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eBook Category: Erotica/Romance
eBook Description: "Beneath the Mistletoe" by Charlotte Featherstone: Holly Nightingale is a woman who has forgotten the true meaning of Christmas. It's been eight years since the man she thought loved her left her without a word after kissing her passionately beneath the mistletoe. Andrew Carlyle has made his fortune in India and returned to England to claim the woman he has always wanted. But the Holly he knew is gone. In her place is a stranger with a delectably curvaceous body he can't stop desiring, and a steely resolve he hopes to breach. And he will, especially with the help of Holly's great-grandmother--The Grand Dame, not to mention his persuasive skill with the mistletoe. "A Bluestocking Christmas" by Monica Burns: Miss Ivy Beecham is a bluestocking who has sworn off love, and she's found the perfect place to hide--a library. Simon Carton, Viscount Wycombe, is an intellectual rogue who's convinced all women can be bought. What neither of them counted on was finding love amid a stack of dusty books. Determined to win the reluctant bluestocking nymph, Simon seduces Ivy with words and other sinful pleasures. But despite the passion between them, Ivy refuses to risk her heart--at least not until the ghost of her ancestor visits her on Christmas Eve and helps Ivy see that her choices will affect the rest of her life. The question is, will Ivy make the right choice? "A Kind of Magic" by Monica Burns and Charlotte Featherstone: Christmas for thirty year old romance writer, Julia Taylor is just plain not worth it. The excitement that used to surround Julia during the holidays has been replaced with a cool cynicism. The magic is gone. Faced with the loss of her publishing contract if she doesn't produce a blockbuster romance novel for her editor, she heads for Harrow Lodge, the home of her ancestor, the Grand Dame, in England. To finance her trip, she pawns a treasured heirloom that's been in the family even longer than Harrow Lodge. But the ghost of the Grand Dame has something else in store for Julia. Brock Maitland is not quite alive, nor is he dead. He's in that insufferable space, hovering on the brink of either state. Brock only has one chance to find his soul mate and make her love him, thus returning him to a mortal state. Now all he has left to do is convince Julia, the uptight, spinster romance author, that the magic she creates in her books can be found between them. Rating: Contains graphic sex, explicit language and content suitable only for adults.

eBook Publisher: New Concepts Publishing, Published: 2005
Fictionwise Release Date: December 2005

63 Reader Ratings: Great Good OK Poor

Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [1.6 MB], eReader (PDB) [317 KB], Palm Doc (PDB) [314 KB], Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [277 KB], Microsoft Reader (LIT) [253 KB] - PocketPC 1.0+ Compatible, Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [300 KB], hiebook (KML) [755 KB], Sony Reader (LRF) [369 KB], iSilo (PDB) [259 KB], Mobipocket (PRC) [323 KB], Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [372 KB], OEBFF Format (IMP) [407 KB]
Words: 99813
Reading time: 285-399 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED
ISBN: 1-58608-773-8

Harrow Lodge

1797, Christmas Eve

"A..An ... Andrew," Holly stuttered nervously, "whatever are you about?"

"What do you think I'm about?" he drawled, sending her stomach clenching.

"I ... I have no idea." And it was the truth. Whatever had come over Andrew this evening? She'd never seen him quite this way--a constant presence by her side. The sensual aura radiating from him was a side of him she had never been privileged enough to witness--despite years of yearning.

"Come now, Holly," he whispered, taking another predatory step closer to her. "You must know what I want."

She gulped, and took a step back, coming up against the hard, unyielding wood that framed the door. "I'm afraid I don't know," she whispered breathlessly.

She had known Andrew for most of her nineteen years. They'd practically grown up together. His guardian, Lady Mary Montague, was her mother's best friend. Her mother and Lady Mary were inseparable and she and Andrew had become fast friends, entertaining each other while their mothers visited one another. But while they had been very close friends, Andrew had never looked at her with anything more than platonic interest. And how could he, she thought, as her trembling fingers gripped the door jam. She was an unremarkable creature, plain and forgettable. Andrew on the other hand was a living God. No man was more beautiful than Andrew Nightingale. He might not have the noble birth that other gentlemen of the ton could boast, but Andrew had other qualities that made him irresistible.

Oh, there was a part of her, a wistful romantic part, that had harboured dreams of him returning her affection. Even now, as he stood before her, trapping her against the door of the pantry, a part of her hoped that he had done so in order to kiss her. To steal an exciting embrace that would keep her warm the night through.

But that was utterly impossible, for she was Lady Holly Harrington, a lady of breeding and little beauty, and he was Andrew Nightingale, the orphaned child of artist parents--the handsome rake that could and did have every eligible and ineligible woman clamouring after him.

There was no denying that Andrew had the uncanny ability to charm and entice any woman who possessed a fraction of warm blood, despite his young age of two and twenty. And she was certainly no exception.

He took another step closer and her heart paused in her chest. Only when he stood directly before her did it begin to beat again--a fast, frenzied pace that made her feel lightheaded and dizzy.

His moss green eyes roved lazily along her face. How many times had she looked into those dark green eyes fringed with impossibly thick chestnut brown lashes? How familiar they should be to her. But they were not. There was something in his eyes she had never seen before.

