Welcome to the Weird, the Wild, & the Wicked for this week's Mid Week Tease hosted by Sandra Bunino.
Authors: this is a great opportunity to spotlight a few lines or even a paragraph or two from a new release or backlisted title. Readers: you get to sample some delicious snippets! We’ll do our best to tease, titillate and tantalize you into the weekend.
My Mid Week Tease is from Not a Dragon's Standard Virgin. Isabelle Andersen needs a man, bad. But not for the normal things a good Scottish lass needs. She needs him to take her virginity to save her from the Dragon Sacrifice practiced by her village. The problem is, the men in her village won't touch her with a three meter pike. Isabelle just needs one handsome stranger. Tonight is her lucky night.
Isabelle damn near dropped the pottery flagon she’d cleaned when the stranger stepped inside her father’s tavern.
Glory be! I have never seen such a beautiful man.
He stood tall, even taller than Angus MacLeod, the blacksmith’s son who stood at exactly six feet. Dark-brown hair hung, braided at his temples, with the rest pulled back to the base of his neck with a leather thong. Brilliant blue eyes the color of lupine flowers looked out beneath dark, arching brows and long lashes. His neatly trimmed beard framed a generous mouth beneath a slightly flattened nose that looked as if it had been damaged in a fight and healed incorrectly.
Isabelle trembled with his intangible power, reveling in the sight of his masculine beauty. His rugged features made him look mysterious and dangerous, sending a feminine pulse straight to her womb. If ever a man existed to whom her virginity should be given, this was him.
Oh, aye, and now all you have to do is ask him. Her gaze swept down his body as he pulled his plaid off his head and surveyed the great room. William MacLeod, the only elder still left in the Careless Wench, stood talking with her father, and the stranger strode toward them with the sinuous grace of a warrior. He reminded Isabelle of the stories she’d heard about William Wallace of old. The sword sticking up over his left shoulder and the chainmail shirt confirmed it, but so did the way he moved.
She sighed a little as he gave her a view of his broad back, and she had the odd urge to see if it was as heavily muscled and powerful as she guessed.
Bloody hell, lass. Focus on what you’re doing.
Get your non-standard virgin fix here: