Selena Kitt is a NEW YORK TIMES bestselling author of erotic romance fiction and erotica. OVER A MILLION BOOKS SOLD! Her writing embodies everything from the spicy to the
When she's not pawing away at her keyboard, Selena runs an innovative publishing company (excessica.com). She does bellydancing and photography, and she loves four poster beds, tattoos, voyeurism, blindfolds, velvet, baby oil, the smell of leather, and playing kitty cat.
Her books EcoErotica (2009), The Real Mother Goose (2010) and Heidi and the Kaiser (2011) were all Epic Award Finalists. Her gay male romance, Second Chance, won the Epic Award in Erotica in 2011. Her FREE story, Connections, was one of the runners-up for the 2006 Rauxa Prize, given annually to an erotic short story of "exceptional literary quality," out of over 1,000 nominees, where awards are judged by a select jury and all entries are read "blind" (without author's name available.)
Sibyl Blackthorne isn’t afraid of anything—except maybe beingsold into marriage to a man she doesn’t love. A man she’s never even met. A man
who, by reputation, is one of Scotland’s cruelest lairds in over a century.
But what choice does she have, with her father dead and heruncle now married to his brother’s widow, putting him in charge of not only the
Blackthorne fortune, but Sibyl’s future as well?
Then her betrothed turns out to actually be far worse than hisreputation, so headstrong Sibyl decides life as a peasant, or even death, would
be preferable to a future with such a despicable man, and makes plans to run
On an organized hunt for wolves—or, as the Scots call them,wulvers—Sybil escapes her fiancé’s clutches, only to find she’s run into
something far more untamed and dangerous in the middle of the woods.
When a big, brawny, long-haired man, who only speaks to her inGaelic and calls himself Raife, simply picks her up and carries her off with
him into the Scottish wild, Sibyl knows she’s in trouble.
When he takes her to a place no human has ever been, she knowsshe’s gone over the edge.
And when he, at last, marks her as his own, she discovers thatonly one wild heart can claim another.
“What are youdoing?” Sibyl protested, but barely had time to get the words out before the
big man had divested her of her weapon and had thrown her over his shoulder and
began carrying her downstream. “Stop! Let me go!”
Her words were lostin the rush of the water and he didn’t seem to hear her at all as he moved
quickly—much faster and more nimbly than she expected of a man of his size—down
the shoreline. She beat at his back with her fists, but he didn’t seem to
notice that either, and before long, her hands ached. It was like hitting a
slab of rock. When he stopped, she lifted her head to look around, noting their
position, away from the protection of the tree line now.
And then she heardit. Could he really have detected the sound, so far away? The dogs were barking
again. On the hunt. She imagined Alistair telling the story to his men, making
up something so he, of course, looked like the wounded hero. Perhaps he would
tell them she had been kidnapped by the massive brute who now had her thrown
over his shoulder—and really, was that far from the truth? She knew he wouldn’t
tell them she had put an arrow through him. That much he would leave out, she
was sure. She hoped.
“They’re coming!”she hissed, beating at the human rock’s back again. She hit him in the side,
eliciting a satisfying grunt from the man, and did it again, pleased when she
heard his sharp intake of breath. “Let me go! They’re coming for me!”
“Bidh modhail!” hesnapped, his hand coming down hard on her behind. Sibyl hadn’t been spanked since
she was a child and, while it really didn’t hurt, given how much padding she
had on under her skirts, the humiliation of it reddened her cheeks and made her
And then they wereflying.
It wasn’t reallyflying, but it felt that way. He was so agile, so quick and light on his feet,
it felt as if he had simply taken flight as they crossed the stream. Behind
them, the dogs grew closer. They were onto a scent—likely her own and she
cursed herself for not grabbing her hat, which would allow the dogs to pick up
her trail—and pursued it with fervor. Sibyl bounced on the big man’s shoulder,
squealing at one point, thinking surely he would fall and she would go tumbling
head-first to her death onto the slippery, moss-covered rocks, but then they
were across, heading into the cover of the woods on the other side.
Once they were asight distance from the tree line, the man upended her with a grunt, putting
her back onto her feet. Sibyl pushed an already tangled mass of auburn hair
away from her face and glared up at him. He didn’t smile, but his eyes danced,
clearly amused at her stance—hands on her hips, face upturned—and the words
that came tumbling out of her mouth.
“You bumblingidiot! You could have killed us both!” she snapped. “I didn’t ask for your
help. Do you understand me? I don’t want your help! No! Go! Away with you!”
She shooed him awaylike an annoying fly but the man didn’t move. He just looked down at her with
those devilish blue eyes.
“Goodbye! Mar sinleibh!” She didn’t know many phrases in Scottish Gaelic, but she had learned a
few from Moira. Hello, goodbye, please and thank you. So she said the words,
hoping he would understand, and from the look on his face, it was clear he got
her meaning. “I’m going! Mar sin leibh! Goodbye!”
She turned andstalked off, getting as far as the nearest tree before he grabbed her again.
“Will you stopthat?” she cried, pushing at his arms as they encircled her and turned her to
him. “No! Chan eil! Chan eil!”
She repeated theGaelic word for no, seeing the frown on his face at her protest.
“Shh.” He touched afinger to her lips, shaking his head.
“Chan eil,” sheobjected again, but this time, the word came out in a mere whisper. “No…
“Tha.” His thumbtraced her jawline as he looked down at her, the sunlight dappled across his
face and chest. She knew the word—tha. Yes. It meant “yes.” Sibyl felt her
breath quicken as the stranger traced her lips with one finger, his gaze
falling to her mouth, then to her throat, then further down still, to the way
her breasts nearly overflowed the top of her disheveled dress.
“Tha,” he saidagain, lifting his gaze to meet her eyes. So blue. His eyes were so blue. “Yes.”
“You… you speakEnglish?” she whispered, cocking her head at him in wonder. “Who… who are you?”
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