He reached up, and her breathing stilled. His finger brushed her temple before reaching higher. He plucked a creamy white bud from the sprig of mistletoe that hung in the center of the doorway. Her eyes followed his hand and she watched as the sprig swayed on its green velvet ribbon. Carelessly he tossed the pod to the ground. He turned his gaze to hers, then lowered his mouth to her forehead, kissing her softly, reverently.

Then he plucked another bud from the sprig and moved his lips till they rested at her temple. Flicking the seed from his fingers, he kissed her, his lips brushing her skin and hair.

He reached for another, then moved his mouth down to her cheek, kissing her. Another seed was freed and his lips descended to her jaw. Her heart was racing wildly. She felt the pulsation in her throat, felt the tightening of her bodice against her breasts. Her breathing was coming in short, sharp pants, and she could not hide it--she could not hide her response to him.

His gaze travelled lower, to the vein she was certain was throbbing beneath her skin. She knew it was when he reached out to put his fingertip to her neck. He tilted his head, studying his finger as it slowly trailed the bounding vein. He pressed forward and inhaled once, softly, almost imperceptibly, then again, deeper. He moved his head so that his face was pressed against her, so that his lips only grazed her heated flesh. She whimpered and went rigid when he exhaled against her, sending hot breath whispering across her throat. Oh, God, what was he doing to her? Why was he doing this--inflaming her, making her yearn, making her want?

He reached up between them, his face still pressed against her and plucked another pod from the sprig. And then he pressed his lips to the quivering pulse that leapt with his touch. A deep sound resonated in his chest.

His eyes found hers and he reached for the sprig, crushing it in his hand so that all the berries pulled away from the stem and rolled off his hand. "This was the only sprig of mistletoe in the house that had enough berries left to allow me to do everything I want to do to you."

She whimpered and arched her neck, feeling his hands--both hands--stroke either side of her neck. Slowly his hands descended her throat and back up again, his thumbs brushing her wildly beating pulse.

She closed her eyes and tilted her head further back, her lips parting just enough to allow the barest movement of air between them. He groaned and she felt his finger trace her mouth.

"Innocent, perfect lips," he whispered.

Her body was now drawn tight and his words made her lower parts clench, then loosen, emitting a thick wetness on to her thighs. This was arousal. This was consuming need--mind, body, spirit.

"Such perfection," he whispered darkly, stroking his thumb along her lip.

Her eyes slid to his, and she was shocked by his expression. Never had she seen him look at her in such a fashion. There was something dark, almost disturbing in his eyes.

She licked her dry lips, preparing to speak, but his eyes darkened even more as he watched her tongue glide along her bottom lip.

She saw the slow descent of his mouth to hers, saw his lips part, yet the shock of Andrew's mouth against hers made her stiffen. It was wonderful, intimate, and more than a little strange. She had prepared herself for a physical assault, but was pleasingly surprised by his gentle kiss. It was slow, thoughtful, almost as if he were savoring her. One hand left her face and slid along her body until he could thread his long fingers tightly with hers while his other hand stroked the side of her face, down to her chin. His lips pressed once more against hers, then he angled his head and kissed over and over again with his hot open mouth.

What was she to do? She'd never been kissed before. She couldn't think, her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, as if she were drugged, disembodied. She was conscious of the moan that escaped her when he slanted his mouth against hers, encouraging her to open for him.

"Your tongue," he said against her lips. "I want to feel it."

She gasped at the same moment she felt his tongue slide along her lower lip. "I don't know how," she admitted, ashamed by her inexperience.

"Let me in. Let me taste you. Let me teach you." He parted her lips and slid his tongue deep into her mouth.

It was strange at first. Holly had to fight the urge to straighten away from the intrusion. But after the immediate shock dissipated, she was left with the feel and taste of him as his tongue boldly swirled inside her, mingling with hers.

He groaned and his hand left her face and cupped her breast. Hungrily he kissed her, his mouth slanting over hers, faster and faster. His tongue drove into her, and she could do nothing but reach for him and wrap her arms around his neck and hold on as he swept her away.

He broke off the kiss and searched her face, then slowly he slid his gaze up to the naked stem of the mistletoe. He pulled it from its spot, the green ribbon dangling from his fingers. He brought the velvet to her mouth and brushed it against her lips.

"Kiss it," he whispered, watching her as she pressed a chaste kiss to the ribbon. He brought it his mouth and peered down into her eyes.

"I couldn't stand to let you go before you had been properly kissed. I couldn't bear to think that anyone had tasted this beautiful mouth before I."

"Andrew, I don't understand--"

"I know," he said, brushing his thumb along her lips. "I know you don't, Holly, but I hope in time you will. Now then, no more words. There is nothing to say. Walk away from me, Holly, and do not look back. Walk away and let me watch you." She started to protest but he placed his finger on her lips. "Ssh," he whispered. "Walk away."

Sliding past him, she took two steps and then stopped. Turning around she saw that he was watching her, the ribbon hanging between his fingers as he brushed the velvet with his thumb.

"Walk away," he murmured.

She did, and when she awoke the next morning--Christmas morning--she discovered that Andrew had done the same. He had walked away. Walked away from her, the Montagues, and England.