At the Heart of the
Stone
by Roxanne D. Howard
Date of Publication:
February 16th 2016
Publisher: Loose Id
Cover Artist: Dar
Albert
Genre: Contemporary
Romance, Paranormal Romance, Contemporary Fantasy
From The Book Junkie Reads . . . At
the Heart of the Stone . . .
Heart
melting, soul stirring magic that takes over and consumes the very existence
that Lark had thought she wanted but dreamed was possible. This was that one
romance that could and would take you to the brink and show you what you have
been missing. It gives the possibility of finding what you thought you had but
was only in the dreams you cultivated in the night.
Lark
had her plate and hands full with a high-powered job, a selfish, self-consumed fiancé,
and then her father’s death. What she didn’t know was that there was something
special waiting for her on the other side of the pond. Heading back home was
not something she was looking forward to, but do it she would. To her deep, desperate
surprise her dreams were living and there for the taking.
Niall
was male hotness personified. He was all that any woman could desire and expect
for herself and the rest of her life. He was strong, passionate, intoxicating,
caring, engaging, had an accent. There was more to him.
Howard
did not disappoint me. I was so caught up and affixed on my path to finishing
but then I did not want to lose out on Niall. Lark and Niall were both well
developed, well written character that held so much with the coming together. I
was not wanting to put it down.
Looking
for a romance that will take you in. The passion on the pages that will engage
your desires and spur you dreams. Pick up a copy and read At the Heart of the Stone.
BLURB
Dreams are the perfect shelter for our
fantasies, safe havens to step inside without changing our daily lives. For
Lark Braithwaite, all that is about to change. During the last six months, Lark
has dreamt of a mysterious Irish lover who knows what she wants and gives her
exactly what she needs. In her waking life in busy London, things aren’t as
ideal, as her long-term relationship with Charles, her controlling fiancé, has
hit a dry spell.
When Lark is called home to Oregon for her
father’s funeral right in the middle of a high-stakes corporate merger, she
heads back to face the demons from her past. What she doesn’t expect is to meet
her dream lover in the flesh. Niall O’Hagan steps straight out of her fantasies
and right into her life, and the powerful connection they share rocks her
foundation. Although she's dealing with the bitterness of being betrayed by
Charles and his jealousy, Niall soon stirs Lark’s awareness of the
superficiality of her existence and reawakens not only her sexuality, but her
soul.
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The blindfold was tied on and made of
soft black material that caressed her skin. Though she knew it was light out,
the mask bathed her in darkness. Still, she was aware of his touch, his heated,
pulling kisses that moved away from her lips and trailed down her jaw to her
throat, over her collarbone, toward her breasts.
A tug pulled her hoodie up a little,
and he slowly zipped it open, yanking the front of her T-shirt down, her bra
right along with it. She couldn’t see anything, but knew it was him. Her dream
lover.
She expected him to latch on to her
nipple, but he didn’t. He caressed it instead, flicking his fingernail along
the sensitive bud, marking a trail of pebbling, tantalizing kisses around the
entire circumference of her right breast. He laved the sensitive underside with
his warm tongue, making her whimper, while his hand came up to fondle her left
breast.
Lark was aware they were both lying on
the porch swing, but he distracted her by seizing her nipple with his teeth.
She groaned. He chuckled, the
vibrations reverberating through her whole body. She clutched him tighter. Lark
wanted to pull off the blindfold, but he had her pinned down. He continued his
ministrations, kissing his way over her bared, flat stomach, across her hip
bone, and closer to his ultimate goal. She covered his hand at her hip with
hers and grasped it. She was a sweaty mess from her run, but it seemed like he
was taking in everything about her.
“Wait,” she said. “I-I can’t see you.
I want to. Take this off.”
“I’m here,” he assured her, crawling
back up over her body.
Knuckles brushed softly down her
cheek, and she could feel his gaze on her. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured.
Lark gave up fighting her blindness
and self-lamentations as his lips pressed against her own. “Mmm, yes,” she
moaned between kisses. “Kiss me, God, yes. I don’t want to feel anything
anymore but you.” There was something about the darkness that emboldened her.
She felt his chest and encountered the lapels of a jacket of some sort. She
yanked him all the way down, moaning and sucking his lower lip between her
teeth.
In an instant, the full weight of his
body came down upon her, and his kisses changed from having been demanding and
passionate to the complete polar opposite.
