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Please take a minute to say hi to, M S Spencer, and make her feel welcome. Leave a comment for a chance to win one of Ms. Spencer's novels. Please a way to contact you in case you're the winner.
AUTHOR BIO:
Although she has lived or traveled in every continent except
Antarctica and Australia (bucket list), M. S. Spencer has spent the last thirty
years mostly in Washington, D.C. as a librarian, Congressional staff assistant,
speechwriter, editor, birdwatcher, kayaker, policy wonk, non-profit director
and parent. She has two fabulous grown children, and currently divides her time
between the Gulf coast of Florida and a tiny village in Maine.
What do pirates, princes, Puritans, and propaganda have in
common? Lacey Delahaye, forager and jelly maker, finds out in this romantic
suspense set in the western Caribbean. A randomly chosen comment will win a
copy of this wonderful story.
Blurb:
In the aftermath of a hurricane, Lacey Delahaye finds
herself marooned on the Gulf coast of Florida with a mysterious man. They are
immediately drawn to each other, but before Armand can confess his identity,
they are kidnapped and taken far from civilization to a tiny, remarkable island
in the western Caribbean. With the help of her son Crispin, a small, but proud
young boy named Inigo, and a cadre of extraordinary characters, Lacey and
Armand must confront pirates, power-mad ideologues, and palace intrigue if they
are to restore the once idyllic tropical paradise to its former serenity and
find lasting happiness.
Excerpt (R) : A Wet Reunion
Lacey fidgeted. Inigo said she
would see Armand, but when? And how? She enjoyed Maitea’s and Edrigu’s company,
but if she didn’t find herself in Armand’s arms soon she’d go stark raving mad.
“Dinner is served.”
They filed into the dining room.
Lacey peered into every corner, hoping to see Armand. No one except the butler
and a footman peered back. After dinner, Maitea suggested a stroll on the
battlements. Lacey lagged behind in case Armand lay in wait for her. Nothing.
They did two circuits and, as the moon rose, Maitea yawned. “It’s been a long
day. I’m sure you’re tired. Come on, I’ll walk you to your room.”
No one waited for her there either.
She even checked the shower just in case. At last, she undressed and lay down.
She remembered this room and the bed, and a beautiful night of lovemaking. Now
she couldn’t sleep. She went out on the balcony. The moon rode high, walking a
carpet of stars. Their myriad needles of light bounced off something below. A terrace? No, a swimming pool. Funny, I didn’t notice it the last time I
was here. A swim in the moonlight
might relax me. She slipped out of her nightgown, threw on a thin robe, and
followed a set of rough, rock-hewn steps down.
At the bottom she found an oval
pool, almost hidden by tall pink oleander and night-blooming jasmine. A
waterfall tinkled at one end. She slipped into the water. It felt cool against
her skin. She floated on her back, gazing up at the sky. Contentment filled
her. I can wait for Armand—there’s all
the time in the world. Anticipation is half the fun anyway.
The whisper wafted across the
ripples. “So you have come back to me.” For a horrible second she thought
Damien—or worse, Traficant—had found her. But then a wet head rose next to her
and shook the glistening black locks out of a dear face.
“Armand!”
He swam a lap around her. “Who did
you expect?”
Dazed, she touched his face. “I’d
about given up hope for tonight.”
“I’ve been waiting here for you.
Come to me.”
If this were a scene suitable for
children, the next few minutes would allude to sighs and chaste kisses. Or
there would be a scene break with the words “romantic interlude” accompanied by
a little light music.
But it’s not.
Lacey rolled over in the water,
placed a hand on Armand’s head and ducked him under. He came up spitting and laughing.
“That’s no way to treat a prince.”
“That’s the way I treat my princes. Where have you been,
anyway?”
Armand didn’t answer. He ducked
under the water again. In the dark Lacey felt something gently touch her thigh,
then pull it to the right. Bubbles rose up under her, tickling the lips of her
vagina. She twisted, trying to cross her legs to get away from the sensation. A
hand grabbed her other thigh and dragged it to the left. Lips replaced the
bubbles, then a tongue speared her unprotected channel, darting in and out,
prodding the nub of her clitoris. She took hold of Armand’s shoulders and
pulled his head closer. The orgasm kindled. Just as she slid over the edge,
Armand’s head came up. He gasped and sucked in a mouthful of air. “Armand, I
was almost there! Why did you stop?”
He panted, “If you want more,
you’ll have to allow me to breathe now and then.”
“All right—go ahead and rest a bit. Catch your
breath.” She dropped below the surface, circling around to Armand’s rear.
Reaching between his legs, she hefted his balls and rolled them in her hand.
His fingers gently pried her hand away and pulled her between his thighs. His
cock, hard as a shillelagh, bobbed before her. She caught it with her mouth and
ran her tongue around it. Armand kicked his feet and rose to the surface,
bringing Lacey with him. He held on to the coping with one hand to stabilize
them and let Lacey finish her work. “Oh God, Lacey, that’s it!” Warm, creamy
semen spurted out, dissipating in the water.
Armand swung her around so her back
was to the pool wall and straddled her.
“Have you caught your breath yet?”
“Oh, yes.” He held her waist and
let the still rigid penis slide into her waiting pussy. The soft water cradled
them as they moved in rhythm, making their own waves. In the dark Lacey could
make out little except the saffron flashes in Armand’s eyes. She kept her gaze
locked on them while his thrusts lifted her almost out of the water. Like
dolphins mating, they breached and plunged until the moment when man touched
the innermost part of woman and fused. The wire connecting them across the
miles, a wire that had been stretched almost to its limit, recoiled into its
natural shape—a spring tightly coiled around them as they clung together.
Armand wrapped Lacey in his arms.
“It’s been so long,” he whispered. He kissed the top of her head, her forehead,
her nose. “I've imagined this moment—”
“Every day, every hour—”
“Every second.”
His lips fastened on hers.
*****
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