The books I feature are from authors who were not afraid to be soulful, sappy, and/or suggestive when it came to their heroes. So, grab a seat, and pick up a pen and paper (or fire up your eReaders) so you can add these to your TBR collection.
In one swift shove, he propelled his heavy body off hers and faced the fire, his breathing weighty and intense. Reaching between his legs, he shifted his burdensome erection and groaned. His chin fell to his chest and a long sigh heaved from his lungs. “Odin’s blood, you are but wicked temptation for the weak.”
Æsa sat up, feeling the strain of her sore muscles in the process. She ignored the sting of her aching back and touched his cheek, stroking his hair away from his tormented face. “Wicked enough to be punished?”
Gustaf stared at her, his eyes boring into hers. “Punished?”
She drew her finger over the hard angle of his jaw, down his neck and back up into the thick of his hair. “Call it what you will, but there is a fine line between punishment and pleasure. I have known great pleasure under the tenderness of your touch, but I long for more. I yearn to feel the wrath of the unchained warrior. To know what the abandonment of your restraint feels like between my thighs.”
She saw the column of his throat bob as he swallowed. Her words had struck him as hard as any blow to the gut, but she knew they likely caressed him like a warm tongue up his throbbing length.
“Perhaps having to abstain from your urges will force the wild animal from its barred enclosure when the time comes.”
“Perhaps,” he repeated, his voice cracking under duress.
She smiled and threaded her hands through his hair, wrenching his face closer to hers. “I can only hope.” With lust still blazing in his eyes, she took his lips and plundered his mouth with her tongue. As fiercely as she began the kiss, she broke away, capturing his wanton stare. “Sooner, rather than later.”
~ Renee Vincent, The Temperate Warrior
Already dizzy from the wine, Kathleen’s senses spun. Grant tasted of peanut butter and Sauvignon Blanc. He smelled like the outdoors and male muskiness. His lips were warm, the finger that caressed her cheek, gentle and soft.
“I want to make love to you,” he said, watching her over the rims of his glasses.
She drew back, her eyes wide with surprise. “Love or sex?” Her voice cracked a little.
He cupped her cheek, his fingers cool on her flushed skin. “Love,” he said firmly. “I don’t have sex with women I don’t care about.”
Kathleen searched his face and saw sincerity in his eyes. She saw desire there too. “I don’t know.”
He removed his hand and sat back. “I forgot. You’re the good, small town girl.”
There was a moment of silence while she thought about it. Other girls did it. This was the sixties, for crying out loud! She had let the whole sexual revolution pass her by. She’d never even burned a bra.
“No commitment, if that’s what’s worrying you,” Grant said, reaching for her and wrapping her in his arms. She laid her cheek against his chest. He was warm. His heart beat strong and sure. “Let’s do it, Kate. Because we can. Because we’re young and healthy and free.”
~ Jan Scarbrough, A Groovy Christmas
Allie couldn’t believe her ears. “How can you say that? I have been nothing but accommodating to you since you arrived. Until recently I have kept my mouth shut when you have been rude instead of giving you tit-for-tat like I should have and wanted to more than you can imagine. What do you want from me?”
George turned and crossed the room to sit down on the couch. He waited, one brow lifted, until Allie got the message and joined him. “I want you treating me like you would anyone else, and until today, you haven’t.
“Don’t you think I know I am lucky to be alive? Don’t you think I realize how many of my friends didn’t make it back, or are so messed up that they will never get their lives back?”
Allie felt lost, embarrassed, humbled. How had she read the situation so wrong? “So you like me mad at you when you act like a jerk?”
George smiled, really smiled, and Allie felt her heart resume its pounding beat. She shook her head, relieved once again that George couldn’t see her reaction. The man was eye candy, and she had suddenly developed a sweet tooth.
~ Janet Eaves, If Only In My Dreams
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Renee Vincent is an award-winning author of historical and contemporary romance.