Wanton Christmas Wishes Read online

  Wanton Christmas Wishes

  Table of Contents

  Wanton Christmas Wishes Blurbs

  His To Command by Monica Burns

  Author’s Note

  Blurb

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Epilogue

  More From Monica

  Excerpt – His Mistress by Monica Burns

  The Kissing Bough by Madelynne Ellis

  Author’s Note

  Blurb

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Epilogue

  More From Madelynne

  Excerpt – Ménage After Midnight by Madelynne Ellis

  Hamish by Samantha Kane

  Author’s Note

  Blurb

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  More From Samantha

  Excerpt – Conall by Samantha Kane

  All A Mistress Wants by Eliza Lloyd

  Author’s Note

  Blurb

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  More From Eliza

  A Christmas Kiss by Jess Michaels

  Author’s Note

  Blurb

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  More From Jess

  Excerpt – A Measure of Deceit by Jess Michaels

  Loving Michael by Kate Pearce

  Author’s Note

  Blurb

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  More From Kate

  Excerpt – Educating Elizabeth

  Author Bios

  Copyright Page

  Wanton Christmas Wishes Blurbs

  Welcome to Wanton Christmas Wishes, an offering from six bestselling erotic historical romance authors. Dukes, soldiers, lords and gentlemen court and seduce beautiful heroines and make all their wishes come true. These tales are the perfect bite to get you in a festive mood…

  HIS TO COMMAND by bestselling author Monica Burns. Prequel to the Self-Made Men Series. A Christmas Eve blizzard and one small act of discipline compromises Charlotte Clayworth, but she refuses John Fordyce's proposal. Now, years later, the Self-made Men decide to reunite the lovers for one more wanton Christmas wish.

  THE KISSING BOUGH by NYT and USA Today bestselling author Madelynne Ellis. Viola Marsh has been forced to live an austere life, locked away under the watchful eye of her spinster aunt. Only on Christmas Eve is she allowed her freedom, to take part in the tradition of wassailing. Cousins, Percy Gilling and Lord William Ricborough share a close and special relationship, and they require a very particular woman to satisfy their needs. What they’re not expecting is to find her poised beneath the mistletoe on a wintery hilltop.

  HAMISH by Samantha Kane. Book One of The 93rd Highlanders. During the Crimean War, injured Captain Hamish Fletcher is sent to the hospital in Scutari, where he finds his old friend and lover Dr. Phineus Harper treating the wounded. Finn can keep him at the hospital until Christmas. Will it be enough time to convince widowed nurse Edith Lambeth to grant both men their Christmas wishes?

  ALL A MISTRESS WANTS by Eliza Lloyd. Eloisa Larkin wishes for the one thing she can’t have—the love of the powerful Duke of Sterling. Being his mistress provides many luxuries but being hopelessly devoted to a man who loves another as left her feeling alone and the last thing she wants is to spend Christmastide with him and his family.

  A CHRISTMAS KISS by Jess Michaels. Tricked into spending time alone with the husband who made it clear he doesn't care about her, the Countess of Blackgrove, Amelia, has no idea how to react. But Stephen only wants seduction... and love.

  LOVING MICHAEL by NYT and USA Today bestselling author Kate Pearce. Since returning from the peninsular wars, Michael Waterstone has learned to live within restricted boundaries and taught himself not to yearn for what he can never have. Fortunately for him, ex-courtesan Angelique Delisle is no respecter of boundaries of any kind, and offers him a provocative Christmas wager that might change his life forever...

  His to Command

  Self-made Men Series, book 2

  by

  Monica Burns

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  Author’s Note

  Dear Readers,

  I’m excited to have the opportunity to share the story of John Fordyce, the mentor of the heroes in my Self-made Men series. Since the publication of His Mistress, Book 1 in the series, I’ve been asked many times to write the John’s story. I love John and Charlotte, and I hope you will as well. For more information on the Self-made Men series visit my website. And don’t forget to join my mailing list where you’ll be the first to hear about my latest news and releases, including Forever Mine, a new time travel (read the first chapter) to be released November 2014.

  And I can tell you how thrilled I am to have been asked to be a part of this anthology. Like you, I’m looking forward to some terrific reads from this fabulous group of authors.

  Enjoy the Ahh Sensation!

  Monica

  Blurb

  From the moment John Fordyce saved Charlotte Clayworth from drowning at the age of five, the two of them have been inseparable. Now they’re grown and trapped in a deserted farmhouse on a blizzardy Christmas Eve. Desperately, John struggles to control his desire for the woman he’s grown up with. When a small act of discipline compromises Charlotte, honor requires John to make a proposal different from the one he intended.

  In the middle of a snowstorm, Charlotte realizes she’s in love with her best friend. She can’t contemplate another man caressing her the way John does. But when he states they must marry to save her reputation and satisfy his honor, she refuses. The thought of their friendship dissolving into a marriage embittered by a single indiscretion horrifies her.

