Release Day Blitz

Posted: 18/11/2015 in book promo, books
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RELEASE DAY BLITZ
HOW TO MARRY YOUR
WIFE
BY STELLA MARIE ALDEN
RELEASE DAY NOVEMBER
18TH

 

Come Join

 

 
SYNOPSIS:
What foul devilry is this? They told her he was dead. After
six long years without a word, her knight falls onto his knees and sings
poetry. Then he denies their son? Heed this well. She’s no longer an innocent
who’ll giggle and tarry on his every word. The sharp edge of her tongue and
knife is the only welcome he’ll get. She’ll not marry him. Besides, the pain
would be too much to bear should he ever leave again. 
Her attitude is beyond understanding. What voice
did he have? The king commanded and he obeyed. Regardless of her hatred, the
Templar knight weds. This time she will travel with him and he will win back
her favor. It’s a long road from London to Hadrian’s Wall. Evil deeds weave a
plot laced with castles, kidnappings, and missives. Will the treacherous
journey split them asunder forever? Mayhap only in heaven will he rekindle the
passion they once shared. 

BUY LINKS
 
 
EXCERPT:
Prologue
England,
near London Towne
Year of
our Lord 127
Behind
them, massive columns stood tall as their only chaperones in the ancient Roman
bathhouse. Peepers croaked, night birds lamented, and water gurgled as it
cascaded down from each of the three tiers. Sir Thomas led her deeper into the
shadows made by blue moonlight. Tiny waves of light reflected off the pools and
onto his beautiful Norman features.
The
dark centers of his eyes widened as he brushed his lips over hers. “You
shouldn’t be here.”
“You
don’t want me?” Merry’s lower lip quivered. Thick black hair caressed the
tender places between her fingers when she reached her hands to the back of his
head. Warmth spread from where their lower halves met and she kissed him with
all her being.
Her
Templar knight groaned. “I’ve promised your liege that I’ll not lay with you
until we’re wed. If we continue down this road, my honor will be questioned.”
Letting
go of his silky wet locks, she reached into her purse and waved six colorful
ribbons of yarn in front of his nose. “But I brought these.”
He
leaned over to where he’d placed his sword, belt, and boots and came up with
similar lengths of wool. “As did I.”
Her
cheeks ached with the wide grin she sent his way. “Anon. Let’s do it.”
Rough
palms cupped her face as the man she adored bore a hole into her soul with his
gaze. “Lass, ’tis serious. We’ll be hand-fasted. Are you sure you want this?”
She
covered his hands with her own and fell into the depths of those magnificent
eyes. The drum in her chest beat faster and her lips parted. “I’m six and ten
seasons. I know my own mind.”
A soft
moan escaped his perfect lips and his kiss went deeper than any of the others
they’d shared all summer. One of his hands slid to the back of her head and the
other glided down her back and clamped her bottom globe. He pulled her tight to
his hard want and her mind filled with lustful thoughts.
Warm
breath met her ear. “We’ll have a proper wedding when I return from London
Towne in a fortnight. Ready?”
She
nodded and held forth her hand with the yarns.
Never
releasing her from his fierce gaze, he clasped his sword arm to hers, tied them
together with the yarn, and bound them forever. “I take thee as my wife.”
With
eyes watering, her hand shook as she brushed a dark lock from his blue-gray
eye. “I take thee as my husband for all eternity.”
He
flicked his cloak open and lay her down. Then there was only him; his scent,
his tongue, and his hands pulling her so close that she mayhap died and went to
heaven. He went to his knees with a small growl in his chest and removed his
colors. Slivers of moonbeams danced across his glorious body. Strength bumps
above his navel led down to small curls of black hair. The ‘V’ pointed to a
staff so large, surely it would never fit.
Holy mother of God. Her
mouth lost its liquid and she swallowed hard.
“Don’t
worry, love, all will be well.” He leaned over and devoured her in gentle
kisses. Their tongues danced and her heart soared. One knee lifted, he
straddled her, and found the hem of her tunic. He muttered an apology as it
tore when it caught coming over her head. Then his mouth dropped open, his hard
pintle danced upon her navel, and he sucked in his breath. “Bloody love of
Christ. You’re perfect.”
She
arched up so that the aching wet spot between her legs could rub against his
length. His soft kisses started at her mouth, lowered to her breast, and he
suckled.
 “Please . . .” The lips between her legs
swelled. She moaned at the sweetness of his hands kneading her breasts and his
tongue licking the tips of her ever-hardening nipples.
He
spread her legs wide with the outside of his knees and rasped, “We play with
fire.”
A
calloused fingertip rubbed the pebble between her legs, she closed her eyes,
and prayed for release. Never had she experienced such need, such wanting. It
was as if the gates of heaven were open and she but a foot away.
His wet
tongue laved the perfect spot and she gasped. Heated breath from his hiss met
her folds and she shivered. A gentle nibble and . . . Oh, dear God in heaven .
. . She burst apart, bright lights flashed behind her lids, and her body shook
in perfect release.
He slid
up her naked body and kissed her fiercely upon the lips, tasting of her. “Clamp
your thighs around my rod.”
She did
as told and he rubbed it against her sensitive nub repeatedly, but did not
enter her. He thrust once more, she clamped him tight, and he shouted into her
mouth. His release sent her over the cliff again and she went to holy bliss as
sticky fluid lubricated her inner thighs.
“You’re
mine.” He fell onto his side, panting.
She
sighed and turned toward him. When their breathing calmed, she said, “I wish
you didn’t have to go.”
“But I
do and you should be off to your pallet. Soon, we’ll lay together every night
and I shall breach you as a proper husband does his wife.” He reached across
her body for her skin of wine lying on the mosaic tiles and drank deep.
A tiny
squeak escaped her lips. “Wait, no. Thomas, don’t!”
He
looked at her askance and his eyes darkened with a fierce scowl. “What was in
that draught?”
She
shivered. “Just a foolish love potion from old Agatha. I wasn’t really going to
use it.”
He
moaned and his eyes rolled to the top of his head. “’Tis no love potion, ’tis
juice of the poppies. Quickly, get dressed and leave. You’ve no idea its affect
upon me.”
“I
won’t. This is all my fault. Oh, what have I done?”
“Merry.
Do as I say. Go.” His body convulsed.
Sobbing,
she held him, not daring to leave and not daring to tell a soul. He hardened
again and this time there was no stopping, no restraint, just his pure love
inside her. He was fierce and hard and beautiful all at the same time. When his
breathing became calm, and his moaning stopped, she dressed and ran back to her
chambers, no longer a virgin. Already the cock crowed and pale orange of the
rising sun lit the grassy knolls in the distance.
AUTHOR BIO
& LINKS:
 
Stella Marie Alden
loves Zumba, yoga, watercolor painting, and fixing up her house. Growing up in Vermont,
crayons fought over placement in their cardboard box and imaginary friends
crowded the house. Her brother complained. “Tell her no one’s here,
Mother.”. 
She’s been a
librarian, a clarinetist, recording engineer, electronics repairman, and now
architects software. She lives in NJ with her life-long hero and two cats. Her
girls are grown but ever supportive. Go Mom!
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