Product Detail

Blurb:

“…25 years after the Headless Horseman’s famous midnight ride, Katherine Van Brunt, daughter and only heir to the infamous Abraham “Brom Bones” Van Brunt and Katrina Van Tassel, brings back the dead and loses her heart to the son of her father’s nemesis in her quest to save the legacy of Baltus Van Tassel…”
Excerpt:
Icharus spied her immediately. He caught hold of one of the beams and swung himself out of the framework, hanging for a moment before he dropped to the floor beneath.

He walked over to where she stood with Dirck, and dusted his hands against his thighs.

“Dirck, go up and help your father with that beam,” he said before turning his attention to Katherine. He smiled. “Behold your inn, Mistress Van Brunt.”

She grinned. “Well, almost,” she said, and he laughed.

Taking hold of her arm, he led her away from the worksite. “We’ll be safer over here.”

She followed him, but when he would have stopped, she gestured toward the tall tree near the brook.

“Actually, I thought we might sit over there,” she said. “Are you hungry, Master Crane?”

His gaze practically devoured her on the spot. “Starving.”

She held out the basket Edda had prepared. “Since today is such a beautiful day, I thought we might sit beneath the shade and share what I have in this basket.”

Her voice was so playful, and yet so timid. Icharus arched a brow. “A picnic?”

She nodded, her smile teasing him, and he noticed the bright sparkle in her gaze. Almost regretfully, he looked back toward the inn where the others were still hard at work, and sighed.

Katherine stepped in front of him, peering up at him with those wonderful eyes of hers, and said, “Please. You’ve been working so hard. You deserve a rest.”

Icharus started to protest, to remind her that he hadn’t been the only one working, but the happy twinkle in her gaze stopped him. For the life of him, he couldn’t allow himself to be the one who made that joyful shine disappear from her gaze.

“A picnic you say? Why, I remember as a child, Mum would pack a veritable bounty of pies and puddings and sweetmeats into a basket just like that one. We’d all go off to the meadow and spend the afternoon enjoying the warm sunshine and a meal made more delicious for having eaten it outdoors. Father especially enjoyed such times. He had rather peculiar fondness for eating.”

Katherine smiled. “See? Your father knew that everyone must take time away from toiling to enjoy a good meal. Now, take this basket, if you please, and follow me.”

His lips twitched, but he nodded and took the basket, hefting it onto his shoulder.

“Indeed, Mistress Van Brunt. It seems you are correct. Let us away, my dear.” He gestured toward the brook. “After you.”

Icharus found it a bit humorous that she chose a spot beneath the very tree his father had often spoken of…the very place Ichabod had wiled away many an hour spinning fantasies of himself and Katrina Van Tassel. He grinned. “You know, my father used to come here of an evening,” he told her.

Katherine had busied herself with spreading a colorful quilt over the ground and laying out the scrumptious smelling repast Mrs. Porter had packed into the basket for them. She sat down on a corner of the quilt now, and cast him a glance. “Indeed?”

Icharus nodded. “He told me so himself, many a time. He said he would come here to this exact spot and spend hours with his imagination, casting lurid images of himself and your mother round in his mind. Many a time, he said, his mind would produce an image of the two of them sharing a kiss so vividly he almost thought the deed done in reality.”

She chuckled. “And what of you, Master Crane? Will you spend this hour allowing some lovely female to enchant your thoughts? With whom shall you share a vivid but imaginary kiss?”

Icharus joined her on the blanket and leaned close. “I only indulge in real kisses, dear lady,” he said, his voice
husky.

She laughed and he reached out, cradling her cheek in his palm. “Flights of imagination are for dreamers. I prefer to feel the warmth of real lips beneath mine, to watch as they part just the tiniest bit in breathless anticipation, to taste the sweetness offered … in broad daylight.”

His thumb teased her lower lip, and her eyelids drifted downward.

“I prefer real lips, Katherine. Like yours. Now,” he said, leaning ever closer as he spoke.

“Now?” she whispered.

He gave the barest of nods an instant before his lips brushed hers. He teased her lips with his own, brushing
them against hers in a featherlike caress. Once. Again.

She sighed against his mouth, and he shifted on the quilt, pulling her against him, his fingers sifting through her soft curls.

“Katherine. I want to taste you.” He breathed the words against her parted lips. He slid his tongue over her lower lip, and then his mouth closed over hers, his tongue sliding inside to taste the nectar of her kiss.

The feel of her own tongue timidly sliding against his near destroyed what bit of sanity he had left to claim.

Desire, hot and ready, slammed through him. He groaned and pulled her closer, deepening the kiss.

He devoured her mouth with his own, his tongue plunging again and again to taste of her sweetness, but he wanted more. His hand slid down, along the gentle curve of her side to her hip, and he cupped her bottom, pulling her as close as he dared.

A moan slid from her throat, and he broke away from her lips to kiss her there, and again at the tender area beneath her ear before he reached up to nibble at her earlobe.

Her hands seemed to have taken on a life of their own, one moment sliding through his hair while she held him close, and then gliding across his shoulders and lower before coming back up again to tangle in his hair.

He delighted in the soft sounds coming from her in response to his kiss. How he wanted this woman, he thought, in every possible way. He shifted again. She wiggled closer… and then froze.

“Icharus?” she whispered.

“Yes?”

She shifted away from him, and leaned up on an elbow. “I think we’re lying in the potato salad.”

Author's bio:

Leshay, a Georgia native, resides in the North Georgia mountains - with her husband, six kids, and a chihuahua named ‘Pocket.’ When not otherwise engaged in generating new and exciting romance novel concepts, she spends her time catching up on mountains of housework neglected while writing! You can reach her on the web at: www.MorganLeshay.com

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