Robert Taylor:All We Have Is Now
- pocketboek 2006, ISBN: 9781560236481
Ivy Books. Very Good. 4.19 x 1.12 x 6.79 inches. Mass Market Paperback. 2005. 512 pages. Cover worn<br>Bestselling author Nicole Jordan weaves a breathtakingly sensuous story of lo… Meer...
Ivy Books. Very Good. 4.19 x 1.12 x 6.79 inches. Mass Market Paperback. 2005. 512 pages. Cover worn<br>Bestselling author Nicole Jordan weaves a breathtakingly sensuous story of love and passion between the v aliant Ariane of Claredon and the fierce knight who loses his hea rt to her. . . . For five turbulent years Ariane has dutifully p repared herself for marriage to King Henry's most trusted vassal, the legendary Norman knight Ranulf de Vernay. But cruel circumst ance has branded Ariane's father a traitor to the crown. And now Ranulf is returning to Claredon, not as a bridegroom . . . but as a conqueror. Survivor of a hellish youth, Ranulf knows well the treacheries of noblewomen-and mistrusts the regal, defiant beaut y to whom he was once betrothed. But while he shields his wounded heart with impenetrable armor, she sears his soul with sensuous fire. Ranulf may have vowed to claim her lands and her body as hi s prize, but ultimately it is the mighty warrior who must surrend er to Ariane's proud, determined passion-and her remarkable heali ng love. Editorial Reviews Review Ms. Jordan proves herself a m arvelous storyteller. -Rendezvous From the Back Cover Bestsellin g author Nicole Jordan weaves a breathtakingly sensuous story of love and passion between the valiant Ariane of Claredon and the f ierce knight who loses his heart to her. . . . For five turbulen t years Ariane has dutifully prepared herself for marriage to Kin g Henry's most trusted vassal, the legendary Norman knight Ranulf de Vernay. But cruel circumstance has branded Ariane's father a traitor to the crown. And now Ranulf is returning to Claredon, no t as a bridegroom . . . but as a conqueror. Survivor of a hellis h youth, Ranulf knows well the treacheries of noblewomen-and mist rusts the regal, defiant beauty to whom he was once betrothed. Bu t while he shields his wounded heart with impenetrable armor, she sears his soul with sensuous fire. Ranulf may have vowed to clai m her lands and her body as his prize, but ultimately it is the m ighty warrior who must surrender to Ariane's proud, determined pa ssion-and her remarkable healing love. About the Author Nicole J ordan is the nationally bestselling author of numerous historical romances. She recently moved with her real-life hero to the Rock y Mountains of Utah, where she is at work on her next sizzling ta le of dangerous rakes and bold adventurers during the Regency era . You can e-mail her via her website at www.NicoleJordanAuthor.co m. Excerpt. ® Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Vern ay Keep, Normandy: November 1154 The warm lips nuzzling his bare skin no longer had the power to arouse him, nor did the cool, si lken hair trailing provocatively over his naked back. Ranulf lay sprawled on his stomach upon the musky linen sheets, sated and sp ent, his body glistening with sweat after his exertions. Pleasing two lusty wenches at once taxed even a man of his strength and s tamina. Yet Layla continued her merciless assault with mouth and tongue, her lush, opulent curves pressing erotically against him , her nails sending delicate shivers racing along his spine, her teeth intermittently nipping his buttocks with a sharpness that w as just short of pain. Enough, he muttered huskily-a command he lacked the energy to enforce. When she bent to offer a luscious breast to him, teas- ing her dusky nipple against his mouth, Ranu lf patiently averted his head. When she threaded her fingers thro ugh his raven hair and tugged insistently, he merely caught her w rist and pried loose her grip. It was only when Layla scraped her nails in a deliberate path over his scarred back that he finally reacted; she knew quite well such probing of his scars was forbi dden, even though he had been unable to break her of the habit. Cease, wench. At his sharp tone, the ripe young body at his othe r side flinched, and Ranulf had to murmur gently to Flore and str oke her soothingly till she curled against him once more. For te mperament, he much preferred the petite, fair-haired Flore to the voluptuous Layla, whose ebony tresses were as dark as his own. F lore was a sweetly submissive Norman wench, always eager to do hi s bidding, whereas the foreign Layla had a grasping, querulous na ture. Only because of her exquisite skills did he humor the beaut iful Saracen. I seek simply to pleasure you, lord, she said petu lantly in her thick, honeyed accents. You know well Layla pleases you far better than any other. Ranulf could not dispute her cla im. Stolen from her family and enslaved in an infidel brothel, La yla had been trained in the sexual arts of the East, and knew wel l how to satisfy a man and bring his desire to a fever pitch. If he also gained a bitter measure of satisfaction in possessing th e exotic concubine his detested father had brought back from the Holy Land . . . well then, he would not deny himself the pleasure , even if he was perforce required to bear with Layla's sharp ton gue and acid jealousy. He could have chosen from a dozen peasant wenches just as eager to warm his bed, and yet tonight he had nee ded the fierce release the Saracen could bring him. He needed