Blurb for Winning Violetta
Rose and Hyacinth—how can two such well meaning, but hapless faery god sisters meddle in one princess’s life without causing complete chaos?
King Eric promised Princess Violetta she would choose her own husband, then breaks that promise. He offers her hand in marriage to the winner of the joust in return for the knight’s support in war against his enemy. Chafing at this, Violetta, an expert with bow and arrow, accidentally shoots one of the competitors. She can’t believe the effeminate knight is also the most handsome man she’s ever seen. Knowing she shouldn’t, she still surrenders to his seduction, hungering for his kisses and caresses.
Prince Colin, on a spy mission, disguises himself as an outrageous fop. The last thing he expects to find is the beautiful, passionate princess. He treads a fine line fighting attraction to her and loyalty to his father. Then his mission turns from spy to love, and he must reveal his true identity risking a trip to the dungeon.
Will Colin’s honesty destroy their future? Will Violetta let go of her feelings of anger and betrayal? Two faery god sisters certainly hope so.
7 Sexy Paragraphs
Deeply concentrating, she sighted again, the peaceful silence interrupted by the shushing of footsteps through the grass behind her. Startled, she turned, and at the last second the arrow released. To her horror, it sliced across the man's forearm and landed with a soft thud in the ground.
"Good Lord, boy, what do you think you're doing?" He cleared his voice and continued in a higher pitch. "You hit me!"
Oh, my God, I shot a man. Horrified, she couldn't speak. She'd never shot at a living thing before, not even an animal.
He peered down at his arm, then back at her. She gaped, open-mouthed like a fool, at his clothing. The man wore a lush, black velvet doublet with rows of bead work around the collar and cuffs as well as several rows of gilt chains swagged across the front from one jeweled rosette to another. He was a coxcomb. A strutting popinjay. His hat sported the largest red feather plume she'd ever seen on any man's head. Or woman's, for that matter. Ruffles from a white shirt beneath the doublet fell across his hands. Rings with gems the size of pigeon eggs circled his fingers. She stifled a laugh. He probably had rings on his toes, too.
Then another thing hit her. He thinks I'm a boy. It was a natural mistake, dressed as she was in boy's clothing: hose, shabby oversized doublet, and her hair bundled up under a cap. She had no choice but to stand firm. He couldn't discover her identity now that she'd shot him.
"You startled me." She affected a deep voice to reinforce the illusion she was male.
In oddly funny effeminate tones, he fussed at her. "No apology, you little ruffian?" He pulled back the sleeve of his shirt and doublet, swiping at the crease of blood on his forearm. "What are you doing out here all alone? Sneaking away from your duties?"
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Jane Leopold Quinn
My Romance: Love With a Scorching Sensuality