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Here us another snippet from Highland Homecoming.
He squatted beside her. How did she come to be on the beach alone? Did someone attack her and, if so, was the scoundrel still lurking nearby?
Alasdair peered over his shoulder in all directions, but saw no one. Other than his own, no footprints marred the sand, leaving him to conclude that the waves had carried her to this spot. Did she fall from a passing ship or lose her footing on a rocky crag and topple into the sea? A myriad of questions flooded his mind as he lifted her cold, limp wrist.
He pressed two fingertips to her throat. When he felt a faint heartbeat, he rocked back on his heels and blew out a sigh of relief.
Uncertain as to the extent of her injuries, he carefully rolled her to her back. He gazed down at her delicate features and breathtaking beauty.
Her drenched gown was almost transparent, leaving little to his imagination. Through the sheer fabric, perfectly sculpted breasts, tipped with pert, rosy buds summoned him for a taste. Long, shapely legs went on forever, and a nest of tawny curls guarded her most intimate place.
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This is a bit late but technically it is still Sunday Here is another snippet from Highland Homecoming, Book 3 of my Fraser Brother Trilogy.
We left off with Alasdair Fraser, our Highland patriot discovering something or someone on the beach.
He sheathed his weapon and took a step closer. A young woman, wearing nothing more than a thin nightrail, lay motionless in the sand, the waves of the incoming tide lapping at her bare feet.
As he moved closer, his pulse doubled and his groin stirred. A man would have to be blind to remain unaffected by the way the wet garment clung to her slender figure, narrow waist, and firm round buttocks. Waist-length, flaxen hair, the color of summer wheat, hung in a tangle of seaweed and sodden ringlets down the center of her back. With her head turned to the side, he noticed thick dark lashes resting on pale cheeks, and her lips held the blue-grey tint of death.