Haunted by war, Darius Cantwell is convinced that everything around him is false, a mere pretense of innocence—especially the Scottish beauty who claims to be the wife of his best friend. Searching for the husband who abandoned her, Claire McFarlane has come to London penniless, desperate, and still a virgin. Or so she says. But how could any man have left such a delectable bride untouched? Darius himself can barely keep his hands off her.
Lord Cantwell is Claire's last hope of discovering her husband's fate—but no man has ever made her burn the way Darius does. And it's obvious he believes she's lying. There’s only one way she can prove her honesty—surrender her innocence to this grim, angry lord!
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Reviews
Night Owl Romance Fall 2008 Awards: Best Historical -- 2nd place!
A Fallen Angel Reviews Recommended Read! "This is a must have book; don’t wait to get your copy."
4 1/2 Hearts! "Ms. Dafoe...brings her remarkable talent with the written word to full force in this 'quickie'." -- Night Owl Romance
4 1/2 Stars! "Sierra Dafoe knows exactly how to entertain her readers... Scorching!" -- eCataRomance
4 Kisses! "His for the Taking isn’t your mother’s regency romance! Ms. Dafoe made me feel as if I was a fly on the wall of British aristocracy, capturing all its nuances with such detail in this short, enjoyable story about the ton." -- Two Lips Reviews
4 Stars! "His For The Taking is a must read for those that like a good plot with hot sex." -- Manic Readers
"For a quick erotic read that will grab you by the throat and not let go, His for the Taking is an excellent choice. I couldn’t put it down and hated when it ended." -- Joyfully Reviewed
"Good reading and great fun." -- Alternative Reviews
His For the Taking M/F erotic romance
Publisher: Ellora's Cave
Format: eBook
Length: Quickie
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Excerpt
"You seemed to know my name, Countess."
"I..." She hesitated. Darius almost wanted her to lie to him -- it would give him a great deal of satisfaction. But she murmured, "I've heard it, yes."
Her voice was low, velvety, tinged by just a touch of brogue. It thrilled through him, awakening sensations he'd thought dead long since. His balls contracted, tightening against his groin as his cock hardened, flexing as it lengthened. He gazed down at her, feeling the anger inside him harden into something as cold and deadly as honed steel. "I've heard yours, as well."
"Yes, I know."
Oh, she was a cool one! Her voice was calm, almost dispassionate. But her fingers trembled provokingly in his grasp-with fear, or some other emotion.
The sensation pleased Darius. He wanted to frighten her, to puncture that lying, artificial surface. It infuriated him that, even knowing she was false, she could nevertheless set his blood to roaring through his veins, still make him ache to grab her, possess her. He was acutely aware of her nearness, her sweet, fresh scent, the way her bosom swelled distractingly above her dress...
His heart thundered and his shaft was like iron, straining painfully toward her. Even his lust only served to increase his ire. He despised her, her and all the pampered, frivolous scions of society who were so eager to forget war-torn Europe.
But she was even falser than they.
He drew her close, feeling desire race along his nerves, and murmured in her ear as they danced, "You are remarkable, my lady. It's not every woman who would so brazenly assume a title to which she had no right whatsoever."
"I have every right to my title, sir." Her eyes flashed fire as she yanked herself from his grip. She checked her movement quickly, aware of the curious stares around them, and lowered her voice as she slid unwillingly back into his arms. "It is my husband's, and therefore mine as well."
He grinned, feeling the expression like a wolf's snarl on his face. "And where is your husband, then? This husband that nobody seems to have ever met?"
"You have, at least, my lord. In fact, I believe you know Count McFarlane quite well." She flushed as she said the name and looked aside, a shadow crossing her face as she added, her voice soft and embarrassed, "There is little place in society, sir, for a woman whose husband has abandoned her."
"Abandoned?" Darius laughed coldly. "That is rich."
Her head jerked up as sharply as if he'd slapped her.
Barely conscious of their bodies flowing flawlessly through the steps of the dance, Darius hissed, "For the past year and more, Countess, I have had the pleasure of touring France. I've seen men torn to pieces by cannon fire. Watched them die slowly, choking on the gangrenous stink of their wounds..."
As she paled, he added savagely, "Whatever you can possibly imagine, the reality was far worse. And during all those long, ugly, desperate months, the man it was my privilege to fight alongside was Jamie McFarlane."
"Jamie..." Suddenly, the lady's face was utterly white. Her hand trembled as she raised it to her throat.
The gesture was so natural, so vulnerable, that Darius had to clench his jaw to keep from dragging her against him and claiming those soft, petal-pink lips in a searing kiss. His cock thickened further, tormenting him relentlessly, the heat in his groin a conflagration barely distinguishable from the blaze of his fury. The girl's bosom heaved with her distress, and it was all Darius could do not to tear the emerald-green silk from her body, baring the dusky-rose nubs of her breasts and savaging them 'til she cried out for mercy.
"Yes, Jamie," he gritted out, his entire body rigid with barely restrained desire. "And strangely enough, my lady, not once in all that time did he ever mention you."
