Liaison

by Anya Howard

Genres: Paranormal Romance

Synopsis

Experience the ultimate in wickedly erotic passion. . .

"Personal Possessions" by Devyn Quinn

A bad girl on the run meets a master of domination in a mysterious town called Helle--and Nikki Malone is about to be introduced to the most exquisite sensations by a man like no other. Jackson Sullivan meets her more than halfway . . .

"Captive Heat" by Jodi Lynn Copeland

Leia is compelled to explore her innermost desire: to be held captive by a dark, sensual god of a man. Sebastian's uncommon sexual skills are so potent she is ready to submit to him in every way. . .

"Rapture Bound" by Anya Howard

Gillian Nordstrom doesn't fear Bruce Wolff's hard body or his masterful touch. She craves the intense pleasure that only a dominant lover can give. . .and in return, she willingly obeys as he strips her down and satisfies all her secret desires. . .

"Angelic orgies, darkest desires, masteries of true love. . .a gripping, wild read you won't want to put down." –TwoLips Romance

Release date: May 10, 2016

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Print pages: 150

Sample

It was during the sixth week after my arrival into the village as the new schoolmaster that I stood at the doorway of the newly designated schoolhouse, watching the last of my pupils return home for the day: two sisters, skipping off hand in hand. It had already been a fully frustrating day. Just keeping my thoughts to the subject matter had been a labor. But now the cold bath planned for my return home vanished from thought as my eyes clung to the sight of Maresa’s dark braids flying over her shoulders and Laurea’s long blond tresses bouncing over her voluptuous hips. They glanced back just before prancing off the lawn for the smooth dirt street. They were giggling, and their eyes were bold. My face flushed smartly, but the awkwardness did not show in my bearing, of course, for I had years of experience in wearing the stern countenance of the schoolmaster. I knew they saw it, too, for a chagrined bloom rose at once in their fair cheeks and their mouths pursed like scolded children.

But children they were not; and what luscious mouths they had—tinged with rose, as smooth as their legs that peeped out beneath the hems of their frocks. My pupils had a distinct fashion to which they adhered: shin-length lacy frocks dyed in various shades of pastels, with white bodices so tightly laced that their breasts heaved vulnerably close to spilling out. On their feet they wore little white leather boots that came to their ankles. The slender heels of these boots only added to the allure of their peeping legs. From the youngest to the oldest, they wore these innocent enticements. My students were all women grown, daughters and wives, imbued, each and every one, with a seductive mystique that was utterly distracting.

For the first five years after acceptance into the exclusive academics guild in Berne, I was assigned to instructing history at the secondary academy in Brussels. During the subsequent five, I served as a private tutor to the young sons of military families in the Netherlands and then England. During these years, when my brain was not immersed in the routine of educating the young men under my supervision, my time was consumed by pursuing my personal hobby. While my peers spent their evenings and holidays relaxing in taverns or romancing prospective wives, I browsed for occult manuscripts. From shops of antique dealers and curiosity collectors to private libraries and auction houses, I had dedicated every spare moment of the last ten years to building my collection of texts.

My routine had not been complicated once in ten years. I rarely thought of women other than those fleeting, nameless images a man creates and utilizes to afford a decent night’s sleep. Marriage was on my agenda, as surely as advancement in the guild house, but advancement came first. Advancement would then provide the connections a man of my station needed to find a woman of acceptable social status and quality for the matrimonial proposition. Other than this regimented plan, I had no use for, and certainly little interaction with, women.

This was, until I arrived in the charter village of Urdhels.

I had just spent several months tutoring history and German to the son of a minor English nobleman and had returned to Berne for further assignment when the messenger from France arrived. It was a financially lucrative offer: to teach the women of the German settlement in history, calligraphy, and poetry. A decision had been made by the settlers’ council that their women would benefit with some acquaintance with contemporary world events, history and poetry, and furthering their comprehension of the French language, which was surprisingly deficient. It was the council that had approached the guild regarding my services and welcomed me en masse upon my entrance into the valley. To say the least, I did not voice my unease with their dialect, which, in actuality, was not the contemporary German I had expected from our correspondence, but rather an obscure dialect of old German, which made for a certain awkwardness between myself and my hosts during those first days in the village.

On the day after my arrival, the councilmen had brought me to the schoolhouse they had prepared. As they introduced me to my waiting class of provocatively frocked and apple-blushed new pupils, I was suddenly and completely aware of how very far I had ventured from the sterile academic halls and chambers. My pupils were their wives, their fiancées, their daughters; and yet, they had no compunction of leaving their fairer sex under my utter and closeted supervision.

Wisdom tempered complaint, of course. These people had paid the guild twice the average salary for my services. I had been given a small cabin in which to dwell. It was clean and furnished, and there was even a servant boy by the name of Weistreim who took care of the small household and brought to me the generous baskets of food sent in the morning and at night from the Burgomeister’s own table. The landscape of the valley was wildly enchanting, and the village picturesque with its medieval-style buildings and homes. The half-day hours were certainly less demanding than those of any other position in my career. The councilmen let it be known straightaway they would not pry into the affairs of my classroom, as long as religion and politics entered not into my rhetoric. In fact, they informed me that I was expected to be stern with my pupils. I had to smile at this, for I simply could not imagine grown women giving me the disruption often encountered with the headstrong male children I was used to. I felt welcome, and strangely so, for I detected from discussions with the councilmen that they were none too fond of strangers in general. Before I had set out from Berne, the guild director had provided me what information he personally knew of the charter tribe. They had settled in the valley hundreds of years before.

There was some rumor as to their ties with certain old Teutonic fraternities, but there were a few verified bits of information on record too. An exemption from taxation and the right to keep their own customs was still yielded from the original edicts of the provincial duke who had allotted them the land. In exchange for these grants, the Urdhel men were bound to uphold the hereditary title of their patrons and their descendants, as well as serve in some huntsmen capacity, the exact nature of which the director’s documents were unclear. There were some accounts of rifts between several of the dukes and their spiritual and political detractors regarding this tribe. The chronicles I read made repeated references to the pagan Urdhels, and there were accounts from missionaries testifying to their strident refusal to accept Christianity. Chronicler after chronicler commented disparagingly on the Urdhel settlers’ godless and unexplainable fortune to have avoided the fate of the Cathars and Knights Templar. The same chronicles alluded that through the generations, the province dukes had suffered censure and scorn—from relatives of their respective wives to their kings, and from uncertain but vocal religious orders for keeping the compact with the settlers.

Not that I was concerned with overly theological disputes. I was wisely adherent to customs of faith as it served propriety, even if personally I was skeptical of institutionalized religion. So it was, upon first entering the valley and setting eyes on the medieval-like village, it occurred to me a marvel, indeed, that these people had held on to their primitive ways for so long without interference. But on this day, it was all I could to do to draw my appreciating eyes from the young women and return inside my classroom. I gave myself some time to tidy up the desk and check the floor for misplaced papers—I had long demanded tidiness from my pupils, as well as their full attention. Of course, I could not imagine myself scolding grown women for something haphazardly fallen to the floor.

As I straightened my papers, I had to ignore their perfume that lingered in the air—the heady scent of pure femininity. I had to force my mind to matters other than all those flowing tresses and pretty flouncing skirts. I left the classroom as quickly as I could, welcoming the sobering outside . . .