The Major's Lady

Mia Easton

Description

Liz Gordon gets separated from her friends on the trails of The Haunted Grounds on Halloween. When she encounters a gorgeous, compelling man dressed in eighteenth century garb, it leads to one of the most surreal moments of her life. She reacts by slamming herself through the barrier that separates her from the stranger, crossing over into 1783 and the life of Major Wesley Hale.

Wes is a man who is haunted by his past, and restrained by eighteenth century manners and customs.
Will Liz be able to get back to her own time? Does she want to? Or will the dashing major convince her to stay?

Publisher's Note: This steamy time travel romance takes us back to an era where power, romance, and trouble behind the scenes all combine to keep the reader guessing.

Sujets

• Action-adventure
• Alpha (ethology)
• Time travel

Informations

• Publié par: Blushing Books Publications
• Date de parution: 02 août 2018
• Nombre de lectures: 1
• EAN13: 9781612588063
• Langue: English

Extrait

The Major’s Lady


Mia Easton

Blushing Books
Contents



What’s Inside


Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Epilogue


Mia Easton

EBook Offer

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©2018 by Blushing Books® and Mia Easton

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No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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Mia Easton
Title: The Major’s Lady

EBook ISBN: 978-1-61258-806-3
Cover Art by ABCD Graphics & Design

This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.
What’s Inside

He sat facing her. He reached for her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. Pressing it to his cheek and avoiding her gaze, he said, "I wish," and then he looked into her eyes with such intensity, her breath caught. "I could claim you for my own. Now. Tonight. And for all time."
Tears sprang to her eyes, and her heart soared.
He watched her searchingly. "What would you say if you were allowed to be candid with no repercussions?"
"Yes."
He looked like he'd stopped breathing.
"Yes, you can. You can claim me for your own." He released a pent-up breath as if shocked, but she'd committed herself now. "I've wanted that from the first moment I saw you."
Unable to hold back, he took her into his arms and kissed her. She met him halfway. Wrapping her hands around his back and pressing herself to him, she kissed him back with a need and hunger she didn't know was possible. It had been held back for so long. She moaned as his hand slipped over her shift and closed in on a jutting nipple.
"I thought I'd go mad from longing," he breathed.
The words were music to her ears. She clutched him closer as he kissed her neck and shoulder and jawline. She lifted her mouth back to his and kissed him. She would show him what mad from longing felt like.
When he pulled back, it was to take off his shirt. "Tell me if you want me to stop."
She shook her head. Stopping was the last thing she wanted. She pulled off her shift and watched his gaze lower to her breasts. He stood and fumbled to get off the rest of his clothing. She noticed a scar on his shoulder and then her breath caught at the size of his cock. She'd never been with anyone that big. There was another scar on his right thigh.
He got on top of her, bracing himself on his arms, and kissed her again. Deeper, slower. She ran her fingers through his hair, overcome by the feelings and sensations surging within. He rose on his haunches to cup her breasts, to savor the look and feel of them, and then lowered his head to take one into his mouth. She sighed with pleasure as he sucked. He moved to the other breast and paid it homage. He began lowering his body over hers, his face hovering inches above except when he pressed soft, warm kisses to her skin. Heat mingling, taking his time, he reveled in what he was now to possess. When he reached her scar, she cringed. It was raised and ugly.
"What happened?" he asked as he traced the scar with his finger.
"I fell on something." The feeling of his lips on her scar made her jump. "Don't," she begged, looking down at him. "I hate my scar."
He met her gaze. "Do you know how many I have? Much worse than this."
"That's different."
"Why is it different? It's not. Scars are proof of what we've survived. We should think of them as unique to who we are and, therefore, beautiful." He kissed her scar again. "I love this scar because it's part of you. Part of who you are."
Tears pricked at her eyes.
He moved back up to kiss her again. As their tongues intertwined, he wedged a knee between her legs and she happily spread them. She'd never wanted anything the way she wanted him inside her.
He turned his attention back to her breasts, appreciating the raised pink nipples. He licked and teased each before taking it into his mouth and sucking. It occurred to him that she'd been sent to give him life and he was happily claiming the gift. He sucked harder and she made a low sound in her throat and writhed against him. Feelings of triumph and power and control surged, making him feel more whole than he had in years, maybe ever.
Prologue

October 31, 1780
A t first, he wasn't sure if he was dead or alive. He could have been lying on the ground, experiencing Hell's first welcome as much as on the bloody, body-strewn battlefield that straddled the boundary line of North and South Carolina. Searing pain bit from all over, his right leg, shoulder and back. It was a struggle to draw breath and the result was a sound unlike any he had ever made.
The death rasp , he thought dully. Means…alive, still alive.
"Wes," John Paul cried, suddenly looming in front of him. He looked full of agonized concern, and his shirtfront was covered in blood. He was saying something, but there was so much noise that Wes couldn't make it out.
"—hear me?" John Paul asked. "We won! It's a high cost, but we stopped them." He looked up and frantically motioned to someone. "Get the doctor here, and hurry! The major's regained consciousness."
John Paul's call seemed to echo, or perhaps several men were shouting the same order over and over again. Wes tried to recall what had happened, but all that came to him was a memory of thick, black smoke, the deafening noise of gun volley and the sound of men screaming and yelling.
It was a bad place to have held the battle because the enemy had taken control of the hills to the south and east, but they'd had no choice. They couldn't allow the enemy battalion to meet up with Cornwallis who was said to be in Charlotte. The Continental Army had to either defeat the Redcoats here or die trying. And die they might, he'd realized, they were so outnumbered.
It was coming back to him—the redcoats advancing with bayonets drawn, the sharpened steel flashing in the late afternoon sun. Patriot sharpshooters had picked the Redcoats off, and so many had fallen, and yet they'd kept coming, live soldiers stepping over the dead and wounded without so much as a glance downward. Wes had known they were running low on ammunition, and there seemed to be no end to the Redcoats coming through the pass between hills. As the sun lowered, casting the valley into deep shadow, he'd felt certain all would be lost. ' Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,' ran through his mind. "I will fear no evil," he'd mouthed in response to the unbidden thought. Damn you, I will fear no evil!
John Paul took hold of his hand and squeezed it. "Stay with me, my friend. The doctor is coming."
Wes didn't have the strength to reply.
"Do you remember what happened?" John Paul asked. "You were shot from your horse as you led the last charge."
What Wes was suddenly remembering was his brother's face. They had seen each other from across the field of battle, each in a different uniform. Alexander had been there. "Alex—"
John Paul nodded tersely. He looked around them before lowering his head again and sharing, "He got away. Retreated with—"
A loud cry drowned out the last of his statement. Wes's gaze sought out the source of the cry, a group of men gathered around a large tree some thirty yards' distance away.
"Don't move," John Paul snapped. "You've lost enough blood."
Wes stared at the group, but he couldn't comprehend what the large, colorful objects dangling from the limbs of the large oak were. The realization hit with a sickening force. The objects were men in scarlet colored uniforms. The men, his men, were hanging the prisoners. Another had just been hoisted into the air to a loud cheer. The condemned man's body jerked violently and Wes felt the struggle in his own as he fought for a breath. This was wrong. Wrong! "Stop," was all he managed to get out before black spots danced in front of his eyes and a sick lightness of being began overwhelming him. He was d