It was as if he was timid and
reluctant, yet the more she gave to him--putting her arm around his neck and
releasing the fury of her frustrations out on him--the more he began to
respond. Tentative at first, with a hint of reluctance he’d never shown before.
What was this? A cool breeze blew past her face, and a sense of déjà vu of the
night before overtook her.
* * * *
If the kiss had stayed careful and
guarded, she might have continued to question it. But the blindfold
disappeared, and she realized she’d fallen asleep. Her eyes flew open, and he
was there. Oh my God. He was there! Heated eyes watched her. Rakish dark hair
fell over his forehead as he breathed hard, and the morning sun lit up the
world behind him. She took a deep, shuddering breath to speak, but his hands
moved to cup her face. He held still and closed his eyes as his lips took her
mouth. Right then and there, it was very clear that this was real. That was the
weight of a real man on top of her, clothed, and smelling citrusy and clean. What
in the hell is happening here?
How did he get here? He was only her
dream lover.
Or was he?
Confused beyond all comprehension,
Lark didn’t have any time to contemplate what was really going on. His lips
delivered a breath-stealing, soul-shattering kiss, and then they were all over
each other. This, ah, this she knew. Lark hooked her ankle over his and put a
hand on his shoulder, trying to rid him of his jacket and draw him closer. She
clenched her hand in his hair as he devoured her mouth. He tasted the same as
her dream lover, and she put her tongue in his mouth to savor more of that
tangy sweetness.
They were both making noises they
never had in her dreams, little breathy gasps and blasts of air as their mouths
met and separated as they sought new angles and depths to their passion.
He made a disgruntled sound as he
tried to get more comfortable in the cradle of her hips over the hindrance of
clothes, and she realized she really wasn’t dreaming anymore. He nibbled on her
lower lip as she opened her mouth to tell him to stop, but then she was carried
away in the undercurrent of his large, warm hands, which were caressing the
skin of her stomach beneath her hoodie and T-shirt. She continued to accept his
kisses but pawed down her still zipped-up sweat jacket. Okay, so she was still
clothed. He was rock hard against her, and he ground his hips into her, a
disbelieving grunt escaping his lips. Lark rolled her eyes back, shivering at
the jolt that went through her.
“Wh-- Mmm. Whoa. Stop!” She finally
managed to say against his mouth. She furrowed her eyebrows and scrutinized him
as he breathed in and out, bracing himself on the weight of his hands above
her, his bright green eyes bearing into hers. His face was the face of her
dreams--the sensual, bowed lips and cleft chin, the built body, and the thick
hair. His hair... She blinked. It was cut at the nape and styled for a day at
work. She glanced down at what he was wearing.
“Um, why are you wearing a suit and
tie this time?” she asked, squinting against the sunlight. Please, God, let
this be a dream. He moved his head, putting her in shade.
“This time?” He lifted an eyebrow,
perplexed. “You’ll have to forgive me, lass, but I’ve no idea what the devil
you’re talking about.” He maneuvered himself off her and sat upright at the end
of the swing.
She tucked her feet against her and
sat up, unable to do anything more than blink at him in utter disbelief.
“I was coming up to knock on the door
when I saw you lying here, and given how you were tossing and the noises you
were making, it looked like maybe you were having some sort of a seizure.”
He seemed contrite, and he turned his
head as he licked his lips, full and abused from her kisses. Something close to
mortification bloomed inside her.
“Erm, you...begged me to kiss you, and
then you yanked me down. One thing led to another and, well, that was pretty
much the way of it. I am only human, though I know that’s no excuse.” He
swallowed and stared at her, his Adam’s apple moving in his throat. “I
apologize. I shouldn’t have gone down when you pulled me, but it was
strange--like you knew me or something.”
Lark leaned forward and rubbed her
eyes. This couldn’t be real. She was hallucinating. She had to be. When she
opened her eyes she’d see a man in his fifties with a receding hairline,
glasses, and a beer gut. She reopened her eyes, and there he was: The full
package. In the flesh. There was an air of intelligence in the way his eyes
scrutinized her. She sat up and planted her feet on the porch, then put a hand
to her head. The vertigo from earlier returned. “No, I’m sorry. I was
dreaming...”
“Excuse me for saying so, but it
must’ve been one hell of a dream.”
