Queen Philomena’s love-life has been prescribed by duty. Hardly more than a child when she married the aged king, the young widow yearns to experience the ways of love in one singular night of passion before entering another loveless marriage of state. Sent to the Queen’s chamber to “amuse” Her Majesty, Dante is handsome, fascinating...and much too insolent. At first, Philomena is determined to assert her control, but as the night progresses, she discovers pleasures she’d never imagined and surrenders to ecstasy.
“Shall we have a story?” Devlin
suggested, as another enormous clap of thunder rattled the rooftop. He traced
the curve of his wife’s bare shoulder with the tip of his finger. “A bedtime
story. Something distracting. Something to keep us warm on a wicked night.”
“What sort of a story?” Maeve
turned her head, hiding her eyes but not her smile. His wife knew exactly what
he had in mind.
“Oh, an erotic story, to
be certain.” Dev’s finger traced her collar bone to the hollow in her throat.
And then down. A thousand and one times he’d touched her, and still he felt the
heat. “Those are the ones that warm and distract me best.”
It was a challenge. It was a
game; a game he and his lovely Maeve had played before. Never quite the same,
but always exciting.
Maeve plumped the pillow behind
her and sat up. The candlelight caught the twinkle of her glass, half full of
sherry. Dev watched her take a long swallow and lick her lips. The storm
whistled outside. She made a point of snuggling deeper under the bedclothes,
tucking the sheet around her.
“Tonight I’m Scheherazade?”
“And I’m your King.” He tugged
at the sheet, until it spilled around her waist. “Entertain me, Madam, or
suffer the consequences.”
“Well, let me think....”
