This week, we're pleased to welcome author Michele Stegman with her latest novel, CONQUEST OF THE HEART. Join
us again on Sunday for an author interview, with more details about the story
behind the story. The author will offer a free e-book copy of one of her titles to a lucky blog visitor. Be sure to
leave your email address in the comments of today's post or Sunday's
author interview for a chance to win. Here's the blurb.
Madeline wants a big, brash, never-defeated-in-battle, Norman knight. What she gets, by order of the king, is a wiry Saxon who once studied for the priesthood instead of warfare. But is this gentle man she has fallen in love with entangled in the rebellion now sweeping the land?
Ranulf wants to marry the
girl next door. What he gets, by order of the king , is a lush, strong Norman
woman who just might be a spy reporting his every move. He wants her in every
way a man can possibly want a woman. But can he trust his heart to a woman who
might have been sent to root out the struggle for freedom his people are
engaged in?
**An
Excerpt from Conquest of the
Heart**
She did not cry out or pull
away. She opened her mouth farther, inviting a deeper taste of her sweetness,
an invitation that this time, he did not ignore. She swayed against him, and
the combined heat of their bodies seemed to melt them together, fusing them
into one.
Somewhere in the deep
recesses of his mind he marveled at how well their two bodies fit together,
curve to cavern, hill to hollow, swell to depression. He started when her hand
touched the bare flesh of his back, and again when her other one was also laid
upon him, was utterly lost to dignity when they moved over his skin.
His own hands began to
explore, almost, it seemed, of their own volition, but he drank in their
findings, savoring the slope of her shoulder, the long curve of her back, a
cresting buttock. His hands found it all, gliding over her, sending searing
sensations to him to feed his hunger for her. But it was an insatiable hunger,
a hunger that grew with each touch, each caress, each play of tongue on tongue.
One of his hands searched upward from her waist, climbed the mound of her breast, and was rewarded by a hardening nub at the peak. He pressed closer, wanting that union of flesh with flesh that could not be accomplished through layers of silk and linen. He pressed against her and she stumbled back a step. He turned her so that her back was to the oak and ground into her, tongue thrusting, loins pressing in a frenzy to intermesh.
Her hands moved with an equal searching frenzy across his back, kneading, clawing, wanting, urging him on. He grabbed at her skirt, trying to lift it, but the fullness of it defeated him, slithering back into the path of his groping hand, blocking him from his goal of bared thigh and hip and belly. He heard her moan and its plaintive note lent him new resourcefulness.
Her hands moved with an equal searching frenzy across his back, kneading, clawing, wanting, urging him on. He grabbed at her skirt, trying to lift it, but the fullness of it defeated him, slithering back into the path of his groping hand, blocking him from his goal of bared thigh and hip and belly. He heard her moan and its plaintive note lent him new resourcefulness.
Learn more about author Michele Stegman and her work.