to forget. Summoning Flore at the same time only increased the odds that he would find respite from the demons that shadowed him. Yo u are cruel to Layla, lord, she complained, running her tongue ov er her pouting lower lip. Methinks thrice is enough, Ranulf reto rted, his tone dry, even for a woman of your passion. In answer, she captured his hand and held it to the satiny flesh of her gen erous breast. You dislike my passion? You desire Layla no longer? Ranulf grinned unwillingly as he gave her taut nipple a playful squeeze. You would have to geld me to quench my desire for you, wench. But it is time for you to seek your own pallet. When Layla made to protest, Ranulf raised his powerful body up on one elbow . You know my wishes. I sleep alone. In truth, he was not singli ng her out for punishment by sending her away. His solitary slumb er was a self-imposed rule. Though he took great pleasure in the female body, he rarely lingered with a woman. Too much sensual in dulgence bred softness in a warrior; a knight who cavorted too of ten grew lazy and careless. When Layla refused to budge, Ranulf gave her bare flank a mild cuff, which made her squeal in mock pr otest. Defiantly, she lay back upon the dishevelled pillows, gaz ing up at him with languorous, seductive eyes. Provocatively her long fingers played over her sumptuous breasts, caressing the dus ky crimson nipples in erotic invitation, while her lush thighs sp read for his masculine appreciation. Once more, lord, I beg you. . . . Despite her disobedience, Ranulf gave a rough chuckle. He was sated enough at the moment to be amused at her tactics, and w ise enough to relent. Sometimes it behooved a man to let a wench win small victories so that she yielded more readily in important matters. Once more, then. His fingers splayed over the smooth m ound between her thighs, shaved bare in the Saracen style . . . p arting the damp, passion-flushed lips, seeking the tender nubbin that was a woman's delight. Layla drew a sharp breath and closed her eyes, while her legs opened wide, giving his stroking finger s full access to her heated, dewy center. With controlled experti se, he caressed the slick flesh, sliding slowly inside the hot, s leek moistness. Layla quivered with arousal. In merely moments a throaty moan of rapture escaped her; her head fell back in ecstas y as she arched her supple back, her voluptuous, golden body undu lating in the flickering candlelight. Ranulf viewed her breathle ss, writhing response with gratification. Layla deserved to be re warded for her earlier exquisite ministrations. She had provided him comfort tonight; it was only fair he reciprocate. Indeed, for the past fortnight-ever since he'd returned home to Vernay to co ol his heels and await a summons from Duke Henry-Layla had succor ed him frequently. He should feel more remorse, perhaps, at relax ing his own strict custom of self-denial. Yet if he indulged his lust more often than usual when occupying Vernay Keep, it was bec ause the diversion helped keep the memories at bay. Restlessly, Ranulf lifted his gaze from the panting woman in his bed to glanc e beyond the open bed curtains. The solar at Vernay, where the lo rd slept and spent his leisure, remained a cold, stark, spartan c hamber, devoid of comforts other than a roaring fire in the heart h and an occasional tapestry draping the stone walls to thwart th e chill. He had refused to change a single appointment since his father's tenancy, perversely determined to preserve the bitter ev idence of his past. Yet he was lord here now, Ranulf reminded hi mself. The honor of Vernay belonged to him, given to him in fief by Duke Henry, along with a charter of nobility that had reinstat ed him to his rightful rank. He was a disinherited, landless cast off no longer. For all his present power and wealth, though, he could not quell the unease that always assaulted him in this cham ber-the place where his father had flayed the flesh from his back . Even now, his skin turned clammy with dread each time he entere d these apartments, for he could not help recalling the terror an d pain of his youth. He had no need even to shut his eyes to reme mber crouching there against the far wall as a child, naked and t rembling, waiting to endure the punishment of a vengeful sire. No t even the current consolation of heated female flesh could compl etely drive away the memories-although it made up in some measure for the countless hours of fear and torment he had suffered here . The distant blare of the night watchman's horn brought Ranulf' s head up like a wolf scenting the wind. At his sudden tensing, L ayla's eyes flew open. Nay! My lord . . . you cannot cease. . . . Her demanding tone was sharp and insistent-and breathless as we ll. He smiled faintly as his brutal memories faded. We have time . And they would. Any new arrival must first await the lowering of the drawbridge, then ride through the outer and inner baileys before seeking entrance to Vernay's tower. He had the leisure to bring Layla to fulfillment. Yet even before the grateful, sobbi ng woman had collapsed against him, Ranulf's thoughts had already moved ahead to review his plans. If the new arrival was indeed t he duke's messenger with a summons, it meant King Stephen had die d and Henry was preparing to claim his rightful crown as king of England. And since Henry was certain to be met with resistance, h e would need