare inches from her skirts, when his shoulders towered above hers and she was forced to crane her neck to meet his gaze. It was a deliberate tactic, one designed to press his physical advantage, and yet, at this proximity, he was forced to breathe her fragrance.

The intoxication of lilies, lavender, and cherry pie was almost his undoing.

"I'm not afraid of you, Michael."

"You should be, Eden," he said huskily. "Very, very afraid."

She swallowed, her eyes as dewy as meadows. They reminded him poignantly of the butterfly field from his dreams.

"Why?" she whispered again.

It was more than he could bear, her refusal to concede. How dare she be so blind? So naive? He needed her to run from him as he would have run from himself. And he knew of only one way to make her see the light.

He locked his arm beneath her buttocks and dragged her forward for his kiss.

The breath slammed out of Eden as her breasts collided with linen-swathed musculature; her pulse pounded as relentless fingers gripped the base of her skull. She barely had time to gasp, to think, before Michael's tongue thrust past her lips, a velvet rapier intent on bringing her to her knees. Sandalwood soap and rain-scented hair flooded her senses. His thighs branded her hips; his palm burned its imprint through her silk stockings. She trembled, shock giving way to unease.

She tried to shove him back, to wedge a hand between them.

Then he moaned.

Tortured rather than threatening, the sound wracked her with confusion. It seemed to well up from some dark, tumultuous vault, a Pandora's box of denial and need. The healer in her recognized the pain; the woman in her heard the desire. Stunned by the proof of such raw emotion, she sagged, her chest sinking against his wildly beating heart.

"Eden," he breathed, freeing the fingers he'd tangled in her hair. He cupped her cheek, and his lips moved seductively now, nuzzling, sipping, caressing. Her mouth trembled open, tasting the heady tang of man. Somehow, the fist that had been so intent on pushing him away clutched a handful of his shirt. He rewarded her submission.

Feather-light touches lured her hips forward until they, too, sank in intimate surrender. His arousal should have frightened her; she should have come to her senses, cried out for release. But the intoxication of his lips, the bonfire that spread from her belly to her limbs, numbed her virginal unease. He wrapped his spell around her, fanning the heat that sizzled between them until she dared to slide her fingers through his hair. Until she fit her length more snugly to his. And when she dared to push her tongue into his mouth, a guttural sound ripped from his throat.

God help you, Eden. I want you.


The official tour for His Wicked Dream (Book 2, Velvet Lies series) starts Jan. 20. You’ll get lots of exclusive sneak peaks, plus the chance to win 2 Amazon gift cards and 3 bundles of ebooks in my Rafflecopter Giveaway.

Previous posts in the pre-tour party for HIS WICKED DREAM:



E.L. F. said...

Yum, nice first kiss! Thanks for the excerpt!

Adrienne deWolfe said...

Hope it gave you sweet dreams! Hugs!