  Their friendship crumbles as they go their separate ways until a group of Self-made Men decide to meddle and reunite the lovers. But will John and Charlotte realize they both have the same wish—that the best of friends make the best of lovers?

  Chapter 1

  Hertfordshire, 1867

  “I SHOULD HAVE tied you to a chair like my father told me to,” John Fordyce muttered beneath his breath as the snow fell harder with every passing minute. Except for the sleigh’s lanterns lighting the road in front of them, there was nothing else to see. Charlotte winced at his fierce growl. He was right. If she’d not stubbornly threatened to go home on her own, they’d be safe and warm. John’s family had urged her to spend the night. But she’d convinced John to take her home.

  “It was barely snowing when we left,” she said defensively as she stared straight ahead. “I didn’t want father to wake up alone in a cold house on Christmas morning.”

  “Your father would have survived, Miss Charlotte Clayworth,” John snapped. “We might not.”

  There was something in his voice that made her realize just how worried he was. Her heart sank. John was rarely uncertain about t
hings. The fact that she was the cause of their woes made her feel even worse. Not that John would deliberately make her feel foolish for having put them in this mess. She excelled at making herself feel foolish on a regular basis.

  Charlotte shivered and burrowed her hands in the heavy wool blankets laying across her legs. Even with gloves on, her fingers were numb with cold. It was the last thing she was willing to admit too. It would only earn her another admonishment from John. One she deserved, but preferred not to hear at the moment.

  An abrupt jerk made Charlotte cry out and grab hold of the dashboard as their sleigh slid sideways off the road. The loud snap of leather was like a gunshot in the still night as Merrylegs’ trace strap broke away from the sleigh. The mare scrambled back to the top of the hill, while the horse-drawn sled plunged backward toward a gully at the foot of a steep incline. The vehicle’s swift descent was stopped by a small tree. Heart pounding, Charlotte sat frozen in the corner of the sleigh terrified to move for fear it would cause the vehicle to continue down the hill.

  “Damnation,” John mumbled. He looked at her and frowned. “Are you hurt?”

  “No,” she said with her heart in her mouth. “Are you?”

  “I’m fine.” His voice was harsh and clipped as he looked over his shoulder.

  She flinched at his abrasive tone as he slowly climbed out of the sleigh. The small vehicle shifted its position against the tree, and she cried out with fear. Terrified to move, her eyes widened in horror as John stretched out his hand to her.

  “Come, Charlotte.”

  Despite the stern order, she shook her head. A slight pop rang out in the air, and his features hardened into a cold, severe mask. She saw his gaze dart away from hers to the back of the sleigh before his piercing gaze locked with hers again.

  “The longer you remain in the sleigh, Charlotte, the more likely you are to wind up in the gully below. Now give me your hand.” The quiet, authoritative note of command in his voice was as compelling as always. But she still found it impossible to move.

  “I can’t,” she whispered with a mere shake of her head.

  “Yes, you can,” he said gently, but with the familiar commanding tone she was accustomed too. “Give me your hand.”

  Again, fear compelled her to remain where she as she shook her head.

  “Now, Charlotte.”

  The harshly spoken order made her obediently stretch out her hand to him. Her gaze locked with his, Charlotte slid her hand into his steady grasp. Strong and swift, he tugged her toward him and lifted her out of the sleigh just as the crack of splintering wood filled the air. The small tree holding the vehicle in place snapped at the base of its trunk and gave way.

  In a loud rush of powder and clattering, the sleigh flipped over and tumbled down the hill into the dark gully below. Charlotte’s knees wobbled as she stared down into the darkness and realized how close she’d come to being seriously hurt or even killed. The thought made her cling to John. Her face buried in the side of his neck, she breathed in the solid warmth of him to convince herself she was still alive.

  “You’re safe, Charlotte,” he said quietly as he stroked her hair.

  His comforting voice resonated with words he didn’t say. They still weren’t out of danger. They were without transportation and halfway home. It was at least a three to four mile walk home. Still burrowed in his arms, she breathed in the spicy male scent of him. Had he always smelled this nice? Puzzled by her sudden awareness of how he smelled, she bit down on her lip in confusion. The delicious smell of him quickly receded from her senses as her frozen feet demanded her attention.

  Rising just above her ankle, her shoes were no match for the foot of snow she was standing in. She shivered as the wet snow soaked her stocking feet to send an icy cold seeping into her bones. Charlotte broke free of John’s embrace and turned to begin her slow ascent up the hill to the road. In the blink of an eye, he threw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

  “What in heaven’s name are you doing, John?” she cried out in surprise.

  “I put on a pair of boots before we left,” he snapped. “Did you?”

  “No,” she replied quietly at the sharp rebuke.

  “This is the easiest way for me to carry you up the hill without dumping you in the snow. Although I’ve half a mind to do just that,” he ground out.