to raise adequate forces to ensure the successful as sumption of power. Ranulf felt anticipation swell at the promise d conflict. Not only was he willing to supply the knight's fees h e owed his liege, he was impatient to take up arms for Henry. He had remained idle too long, his battle sword and lance growing ru sty with disuse. For the past three months and more, peace had re igned in Normandy. There had been no rebellions, no skirmishes, n ot even a nearby tourney where he could hone his skills and exhau st his frustrations in the melee or increase his wealth by captur ing enemy knights for ransom. For the past fortnight all had bee n in readiness for the forthcoming journey: the armor polished, t he weapons sharpened, and the baggage wains staged for loading. H is knights and men-at-arms had engaged in daily practice, sparrin g in swordplay, tilting at the quintains, shooting archery butts, and yet, they too were restless at the delay and eager to begin the campaign. And now it seemed the moment was at hand. As Ranu lf expected, a lengthy interval passed before a rap sounded on th e iron-banded door-time which he spent attending to Flore's pleas ure in reward for her sweetness and patience. At his command to e nter, Ranulf's vassal, Payn FitzOsbern, strode into the solar, ha lf-dressed in an unlaced tunic and grinning broadly. Duke Henry? Ranulf queried as he eased his body over the Saracen wench to si t on the edge of the massive bed. Aye, the duke-soon to be king of England. He rides for the coast in two days' time and expects us to accompany him. Payn made no apparent attempt to keep the gl ee from his tone. The messenger would speak with you. Flashing h is own grin, Ranulf solicitously twitched the linen sheet up over the two nude women in his bed. Bid him enter. The messenger had obviously ridden hard from the duke's court, for his cloak was s pattered with mud, while grime and weariness lined his face. He c onfirmed what Payn had already announced, adding more details abo ut the departure plans and composition of Henry's forces, and war ning of the resistance expected from the late King Stephen's supp orters in England. Satisfied, Ranulf dismissed the man with orde rs to seek food and rest in the hall, then strode naked to the ta ble where refreshment awaited. Pouring wine from a flagon into tw o pewter cups, he handed one to Payn and raised his own. On to E ngland, then! Aye, on to England! May we find a vast supply of E nglish rebels to vanquish-before your impatience renders your tem per even more vile than of late. I? Ranulf's black eyebrow rose in amused mockery. My disposition has been sweet as honey. His v assal gave a snort of laughter. And what of the three quintains y ou destroyed yesterday? Had their straw forms been infidels, we w ould have freed the Holy Land by now! I vow I've encountered wild boars less dangerous than you after you've been caged here at Ve rnay for any length. Ranulf's sole response was a shrug as he dr ained his cup. Perhaps. Yet I see you have been laboring at a cu re for your foul mood. Payn grinned wickedly as, with a nod of hi s head, he indicated the women in his lord's bed. By the rood, tw o wenches at once, Ranulf? Could you not save some for the rest o f us? Ranulf surveyed the handsome, chestnut-haired knight with wry amusement. I much doubt you lacked for company yourself. Nay , but for some reason I find utterly unfathomable, females seem t o favor you, despite your black scowl. Simply because I take the time to ensure their pleasure instead of seeking merely my own. At Payn's grimace, it was Ranulf's turn to grin. Less selfishness would stand you in good stead, my friend. Doubtless you are rig ht. Tilting his head back, Payn swallowed the remainder of his wi ne, then glanced at Ra- nulf with a measure of slyness. And wise, as well. Best get your fill of your lemans now while you still c an. Your bride will be none too pleased to share you after the we dding. A lady of her rank will expect you to devote your attentio ns to her, at least in the beginning. Ranul, Ivy Books, 2005, 3, Haworth Press. Very Good. 228mm / 152mm. Paperback. 2006. 238 pages. <br>Ian McBride, a principal in a prominent repertory theater company, erected an emotional wall after his longtime lov er died of AIDS. But during rehearsals for The Tempest, Jimmy Dav idson, the actor playing Ariel, begins to chip away at Ian's wall s. After twelve years along, Ian finds himself once again deeply and happily in love. Despite the usual bumps of any relationship, Ian and Jimmy begin to slowly weave their lives together. But du ring a visit to his family's home in Kimberley, Texas, Jimmy is s avagely murdered in a bias attack. Wanting revenge and needing th e solace and closure he never found after his first lover's death , Ian goes to Kimberley for Jimmy's funeral and the trial. Buffet ed by the media that have descended to cover the sensational case , and regarded with suspicion and distaste by the town and by Jim my's equally bereft parents, Ian is isolated and alone with his r age, sadness, and loss. That is, until he finds an unlikely ally in the person of Jimmy's beloved grandmother, Livie, a woman of g reat compassion and emotional fire, and with a secret history of her own. All We Have Is Now is a moving and powerful novel of lov e and loss, of hate and understanding, of grief and resolution. ., Haworth Press, 2006, 3<
