Who needs safe and boring when you can play with a pirate on the French Riviera?
The answer to this curious enigma lies within the pages of French Kiss Naughty Ladies of Nice Book 4.
Dr. Henri Bernier is an analytical man with a quiet life and a job he loves. The last thing he expects to find when he anchors his treasured fishing boat in the sheltered harbor of a small island is an accidental mermaid washed ashore. He soon learns his perfect life leaves much to be desired.
Will desire save them or drown them in a perfect storm from their pasts?
Warm tingles started low in her belly and zinged straight to her clit. A sensation she’d long missed but not forgotten. His lips were strong, supple, and teasing her own apart. Rachel opened her mouth and glided her tongue along his lips, loving the salty taste. The rasp of his beard on her tender cheek shot a jolt of electricity to the tips of her pebbled nipples. Her muscles tightened as moisture filled her panties. She was alive and wanted more. Somehow she found the energy to lace an arm around the broad shoulders leaning over her and curl her fingers in his long silky hair.
Her nipples puckered more with each stroke as he glided his hand along her spine, continuing lower over the curve of her ass to her thigh. Wet sand greeted her when he smoothly rolled them over. With little effort her legs parted, welcoming her secret pirate.
Nope, make that swashbuckler. More romantic.
Shivers raced through her and he held her closer. His body heat, a beautiful thing, shrouded them. Her breasts grew heavier, straining against her wet shirt, as his solid erection pressed into her belly. She wiggled closer, wanting—no, needing—to feel him inside her.
Indistinguishable sounds filled her ears. Forgotten lyrics from an old, sweet love song? She wanted to remember, but not enough to give up her fantasy man and the erotic glow of mystery sex.
“Mademoiselle, s'il vous plaît. Où est la blessure? Je suis médecin et peux vous aider.”
His foreign words and rich baritone were sexy music against her lips. He wanted her. His tender touch proved he did. Her eyelids fluttered as he spoke.
A sting smarted against her cheek.
“Oh no, Sweet Lips, I don’t do rough.” Her words came out slurred and incoherent. “Doesn’t matter how sexy you are. Now stop hitting me before I return the favor with my fist.”
“Wake up, mademoiselle.” He tapped her again, more lovingly. “I asked where you are injured. I am a doctor and will help you."
What a great dream.
Her fantasy lover had the perfect voice and was a doctor to boot. Mom would be ecstatic. She wrinkled her nose. He could have at least showered before his seductive appearance. Sweet Lips smelled like a cesspit.
“Dammit, Sweet Lips, this is my dream. We’re doing this my way.” She reached for him, but before she made contact he pried open her eyelid. “Look, man, you are not playing by fantasy rules. I get to make up the seduction. You just do as told. Got it?”
“Mademoiselle, this is the reality. You are très hurt and in need of immediate medical attention. Now, s'il vous plaît, stop your prattle and answer my questions.”
Rachel’s other eye sprang open. Her swashbuckler was squatted and rocking back on his heels. His five o’clock was nearing ten and his soaked clothes weren’t in much better shape than hers. No way in hell was this mangy guy a doctor.
Her heart stopped. Literally froze in her body.
She inhaled deeply to slow her banging heart and edged farther away from him toward safety. He reached for her, his expression grim. Without thought, she pushed off with her left hand.
“Son of a bitch.” A kaleidoscope of stars exploded before her eyes, followed by another whitecap of nausea.
“It does not appear to be broken. At the least, you have a severe sprain.”
She sucked in a sharp breath, refusing to show weakness. “Ya think?”
He cocked an eyebrow. Warm chocolate eyes stared straight into hers. “Did you know, mademoiselle, some believe sarcasm is the lowest form of humor but the highest mark of intelligence?”
“Then you’re pretty intelligent too.”
He laughed, a warm hearty sound that wrapped around her, undermining her resolve.
“So if you’re a doctor, where’s your little black bag?”
A smile to melt an iceberg split his face. He reached behind him, and then brought forward a worn satchel.
“Well, I’ll be dipped.” She really had to curb her suspicions.
“ Excusez-moi, but you already were.” His full lips twitched at the corners.
Good sense of humor.
He shrugged out of his rain slicker.
He draped the yellow, rubberized fabric around her shoulders. Instant warmth.
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Sloane Taylor is an Award-Winning author who believes humor and sex are healthy aspects of our everyday lives. She carries that philosophy into her books. She writes sexually explicit romances that take you right into the bedroom. Being a true romantic, all her stories have a happy ever after.
Taylor’s books are set in Europe where the men are all male and the North American women they encounter are both feminine and strong. They also bring more than lust to their men’s lives.
She was born and raised on the Southside of Chicago. Studly, her mate for life, and Taylor now live in a small home in Indiana and enjoy the change from city life. She’s an avid cook and post new recipes on this blog every Wednesday. The recipes are user friendly, and easy.
Currently Taylor has six erotic romance books and one box set either released or coming soon from Toque & Dagger Publishing. Excerpts from these books can be found on her website, blog, and all popular vendors.
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Oh Lizzie, welcome to my world. Thank you for hosting me today and forging ahead to make it happen. You're a good friend.:)
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