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A Taste of Honey

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A TASTE OF HONEY

A Taste Of Honey
April 2015 | e-Book

Seeking one last night of passion before entering into a loveless marriage, Honey DeHaviland finds that and more in the arms of Nick Stamos—the very man tasked with delivering Honey to her betrothed. Although it is in Nick’s embrace that Honey finds the love she longs for, she knows that marrying a penniless man would mean her father’s financial ruin.

But when Honey discovers that Nick is indeed wealthy beyond comprehension, she knows that she cannot give in to her yearning to stay with him without appearing shallow and mercenary.

When he learns the reason for Honey’s arranged marriage, he vows to have her for himself. Will he convince her that he’s all she needs before he loses her forever?

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A TASTE OF HONEY Excerpt
by JANE BONANDER

Honey was on fire with determination. “Make love to me.” This was exactly what she wanted: a tall, handsome stranger to give her a night she would always remember. It couldn’t be more perfect if she’d planned it.

Her rescuer lifted one black eyebrow. “What?”

“Make love to me.”

He looked both puzzled and amused. “Just like that?” He snapped his fingers.

“Yes.” She stood and walked toward him, her breasts bare, her nipples taut and tingling, the secret place between her thighs coming alive. She should feel ashamed, brazen, but she felt only a sense of heat and knew this, this was what she had longed for.

She put her hands on his chest, her fingers moving through the thick, dark pelt that all but covered his own jutting nipples. His heart slammed against her palm and she realized he was not immune to her. The idea thrilled her.

His hands cupped her breasts and when his thumbs grazed her nipples, she inhaled sharply; the intensity of his touch forged a path all the way to her toes.

“Ah,” he began, “you are—”

“Shh,” she interrupted, rubbing her lips against his chest, “don’t speak.”

He laughed softly, the sound rumbling up from deep in his chest. “But talking makes it better.”

She liked his voice. It was deep and rich, and although he sounded like an American, he had a faint Greek accent. It heightened the adventure. “How?”

He pulled back briefly, studying her, his expression inquisitive and almost wary. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

She was beginning to wonder. New sensations tumbled through her and she ached with a need stronger than thirst. Perhaps she was getting in too deep, but it was too late, and what she was feeling was too good to stop. “Yes.”

He urged her toward the bed until the backs of her knees touched it. He then took a chair across from her. “Then take off the rest of your clothes.”

It was an order, and for some insane reason, she gladly complied. She had thought to be in control this night, but it was obvious that she’d met her match. Without taking her gaze from his, she unhooked her skirt and let it drop to the floor. She stepped out of it and kicked it away.

He studied her languidly, although his eyelids were heavy and his eyes were as black as a night with neither moon nor stars. “Now remove the rest of them.”

She did as he asked and then stood before him. “These, too?” She tried to sound flippant as she swept a hand over her stockings, but her voice crackled with excitement.

“Sit on the bed and roll them off,” he ordered, “but sit directly across from me. I want to watch.”

©2011 by Jane Bonander