Trained in sensuality, a Druid priestess finds herself falling for the wrong man—the warrior who’s taken her prisoner…
Having lost her faith when Roman invaders destroyed life as she knew it, Morwyn took a vow of celibacy to spite her goddess. But before she can join up with the rebels, she's captured by a Gaul mercenary whose animal charms and chiseled body will test her conviction... and make it harder to kill him.
Bren, pledged to the true Briton king, has spent three years undercover in the Roman Legion. So when his own unit attacks and brutalizes a fiery Celtic beauty, he saves her the only way he can - by claiming her as his prisoner. But unlike his men, Bren would never take the woman by force, no matter how obviously she burns for his touch.
As they near Roman headquarters, Morwyn resolves to honor her vow of celibacy - but if the Gaul were to ravage her, could she be blamed for enjoying his body? With just a hint of seduction, sooner or later the Gaul will succumb to his exquisite captive...
Excerpt from Captive
Chapter Two
Ignoring the bone-deep ache in her wrist, she pushed herself upright. Beg him? She would sooner tear out her tongue than ever admit such a treacherous desire.
“Since you have no use for me,” and the way his cock had burned her tender lips proved how much of a lie that was, “then let me go.”
He stood up. She had to crane her neck to maintain eye contact but it was all she could do for the moment. She didn’t yet trust her legs to support her. She’d rather remain seated on the ground than stumble to her knees before him.
“Let you go?” He appeared to contemplate her words. “Alone, in occupied territory? I don’t think so.”
Air hissed between her teeth. “I can take care of myself."
He didn’t reply. He didn’t have to. The disbelieving glance said enough.
She flexed her fingers, blocking the pain of her abused wrist. She was so close to the heart of Caratacus’s resistance. She could feel the call of freedom vibrating in the air, enticing her, if only she could find the right path.
And this Gaul intended to drag her with him to—wherever his cursed duty took him.
Without warning he hunkered before her and she glowered into his face, ignoring without success the harsh line of his jaw and high, aristocratic cheekbones. In another lifetime, before the Romans had invaded Cymru, she might have looked twice at this warrior. Might have invited him into her bed, enjoyed his charms and battle hard body.
But now he was a creature of Rome. And no matter how her deprived clit ached for fulfillment she would never lower herself so irredeemably as to slake her need with one such as this.
Because she had no intention of ever slaking such need again.
