The Governess Club: Claire (16 page)

Give in to your impulses . . .

Read on for a sneak peek at four brand-new

e-book original tales of romance from Avon Books.

Available now wherever e-books are sold.

SKIES OF GOLD

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By Zoë Archer

CRAVE

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By Monica Murphy

CAN’T HELP FALLING IN LOVE

By Cheryl Harper

THINGS GOOD GIRLS DON’T DO

By Codi Gary

An Excerpt from

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by Zoë Archer

The Ether Chronicles continue when Kalindi MacNeil retreats to a desolate, deserted island after surviving the devastating enemy airship attack that obliterated Liverpool. Kali soon discovers she’s not alone. Captain Fletcher Adams, an elite man/machine hybrid—a Man O’ War—crashed his airship into the deserted island, never expecting to survive the wreck. But survive he did.

H
er heart climbed into her throat. Edging along the gravel-covered base of the hills, she moved slowly onward, telling herself stories of goddesses who’d braved hordes of demons without fear.

Yet she was no goddess. Only a woman, completely on her own.

A shape appeared out of the mists. A large, dark shape. Heading right toward her. It moved noiselessly over the gravel in spite of its size.

She grabbed her revolver, aiming it at the shadow.

It immediately stopped moving. Then it spoke.

“You’re not from the Admiralty.”

A man. With a deep, rasping voice. As if he hadn’t spoken in a long time.

Even through the heavy mist, she saw that he didn’t hold up his hands, despite the gun trained on him.

“No,” she answered, her mouth dry. “Not the Admiralty.” Yet she didn’t want to tell him where she
was
from. She had no idea who this stranger was.

“Anyone with you?” he demanded. He spoke with an air of command, as though used to obedience.

Despite the authority in his voice, she kept silent. Telling him she was alone could endanger her. At least she was armed.

He didn’t seem to care about the revolver in her hand. He moved closer, emerging from the fog.

Oh, God. He was big. Well over six feet tall, with shoulders as wide as ironclads. His body seemed a collection of hard muscles, knitted together to make the world’s most imposing man. He had black hair, longish and wild, as if he hadn’t seen a barber in some time, and a thick beard, also in need of trimming. He stood too far away for her to see his eyes, but she could feel his gaze on her, dark and piercing, hyper-vigilant, like a feral animal’s.

And he stepped still nearer to her.

“My father was in the army,” she said, her voice clipped. She raised her gun. “He was a crack shot. He trained me to be one, too. Stay where you are.”

She thought a corner of his mouth edged up in a smile, but the beard hid his expression. “I’d knock that Webley out of your hand before you could pull the trigger.”

Words poised on her lips that no man could move that quickly—he was still ten feet away—but those words faded the more she looked at him. His massive hands could likely crush a welder’s gas tanks. But more than the raw strength he exuded, a palpable but unseen energy radiated from him, something barely contained.

She couldn’t tell whether she was fascinated or terrified. Or both.

“You’re doing a poor job of putting me at ease,” she answered.

Again, that hint of a smile. “Never said I wanted to put you at ease.”

“Not another step,” she snapped. Instinctively, she moved back, out of striking distance. But as she did, her left boot caught in the rocks, and she stumbled.

Unseated, the stones tumbled down in a small rockslide. They knocked her down, twisting her leg at an unnatural angle. She sprawled on the ground.

Instantly, the stranger darted forward, a frown of concern between his brows.

She kept the gun pointed at him, despite lying awkwardly upon the rocks. “Back. I’m fine.”

“Your leg—”

Her skirts had come up, revealing both her limbs.

The stranger must have been civilized at one point, because he quickly turned his gaze away.

“Go ahead and look,” she said. “I gave up on modesty months ago.”

He did, and when he saw her leg, he cursed softly. “Mechanical.”

An Excerpt from

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by Monica Murphy

New York Times
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USA Today
bestselling author Monica Murphy launches her sexy Billionaire Bachelors Club series with the story of Archer and Ivy: a lavish bet, a night of carnal desires, and a forever they never thought possible . . .

Ivy

“W
hat is this?” I take the wadded-up fabric from his hand, our fingers accidentally brushing, and heat rushes through me at first contact.

“One of my T-shirts.” He shrugs those broad shoulders, which are still encased in fine white cotton. “I knew you didn’t have anything to wear to . . . bed. Thought I could offer you this.”

His eyes darken at the word “bed,” and my knees wobble. Good Lord, what this man is doing to me is so completely foreign that I’m not quite sure how to react.

“Um, thanks. I appreciate it.” The T-shirt is soft, the fabric thin, as if it’s been worn plenty of times, and I have the sudden urge to hold it to my nose and inhale. See if I can somehow smell his scent lingering in the fabric.

The man is clearly turning me into a freak of epic proportions.

“You’re welcome.” He leans his tall body against the doorframe, looking sleepy and rumpled and way too sexy for words. I want to grab his hand and yank him into my room.

Wait, no I don’t. That’s a bad, terrible idea.

Liar.

“Is that all then?” I ask, because we don’t need to be standing here having this conversation. First, my brother could find us and start in again on what a mistake we are. Second, I’m growing increasingly uncomfortable with the fact that I’m completely naked beneath the robe. Third, I’m still contemplating shedding the robe and showing Archer just how naked I am.