  She didn’t speak for fear he might follow through on his words. There had been plenty of times throughout their friendship when he’d followed through on a threat. Despite the slight discomfort, she was grateful not to have to climb up the slope in her shoes. When they reached the top of the slope, John set her down in the flattened snow track their sleigh had made before the accident.

  “The Stafford farm is about a quarter of a mile up the road. We’ll be safe there.”

  “But father told me they’re in London for the holiday.”

  “I doubt they’ll begrudge us our use of their fireplace in this snow storm, Charlotte.” The clipped response made her purse her lips in self-remorse as she looked away from his stern gaze. “Stay here, while I get the horse.”

  John’s command wasn’t one she was about to disobey even if she wanted too. The snow engulfed him for a moment before he emerged from the white powder like a black knight leading his charger behind him. Without a word, he lifted her up onto the horse’s back. She was adjusting her seat on the mare when John tugged off one of her shoes and handed it to her, followed by the second.

  “What are you doing?” she gasped.

  “Your feet are soaked, aren’t they?”

  It wasn’t so much a question as it was an exasperated chastisement. Before she could protest, John slid his hands up under her skirts and along her leg to undo her stocking. With the hosiery released from the garter clip, he proceeded to roll the silk hose down off her leg. The warmth of his hands spread heat across her skin, while butterflies fluttered rapidly inside her stomach. The wickedly delicious touch of his fingers on her bare skin sent a shiver through her.

  “You’ll be warmer in a moment,” he said as he misinterpreted her tremor.

  With one stocking off, he threw it over his shoulder and proceeded to remove her other one. As his fingers unsnapped the hosiery from her garter, the pads of his fingers left a trail of fire as he worked the stocking down off her leg. There was nothing seductive in John’s touch, but it singed her skin with a white-hot heat that sank its way down into her pores.

  She wanted him to go on touching her this way. The warmth consuming her was enough to melt the snow falling down on her. Another tremor streaked through her, and John lifted his head to meet her gaze. The concern on his face quickly evaporated as he narrowed his eyes.

  Charlotte jerked her gaze away from his. What on earth was the matter with her? She’d known John since she was five. He’d pulled her out of the pond near her father’s parish, and from that time forward, she’d followed him everywhere. When he’d grown older and gone away to school, she’d lived for the summers when he’d return. He was her best friend, and until this very moment, she’d never thought of him as anything else but that.

  A warm hand grasped her ankle as John dried her foot with the top part of a stocking. Fire streaked up her leg and reached the apex of her thigh. Charlotte swallowed hard. She was accustomed to touching herself alone in her bed, but this was the first time she’d ever wanted a man to touch her there.

  When John was satisfied her foot was dry, he performed the same ritual with her other one. Without a word, he pulled one of her shoes out of her hands and used the stockings to remove the snow and water from the ankle-high footwear. In a perfunctory manner, he slid the shoe onto her foot then repeated the action.

  “There,” he muttered in an odd voice. “That will keep you dry until we get to the farm.”

  John threw the reins over Merrylegs’ ears then nimbly jumped up behind her. The heat of his body melted into hers, and she swallowed hard at the odd sensations coursing through her as John urged Merrylegs
forward. Without the sleigh lanterns, the heavy snowfall made the road difficult to see, hampering their progress. It took them more than a half hour to reach the Stafford farmhouse. John didn’t speak the entire time. It was a sure sign she was in his bad graces. Even worse was her body’s reaction to him.

  It wasn’t the first time she’d ridden with John, but it had never felt like this before. The Stafford’s house was dark as they came to a stop in front of the small structure. John jumped to the ground then reached up to lift her off the mare. As she slid down across his chest, her gaze remained locked with his.

  There was a strange glint in his dark brown eyes that sent a wild pulse humming through her veins. With a small unintelligible oath, his face darkened, and he half dragged her up the steps to the farmhouse porch. His fist pounding on the door, he paused then pounded again.

  “They’re not here, John.”

  “Maybe someone stayed behind,” he bit out.

  She frowned. Was that a note of panic in his voice? Charlotte almost snorted at the thought. Impossible. John was the rock she clung to whenever her heart had been broken, she was sad, or needed advice. Advice such as whether she should accept her aunt’s invitation to visit New York. John didn’t really give her advice. He asked questions until she made up her own mind what to do. No, John couldn’t be in a state of panic. He was the most confident, self-assured man she knew. When no one answered his pounding, he tried to open the door. It was locked as she’d expected.

  His demeanor that of a man on the edge of an explosion, he immediately began to search for a key. It was as if he were possessed by something dark and wild. Alarmed by his unusual behavior, she remained quiet as she watched him hunt for the key. A grunt of success echoed in the stillness as he found what he was looking for on one of the porch’s support beams.

  The inside of the house was cold, but definitely warmer than outside. John quickly set to work building a fire in the parlor. Satisfied with his work, he turned to her. The brooding look on his face made her bow her head. It was never a good feeling when he was angry with her.

  “I’m sorry, John, truly I am,” she whispered.