A Scot to Have and To Hold

An elite fighting force unlike the world has ever seen...
Scouring the darkest corners of the Highlands and Western Isles, Robert the Bruce handpicks ten warriors to help him in his quest to free Scotland from English rule. They are the best of the best, chosen for their superior skills in each discipline of warfare. And to lead his secret Highland Guard, Bruce chooses the greatest warrior of all.
The ultimate Highland warlord and a swordsman without equal, Tor MacLeod has no intention of being drawn into Scotland’s war against the English. Dedicated to his clan, the fiercely independent chief answers to no one—especially not to his alluring new bride, bartered to him in a bid to secure his command of the deadliest fighting force the world has ever seen. The treacherous chit who made her way to Tor’s bed may have won his hand, but she will never claim his heart.
Although her husband’s reputation is as fierce as his manner, Christina Fraser believes that something softer hides beneath his brutal shell. But the only warmth she feels is in their bed, in glorious moments of white-hot desire that disappear with the dawn. When Christina’s reckless bid to win her husband’s love goes awry and thrusts them into danger on the eve of war, Tor will face his ultimate battle: to save his wife and to open his heart—before it’s too late.
Alien’s Temptation

A Wicked Game
The Viper
Lady Briar Weds the Scot
Made For The Marquess

Irresistible
The Hawk
Empowered By The Earl

The Madness of Viscount Atherbourne


“I love you. I’ve loved you for years, even when I couldn’t admit it to myself. Why do you think the walls in my bedroom are green?” A glow of happiness was welling up inside her, spreading to every limb, but she was still afraid to hope. “Why?” “Because I imagined you there. Always.” Her throat felt hot and painfully tight. “Truly?” “Truly. I want you by my side, to dazzle and charm everyone who comes into your orbit. I’ve seen you do it a thousand times.” “Only to make you jealous,” she admitted. He let out a strangled laugh. “Well, it worked. I’ve hated every man who laughed at your jokes, every idiot who’s sighed over your figure. The day you wore that bloody handkerchief dress was the worst day of my life.” She managed a coy smile. “You didn’t like it?” “I loved it and hated it in equal measure.”
The house sounded very much like herself: an illusion. A vision that looked perfect from afar, but on closer inspection was still a work in progress.
She stifled a giggle. “You’re doing a sterling job.” She pressed against him and wriggled provocatively. “I can feel how hard it is for you.” “That’s my pistol,” he said, straight-faced. She wiggled again. “My other pistol.” She flattened herself full-length against him, from breasts to thighs, and with them both wearing breeches there was no mistaking his desire. A thrill of feminine triumph coursed through her. “And this?” she teased. “That’s all for you.”
“You’re only one bad experience away from being a virgin. You barely qualify to wear pale pink, let alone scarlet. You, Carys Davies, are a fraud.” Her mouth dropped open, as he’d known it would at the perceived insult, and he choked back a laugh. Outraged Carys was much better than miserable Carys. “Being a virgin is a finite thing,” she bit out. “You either are or you aren’t. There’s no gray area.” “True.” He kept his tone to just the right level of amused and condescending guaranteed to drive her mad. “But sexual experience is a sliding scale. A marathon, as opposed to a sprint. You’ve barely stumbled across the starting line.”
“No,” he agreed huskily. “You’re not thin. Or willowy. You’re delicious. And I’m a starving man who wants to feast.”
“You have an excellent assortment of curves, Lady Carys. And curves are some of the most desirable forms in all of architecture. Beautiful and strong.”