“Yeah. Guess so.” His voice is rough, and he pushes away from the doorframe. “Well. Good night.”

“Good night,” I whisper, but I don’t shut the door. I don’t move.

Neither does he.

“Ivy . . .” His voice trails off, and he clears his throat, looking uncomfortable. Which is hot. Oh my God, everything he does is hot, and I decide to give in to my impulses because screw it.

I want him.

Archer

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ike an idiot, I can’t come up with anything to say. It’s like my throat is clogged, and I can hardly force a sound out, what with Ivy standing before me, her long, wavy dark hair tumbling past her shoulders, her slender body engulfed in the thick white robe I keep for guests. The very same type of robe we provide at Hush.

But then she does something so surprising, so amazingly awesome that I’m momentarily dumbfounded by the sight.

Her slender hands go for the belt of the robe, and she undoes it quickly, the fabric parting, revealing bare skin. Completely bare skin.

Holy shit. She’s naked. And she just dumped the robe onto the ground, and she’s standing motionless in front of me. Again, I must stress, naked.

My mouth drops open, a rough sound coming from low in my throat. Damn, she’s gorgeous. All long legs and curvy waist and hips and full breasts topped with pretty pink nipples. I’m completely entranced for a long, agonizing moment. All I can do is gape at her.

“Well, are you just going to stand there and wait for my brother to come back out and find us like this, or are you going to come inside my room?”

An Excerpt from

by Cheryl Harper

Cheryl Harper returns with another fun, fresh tale from the wacky Elvis-themed Rock’n’Rolla Hotel. Summer’s hit Memphis, and things between Tony and Randa are about to heat up. She’s hiding something, and he’s determined to make her come clean. She may be up to Tony’s challenge, but can Randa handle the fire between them?

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e pointed at the pool. “Show me what you can do, Miss Captain of the High School Swim Team.” Gorgeous pools and cloudless days like this one weren’t meant to be wasted, not even by expensive girls who lived in fear of wrinkles.

Randa started to shake her head but changed her mind. He could see the second she decided which face she was going to put on. She ran a teasing finger down his arm, and he fought a shiver. “You’ve got it, Tony.”

She stood beside the lounger and reached up to peel the floppy straw hat off before she shook out her hair. Tony hoped he wouldn’t be required to contribute to the conversation. Anything that came out of his mouth this second would sound like, “God, yes. Please, yes. Show me the suit now.”

Randa dropped her sunglasses on the hat and slowly unbuttoned the white, long-sleeved, gauzy cover-up before stripping out of it quickly. She let it drop from her fingers—right onto his lap—and Tony nearly nodded his thanks. His eyes were glued to her. He’d hoped for a bikini. Those hopes were dashed. Instead she wore a pretty conservative one piece that was cut high on the hips and low enough to tease at the V of her breasts. And the rest of her was nothing but perfect, satiny skin. “Still too skinny, Tony?”

He nodded and tore his eyes away from her hips, her tiny waist, and her perfectly sized breasts to watch her face.

Her teasing smile slipped a bit, and he thought he saw honest desire in her eyes. She took an awkward step away from him and then seemed to remember her audience. She turned and glanced over her shoulder before moving to stand at the end of the pool. She executed a flawless shallow dive and made four quick trips up and down the length of the water. He tried to be objective. She was a clean, fast swimmer. But none of that mattered. She could be doggy-paddling and refusing to get her hair wet, and he’d still think she looked amazing. He watched her float around aimlessly for a minute or two before she swam over to the side of the pool.

The sight of her climbing out was unforgettable. Possibly life changing. More than anything he wanted to kiss her, strip her, and take her. With her hair wet and slicked back from her face, he could see teasing, intelligent blue eyes. And her body would bring stronger men than Tony to their knees. It was a damn good thing the sight of a water drop disappearing into the shadow between her breasts had frozen his tongue and nailed his feet to the concrete. He might have embarrassed himself then and there.

Instead he nodded mutely as she slipped into her cover-up and asked, “Meet you in the lobby at four?” He watched her move quickly across the hot concrete in her bare feet and felt the despair of a man who was going shoe-shopping soon.

He didn’t want her to burn her feet. Or to be unhappy. Or to be here for anything other than to see the finest Elvis-themed hotel in the world. He wanted her to be a normal girl, maybe one who worked nearby. One he could have met at the bookstore.

He watched Randa pause at the door to the hotel and scan her room key. Before she disappeared inside, she smiled and waved at him over her shoulder. And he and his frozen tongue loosened up enough to say, “Shit.” He was in for it. No matter how this turned out, he was going to have regrets. She was here through the weekend. That was enough time to fall under her spell and give up all the hotel’s secrets. That would be just about right. From famine to feast to famine again so quick he’d probably lose his mind.

Then again, if he didn’t go any further with her, he’d spend unhealthy amounts of time thinking about her wet and half dressed. Probably for the next fifty years. She was like the world’s most perfect steak. He couldn’t let her go, but eating her would ruin other steak for him.

Eating her? Apparently the brain breakdown had already set in. He shook his head as he grabbed his towel and went to his apartment.