The
countdown’s on to more Britannia pirates! Douglas “Hellion” MacLauchlin and his
wee pirate lassie are sailing the high seas, due to arrive on your Kindle May
28th, 2019. FREE in Kindle Unlimited. Until then, The Sea Hellion
(sequel to The Seafaring Rogue) is available for pre-order!
About the Book
Determined
to reap revenge and save crewmates taken by ruthless pirate Antoine Basille,
Sorcha has no choice but to seek help from the scoundrel who broke her heart,
Cap'n Douglas "Hellion" MacLauchlin. When Douglas agrees, it's on his terms, done his way. She will
become his meek captive so they can gain access to Hebrides Cove where Antoine
awaits.
Will
they be able to fool their cunning nemesis and get back not just stolen
treasure but the imprisoned crew? Or will their depraved foe see through their
charade? Find out as Cap'n Douglas, and
his feisty pirate lass navigate a turbulent
but passionate adventure that reignites long denied love.
Pre-order Now! →
Excerpt
Though Brechin had staggered under the force
of Douglas’s fist, he bounced back just fine. Knuckles clenched, the Irishman
issued a taunting grin as he spat blood on the ground and went for the
figurative jugular.
“’Tis not about a pretty bauble to ye,
friend,” he goaded. “But about the fact ye never got her because, in the end, she didnae want ye.” He tapped his temple. “She wanted what was up here.” He
grabbed his crotch. “But most especially, what was down here—”
That’s all he got out before Douglas
lunged at him, and they hit the ground, then started rolling. All he could see
was the bloody Irishman sailing off into the damn sunset with her the last time
she was here. Then the sleepless nights where all he could envision was Brechin
having her. Tasting lips that should have been his to taste. Touching soft
silky skin that should have been his to feel. Hearing her moans of pleasure and
owning her love as he once did.
Most pointedly though?
All of it happening as Douglas became a
distant memory to her.
He and Brechin fought on a rough shore, so it was uncomfortable rolling over jagged
pebbles and gritty sand as they both managed to get in a few good punches
before Douglas finally got him right where he wanted him.
Pinned beneath him with his hands
wrapped around the Irishman’s neck.
“Yer cock willnae work so well when ye’re
dead,” he ground out as he squeezed Brechin's neck, trembling he was so
infuriated. “Aye, laddie?”
“Och, ‘tis enough!” Sorcha crouched
beside them, all the while muttering under her breath about damn difficult
skirts. “Let him go, MacLauchlin. Ye’ve had yer fun.”
“Nay.” He shook his head. “Not nearly,
lass.”
“Let him go.” She brought her dirk to
Douglas’s neck. “Now.”
He could care less if she slit his
throat so long as he took Brechin with him. As it stood, the Irishman wasn’t
doing too well, so it was only a matter
of time.
“Douglas,” she warned, pressing the
blade tighter. “Let him go.”
When Brechin gasped something, his
pleading eyes on Sorcha, she sighed and shook her head. That’s when Douglas
realized this was the perfect opportunity to test his theory. To see how close
she and the Irishman really were.
“If I didnae know better, I would say he
wants ye to say something, lass.” His gaze never left Brechin who continued to struggle for air. “Mayhap even confess to
something.”
“Ballocks, ye’re as stubborn as ever!” she
said.
Instead of confessing like the meek lady
she so wished to portray, she did something he should have seen coming. She
tossed aside the blade, hiked up her skirts, and leapt on his back, switching
her tactic to strangling him rather than reasoning with him as she wrapped her
arm around his neck.
“Let him go,” she ground out, “ye bloody
stubborn Scot, pain in my arse!”
Drunken chuckles and even a few murmurs
of concern drifted from the crowd as Brechin’s face grew redder and his lips
turned purple. His crazed eyes continued to plead with Sorcha to say something
worthwhile. Something that might save his quickly dwindling life.
“Och, ye’re a stubborn wee one yerself,
lass,” Douglas muttered. He tried to shoulder her off, but she had a good grip on him. Just like she always had one way
or another. So he knew full well she would not let up. That she truly thought
she would sway him physically rather than have to confess to a truth she didn’t
want to admit to.
So he did all he could, and lessened his
grip on Brechin’s neck just enough to mayhap get a confession out of him.
Thankfully, the Irishman was wise enough to use that time effectively and
gasped precisely what Douglas wanted to hear.
“We…are…not…married…never were.”
As he gasped out the words, Sorcha, in a
last-ditch effort, had the audacity to
bite the side of Douglas’s neck. A nip that had enough pinch to swiftly turn
his attention from the Irishman struggling for air to the hellion on his back.
“Ye wee troublesome lass,” he grumbled
as he let Brechin go and staggered to his feet with her still clinging to him.
Despite getting what she wanted, she held on tight.
“Ye think to force a confession then?”
she muttered, digging her claws in tight as her nails bit into his chest.
“I dinnae think,” he growled, trying to dislodge her as he staggered about.
“But did.”
“Brechin would have said anything to get
out of yer lecherous paws.”
“Aye,” he managed around her tightening
grip on his neck. “He said what ye were unwilling to.”
“And why do ye think I would be
unwilling to say such a thing?” she said. “Why do ye think I would put up such
a charade?”
“Because ye’re as afraid of me now as ye
were yer sixteenth winter.”
Chuckles turned to laughter, and men
cheered as Douglas stumbled about trying to dislodge Sorcha.
“Aye, get him my wee lassie cap’n,” many
called out who could only be her crew.
His crew, unfortunately, were not so
supportive with their various jests.
“Och, the great and ruthless Cap’n
MacLauchlin taken down by a wee lassie and her sharp bite,” one called.
“All the pirates in Britannia cannae
take him down, but a wee lassie will bring him to his knees,” another said.
“If she ever stops riding his back,” yet
another called. “When ‘tis clear she’d rather ride something else.”
“Ye’ve made a bloody mockery of me in
front of my men,” she grunted as he tried to shove her off again to no avail.
“I would say that was all yer doing,” he
grumbled as he stumbled toward the sea, spying a way out of this situation. “Ye
and yer stubborn nature.” He strode into the water. “Ye’re like a barnacle on a
bloody ship. A pain in the arse to get
off.”
“What are ye up to,” she began, but it was too late.
They went under.
While he had intended to use the water
to get her off of him, he stumbled, and
they got caught in a wave instead. Fortunately, it offered enough oomph and
leverage to finally dislodge her. Yet, before she tumbled along the ocean
floor—which he briefly considered letting happen—he grabbed hold of her and regained
his footing.
“What am I up to, ye ask?” He yanked her
against him and walked far enough in that he could maintain his balance but her
not so much. “Finally greeting ye the way ye really wanted when ye arrived.”
Before she could push, punch, scratch,
or most especially, bite, he dug his
hand into her wet hair and did what he had been waiting to do again for far too
long.
Pre-order Now! →
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