[Siren Classic: Erotic Contemporary Romance]
It's rumored that Twyla Harper is a thief. With a smile and a wink, she seems able to get most anyone to do anything.
Then one day she meets Nicholas Coultrain, a charming Irish rogue. Used to keeping men at arm's length, she isn't prepared for the speed with which he gets under her skin and into her heart. There's only one problem: he's a security consultant whose company is about to be destroyed because of a heist Twyla pulled.
Nicholas is out of his element, out of his area, and nearly out of time. When a good client is robbed, his only hope is to find the thief, and return the millions of dollars worth of gems. An anonymous tip points him at Twyla. But meeting 'the Enchantress' only makes things more complicated: it's hard to set a trap for the woman when he's falling in love with her.
4.5 CHERRIES: "Ms. Ashbury writes a great suspenseful novel. The conflicts keep the reader entertained and on the edge of his or her seat. I liked that her characters were strong-willed, down to earth, and willing to bend to meet in the middle. That combination of traits made the characters, Twyla and Nicholas easy to relate to. I also liked Ms. Ashbury's use of contradictions. A thief shouldn't work with a securities specialist, but in her novel it works and works well. If you want a novel filled with red-hot love scenes, action, adventure, and precious jewels, then look no further than The Enchantress: Song of the Sirens 2." -- Tiger Lily, Whipped Cream Reviews
4 STARS: "Morgan Ashbury's The Enchantress has a delightful plot. Twyla and Nick work well together. They add a bit of humor to the action packed drama. Fans of romantic suspense will enjoy The Enchantress." -- Anne, Review Your Book
"Morgan Ashbury has managed to craft a very rare mnage: a well written short story accompanied by steamy sex and a plausible uncontrived plot. Twyla and Nick (despite the Marine he-man reference--why cant tax accountants become security specialists?) come across as sensible (for their line of work) human beings who dont do stupid things just to further the plot. Having picked up book two without reading book one or three, I can say Ms. Ashbury has convinced me to search out book one and keep my eyes open for book three. The reader is not inundated with back story nor bombarded with hints of the next story to come." -- Chris, Joyfully Reviewed
Nicholas couldn’t believe how easy that had been. Glad to be out of the crowded, noisy loft, he let his senses take in the city at night. He’d grown up just across the river in Jersey, but he’d never felt at home here. Never felt at home anywhere, really. Florida suited for now, with its warm temperatures and slower pace. Of course, considering the events of the last three weeks, he’d likely have to relocate.
Hell, he’d probably be so completely bankrupt in the next month that he wouldn’t even have a pot to piss in, let alone a window to throw it out of. Relocating wouldn’t be a problem.
But first, he damn well intended to get some of his own back.
“Is something wrong?”
Nick swallowed his bitterness and took a deep breath. The very last thing he wanted to do was spew his nasty mood onto Twyla. Doing that would end things before they even got started, and he really wanted them to get started.
“Naw. Some of my business didn’t go the way I’d hoped. I know better than to let it get to me, and it’s no way important enough to disrupt our evening together.”
Nick relaxed when they got to the pub. There weren’t many people inside. A quick check of his watch showed him it was ten-thirty, early by New York standards. He reached for Twyla’s hand and then led her over to a secluded booth in the back corner. Rather than crowd in next to her, he sat across from her and tried not to think what she’d taste like.
“What will you have, darlin’?” he asked the question easily, enough of a drawl on the last word that, as he hoped, she smiled.
“A Harp, please.”
“The same,” he told the waitress, then focused on the woman across from him. “You like British beer?”
“I do, on occasion. Coming to an Irish pub, it seems a shame not to indulge.”
“I agree.” He sat back while the waitress delivered their bottles of beer.
“So how many generations back would take you across the pond?” she asked.
“Two of my great-grand fathers were born in Ireland and emigrated. My grandfather had quite the brogue. My father, none at all. What about you?” He liked the way she so delicately poured her beer into the glass, though he bet she really preferred to swig right from the bottle.
“I’ve no idea of my roots, really. So I guess you could say I’m from everywhere and nowhere at the same time.”
Something about her smile really got to him. When they’d shaken hands earlier, there’d been a nice little jolt of raw sexuality between them. That, he figured, had everything to do with her and nothing to do with him at all.
He could feel himself sliding, relaxing, and responding to Twyla’s charm, and that would never do. He needed to remember his plan. Twyla seemed appealing and charming and could oh-so-easily slip under his skin. He understood now how she’d earned the nickname, The Enchantress. Enchanting people ranked as her greatest skill. Well, her second greatest. Twyla’s greatest ability lay in an even more interesting venue, more to the point of his being there, of his having crashed a party just so he could meet her.
Twyla Harper might be a beautiful, desirable woman, but she was also something more.
She was a thief.
His arms felt strong, and the burning light in his eyes thrilled her. It had been so hard to hold herself back from him. Even though her brain and heart couldn’t yet trust him one hundred percent, her body wanted him with a hunger that bordered on desperation. This, she thought, had to be the definition of insanity.
The man posed a very real threat to her. He’d gone after her with the single-minded determination to prove her a thief, perhaps even see her thrown in jail, but she couldn’t help wanting him, couldn’t deny that at his core he was a good man.
Then his head lowered and his mouth took hers in a ruthless possession that drove every other thought from her head. His tongue demanded surrender, and without her consent, every bone in her body melted. She clung to him, wild to taste more, and even more of him.
He picked her up, carried her to the bed. She felt conquered, dominated, and wanted to rejoice in it. She didn’t care that it was a tired cliché.
His hand cupped her bare breast before she knew he’d opened her shirt. Eager for the feel of his flesh under her hands, her fingers delved beneath his tee shirt, caressing hot male, scraping against skin that felt better than anything she’d ever touched.
He pulled away from her. His gaze hot, she knew her own matched it. In that instant, she understood they were of one mind.
She pulled the clothing from her own body, baring herself to his needs just as he bared himself to hers.
“Yes, yes!” She needed to feel the weight of him pressing her into the bed, needed to feel his mouth on her breast now. No man had ever laved and nipped and suckled in just that way, pulling the nerves that connected her nipples to her clit. Her heart tripped when he cupped her face and kissed her, his lips and tongue sipping, tasting, cherishing.
“Here, babe, put this on me.”
She’d never done this before, never taken the moment to smooth the sheath over a lover’s penis, preparing him to penetrate her. Such a singularly erotic sensation, to grasp his flesh, savor the heat and the silk of him, bending low to inhale the essence and sip the dew of him, and then to roll the thin covering down, a slow and lingering caress.
“Vixen, you damn near made me come.”
Sultry laughter erupted from deep in her soul as he pushed her onto her back and impaled her in one long, glorious thrust. He filled her so completely. Surely, no other man could fit her so perfectly. The gentle brush of his scrotum against her most tender flesh tantalized. The rhythmic nudge of the tip of his cock against the entrance to her womb enticed. Her heart pounded, her blood raced, and her pussy pulsed.
“Mmm, Twyla, you’re so hot, sweetheart. So hot and wet and good. Squeeze me. I want that amazing pussy of yours to milk me. Make me come, sweetheart.”
Opening her eyes, she met his gaze. Her hands slid from around his shoulders, seeking his. Their fingers entwined, and she felt more connected to him than she ever had to another, and in her heart, in that moment, she fell in love with him.