At long last, the book, WICKED WOMAN, my writing partner and I wrote and rewrote and rewrote, under the name Annabelle Weston, is finally available!
ABOUT THE BOOK:
There are some things a man can’t walk away from. Nathan Bender is on a quest for vengeance. What he finds is sexy saloon-dolly O’Dell Murphy. She holds the information he needs—and becomes a temptation he can’t resist.
O’Dell longs for a respectable life outside the saloon. When the man Nathan is searching for steals O’Dell’s savings, she has no choice but to go after him.
Torn between passion and revenge, Nathan reluctantly accompanies O’Dell through the Sonoran Desert. There are some things a man can’t walk away from—and Nathan is finding it’s not revenge that binds him. It’s O’Dell, and the wicked, sinful pleasure she provides.
Reader Advisory: This book contains violence and a brief depiction of rape.
An Excerpt From: WICKED WOMAN
Copyright © ANNABELLE WESTON, 2011
All Rights Reserved, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.
Nathan’s gaze shifted to a strawberry-maned dolly who’d sidled up next to him, dressed in dark-red silk with black lace that showed off her handsome figure. A black feather swayed in her curls. She’d painted her lips and eyes and had a fair amount of red powder dabbed on her cheeks.
She was a damn fine-looking woman—hell, his cock did a little twitch in his britches—but he was in no mood for company.
The barkeep set one of the shot glasses in front of him and poured out a full glass.
“Make that two,” Nathan said, reevaluating the situation. Maybe this dolly knew something about three men passing through and talking big.
“Say thanks.” She winked at him with amber-colored eyes. When she’d been served, she lifted her glass. “Here’s to a long and dusty trail.”
Nathan lifted his whiskey and she clinked glasses as if this were some kind of celebration.
He threw back the entire glass and relished the burn in his throat all the way down to his innards.
“Alvin, bring over the bottle,” she said, her voice as smooth as silk sheets. “This hombre looks thirsty.”
The barkeep set a half-full bottle on the bar. She poured Nathan a second glass, her soft fingers brushing against his as she handed it to him. Just that single touch sent lightning to boil his blood. He gritted his teeth against the desire even the briefest of contact could create. What was with him? The woman’s hand touched his and he wanted to toss her on top the bar and make her entire body shake and shiver again and again. He shook his head. He was here for a drink, nothing more.
“My name is O’Dell.” She turned her bare shoulder in his direction, a move calculated to entice a man.
Her eyes sparkled as she licked a drop of whiskey off her bottom lip. His eyes narrowed in on the pink tongue, imagining what else that tongue could do.
Goddamn, man. Your family’s been annihilated and all you can do is think of sex. Guilt was usually just the thing to tamp down a man’s desire but not with this woman… There was something about her. He felt she could take all his pain away with her touch. And that tongue…
He had to turn away before he licked her lip too.
“You got a last name?” She trailed a hand along his arm and nipped at his ear.
He swallowed hard as a shiver raced along his flesh. “Nathan Bender.”
She leaned her back against the bar and rested both elbows on it, giving Nathan a better view of her wares. His breath hitched up a notch. Large pink breasts showed from the tight bodice of her bawdy gown and pushed beyond the limits of propriety. Without too much effort, he could make out the rosy rims of her nipples.
She was taller than the average woman and appeared to be twenty-five or six. He could be wrong. Saloon life aged a woman and this dolly had some wear on her. No amount of paint could cover the creases in the corners of her eyes or the lines around her lips.
But age didn’t appear to have dampened her spirit—nor did it detract from her appeal.
She pressed her soft breasts against his arm, her eyes begging for him to stroke her. Without thinking, he palmed her breast, his thumb sliding over her turgid nipple. Her smile was infectious, her eyes darkened with desire, but he pulled his hand away, turned his attention to his drink, hating how he could be so easily tempted.
His gaze wandered back to take a second look. How long had it been since he’d slid between the sheets with a woman? Too long. He imagined this fiery redhead lifting her skirts for him, turning over a barstool and raising her plump creamy bottom up in the air so he could take her from behind. He almost groaned aloud.
Her glossy, vibrant hair bespoke of the fire in her spirit, and the wicked glint in her amber eyes spoke of fire in the bedroom too. Her luscious curves didn’t help matters. He couldn’t stop staring at her, wondering how her ass would feel as he gripped it in his hands.
And from the way she was gazing at him, she knew every little detail he was thinking. She captivated him. She had just what a man needed—if he didn’t have more important considerations to attend to, which he did.
That flame-gold hair captured his imagination—his hands running through it, tugging her head to the side so he could sample the flavor of her neck. He stifled the urges most men were a slave to, picked up his glass and threw the molten lava down. He swallowed and wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand.
She wiggled against him. “I haven’t seen you in the Lonesome before, Nathan Bender.”
“I’m not from around here,” he finally said, noting his voice sounded gravelly. His cock strained the fabric of his britches. Hell, he needed to get control of himself. He was acting like a farm boy with his first dairy maid.
She nodded, sliding her hands along his chest and down over his stomach. “You look like you’ve been on the trail a while.”
“Just got in from driving a herd to Abilene.”
“Is that so?” She moved her hands lower, resting them on his thighs before boldly sliding up to grip his erection, stroking his length through the fabric of his pants. “Will you be wanting a room, then? You and me can have a little fun—actually, a lot of fun from the size of things.”
Nathan’s eyes closed for a brief second as she stroked him into oblivion. He wanted to say yes, if only to lose himself for a moment, to forget the past twenty-four hours. He leaned forward, the space of a breath between their lips. She closed the distance, her mouth, tangy with whiskey, settling on his. Her tongue flicked out teasingly at the corners of his lips, her hand still rigorously stroking his cock.
He placed his hands on her hips. She didn’t resist as he tugged her closer. When he tried to kiss her, she turned her head. He settled instead for the sweet spot behind her ear. Slid his tongue to her shoulder and then to the creamy mounds of her breasts.
She moaned and replaced her hands with the junction of her thighs—the heat of which he could feel through both of their clothes. Her hands rested on his shoulder, encouraging him further. He nipped at the fleshy tops of her breasts and then tugged her gown just a fraction of an inch and was rewarded with a sweet pink nipple in his mouth.
Cheers went up around the saloon, pulling Nathan back to the present. What was he doing? Was he going to screw the pain away? Would rutting this saloon wench in front of a crowd help him find his brother’s killer? The answer was no.
He pulled away, leaving O’Dell watching him, and his cock throbbing to plant itself deep inside her. He turned back to the whiskey. The drink didn’t expect shit from him—it just had to be drunk.
Nothing against her, but grief had left him a cold bastard and a woman’s touch had lost its appeal. Surprisingly, the woman didn’t leave. He wouldn’t have been surprised to see her move on to some other bastard willing to pay for a fuck but she didn’t. Instead, concern flickered in her eyes.
He grabbed the bottle and poured himself another drink. “I’m looking for someone.”
“Perhaps I can help.”
Nathan clutched the glass. “Perhaps you can.”
Be sure to visit us on our upcoming Blog Tour with giveaways! Starting next week!
- Tara Kingston’s Blog — 10/25
- Seduced by History — 10/30
- Fierce Romance — 11/1