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Table of contents

• WTF Are You Reading?: Nothing Makes A Bigger Romantic Bump Than "A Duke In The Night"
• Newly Added Books
• To Trust A Thief

WTF Are You Reading?: Nothing Makes A Bigger Romantic Bump Than "A Duke In The Night"

Daisy McLean, a young librarian at a branch library in Oklahoma, unexpectedly learns that a world-famous novelist might have been her birth father. Her adoptive parents expose a long-held family secret that upends Daisy's comfortable world. She sets off to How to Lose a Highlander. Forced into marriage by their king in order to stop years of inter-clan feuding, Sorcha Forced into marriage by their king in order to stop years of inter-clan feuding, Sorcha Campbell and Malcolm MacGregor are each determined to drive the other away. Malcolm knows he can never trust his new shrewish wife, despite the fact In Trust.

In Trust is a short story by Edith Wharton. Edith Wharton born Edith Newbold She was nominated for the Nobel Phenomenal X.

Good Girl. Notorious Bad-Boy. One Phenomenal Love. From the mean streets of Detroit rises the From the mean streets of Detroit rises the newest superstar of professional wrestling, Xavier Cold, better known as Phenomenal X. His muscular physique makes men cower before him and woman lose their minds Reichsarbeitsdienst Vol. Romancing the Rum Runner.

Prohibition Era ChicagoShe's worked too hard to be run out of town Jessica Harlan spends her Jessica Harlan spends her nights as The Phoenix, the owner of the most popular speakeasy in town. Her days are spent running her respectable butcher shop and dodging prohibition CreateSpace Publishing. In his need to destroy the life inside her, he might destroy her altogether. But she realized now that she knew so little of him, and his words felt sinister rather than honorable and ambitious.

She was dizzy and melting under the heat of his anger. His eyes, the brown of which she had always found warm and comforting, now made him seem impenetrable and untouchable. All that held her up was the steel of his palms. It was not so different than giving in to the heat of his desire, only now…. Her eyes caught his, found them amid the dizzy wash of turbulent emotions. And there, in his gaze, something flickered. She struggled to understand, to hope—. Or perhaps he simply let go, but she fell, her hands grasping for him.

Newly Added Books

Then the bed pillowed beneath her, soft and surprising, and there was nothing of him to see. The scrape of metal against wood played out a sharp tune above the rhythmic thud of his booted steps. The doorknob turned. He had locked her in—locked her into her own bedroom. When she heard his muted shouts for his man, she knew she would be forced.

She might have given him her body, her virtue, her reputation, and even her love, but this—this was unconscionable. Natasha stood, scanning the room. Fear clarified her mind.

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Her jewelry box——it overflowed with tokens of his generosity. Her wardrobe——she could never carry so much. The window——she stumbled to it——overlooked the garden, and there was a slight ledge. She could——. The valises and trunks were stored in another room, and her maid had fled at the first sign of unrest, so Natasha put her jewelry into a hatbox and tossed in the few personal effects she did not wish to leave behind.

She stumbled, catching her reflection in the vanity, and for a moment stood, caught by the image of herself, of her eyes, wide and scared—tear-darkened lashes rimmed green circles in a pale face framed so fashionably with honey-shaded ringlets. Who had she become? A muted shout from downstairs jolted her back to practical matters.

But she was wearing an impractical dress, the silk thin and the bodice low, and there was no time to change. The physician or the back-alley butcher would be there any moment. She pulled a warm cloak over her shoulder, took the hatbox in her arms, and went back to the window. The ledge was narrow and, with the box, she would never be able to maintain her balance.

She laid the box on a chair and threw the lid aside. Diamonds and sapphires, rubies and opals, she stuffed into her pockets and down into the hollowed space of her stays. Her loosest gloves, pulled on quickly, clung to the stones like leather mountains. She left the other trinkets and baubles, but the letter she kept. She was weighted down by the jewelry, by its heaviness and by the heaviness its import left in her heart. She pushed the window open. The October wind stung her cheeks and made the draperies balloon with air before they settled back.

Natasha took a deep breath, whispered a prayer to the god of whom she so rarely thought, and then crawled out onto the ledge. Marcus braced himself for her anger. He deserved it, he knew. He had been a complete ass, scared out of his mind with the thought of losing everything——his inheritance, his position. Natasha knew nothing of any of that and he had terrified her, treated her abominably. A scared, cowardly man, a characterization to which Marcus had never aspired. In the stretches of his mind, flickers of understanding teased him—his words, his threatened actions against….

Twenty minutes spent pacing in the vestibule of her apartment, the apartment he paid for, lived in more than his own bachelor rooms across town, cooled his temper and cleared his mind. When the surgeon stood before him, his black bag of instruments starkly dangerous in his grip, Marcus understood that there were other solutions. Solutions equally drastic but less appalling.

Natasha might be his mistress, but a man could marry a mistress. Then his child would be legitimate. So simple, so clear, and so much more the natural resolution to their dilemma. To his dilemma.

To Trust A Thief

Fear had retreated and in its wake was a nascent excitement. He clung to the sound of her voice in his mind. But would that be enough?

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He unlocked the door and pushed it in cautiously, half expecting a chair or a comb or any other object to come hurtling at his head. There was no attack, no sound other than the sweet breath of wind whipping at the curtains and bed hangings. He entered the room, searching, seeking. Then he noticed chill air and the window, open, and the hatbox, dripping with baubles.

He ran to the casement, fear hollowing out his chest. The bedroom was three stories up. There was no balcony; there was no way down. The wood was rough and cold beneath his fingers.