Lark nodded and tried not to black out
as a wave of dizziness came over her.
“You look like you’re dehydrated. Hold
on.”
The lilt of his familiar Irish accent
soothed her like warm milk. He stood and walked over to a black laptop case
propped near the front door that had several thick manila folders sticking out
of its open center, one of which she could see said BRAITHWAITE in large,
capital letters on an index label. He crouched down and unzipped the front
pocket, extracting an unopened plastic water bottle.
“Here,” he said, unscrewing it and
holding it out to her.
“Thanks.” She accepted the bottle and
took a long sip of the cool water. It almost instantly revived her. She wiped a
little water off the corner of her mouth with the top of her knuckle as he
watched her. She offered it back to him, but he shook his head and reclaimed
his seat next to her.
“Keep it. Drink.”
“Thank you.” She closed her eyes and
took several large gulps, the cool liquid a balm to her throat.
“My name’s Niall O’Hagan.”
His voice was deep and pleasant. It
sounded different, lighter than the sultry bedroom voice she was used to from
her dreams.
“I’m the Braithwaites’ attorney.”
Lark paused in midsip and lowered the
bottle in her hands. “You--no.” She laughed, glancing at him.
His mouth lifted at the corners, as if
it were dawning on him he was the butt of a joke he wasn’t aware of.
“I...what?”
Oh, the irony of dreaming about her
father’s lawyer this whole time. Oh my God. She started giggling. This was it;
she was officially losing it. She got up and walked over to the top step of the
porch, put a hand over her face, and plunked herself down. “I am so messed up.”
A sudden, unwanted flash of Gemma
saying “darlin’” to Charles yesterday surfaced, and tears stung her eyes. She
went silent and willed them not to fall. It was no use.
After a moment, Niall sat down on the
step beside her. “I’d offer you a drink, but I quit ten years ago.”
Lark laughed, despite the tears. “An
Irish attorney who doesn’t like Guinness is like an Englishman who doesn’t like
fish and chips or something.”
“I know; shameful,” he said with mock
contrition. “Don’t hold it against me. I’m doing the world a favor. Trust me. I
was a horrible drunk. Seriously, though, are you okay, miss?”
Lark scoffed and gesticulated with her
hands to the sky. “It’s Lark. And what a loaded question of the day.” She
couldn’t look at him, not after what happened. She clenched the edge of the
step on either side of her and stared out at the trees.
“Well, considering we’ve already gone
to second base, we might as well be open with each other. Forgive me if I’m
candid, but it seems you were having an alleged, eh, intense dream, and you
woke up and believed I was him. Is that right?”
Horror dawned on her at what she’d
done, and her jaw dropped. “No!” Yes. She glanced at him, and his knowing
expression said he knew that was exactly what happened.
“I see,” he said, his tone careful but
persistent. “Then why did you kiss me like that?”
“I-I don’t have to answer that.” She
lifted her chin with defiance.
He scooted closer to her. “No, you
don’t. But I wish you would.”
She scratched her head in frustration
and jumped up, moving toward the door.
“I’m sorry to embarrass you,” he said,
and she paused with her hand halfway to the doorbell. “I’m decent. I would
never-- I never meant to take advantage of you at all, please know that. When
you kissed me like that, so familiar, I...”
It occurred to her Niall was being a
lot more of a gentleman about the whole thing than most men would be, given how
horrid the situation was. And she, meanwhile, was being a total bitch. And the
poor guy had no clue as to why.
He met her in two quick strides, and
his proximity alarmed her. They’d never both been standing in any of her
dreams. He was at least a few inches over six feet, well built with wide
shoulders and a lithe, muscular frame to complement the height.
He assessed her as well, and his eyes
widened with realization. “Wait. Lark? Rick’s daughter? But you’re so little,”
he said, surprised. “From the pictures, I assumed you’d be, erm-
“Fatter?” she asked, glad she was at
least back on sure ground. She could always toss jokes around about her heavy
days. “It’s okay. You can go ahead and say it. I’ve lost a lot of weight.”
Niall put a hand to the back of his
neck. His eyebrows rose. “I think ‘a lot’ is an understatement. Good on you! My
mam struggled with her weight too; I know from growing up with her how hard it
is to lose it. Well, you look amazing. Wow.”
He rolled his eyes at himself and
glanced away. The bizarreness of seeing him act misplaced and common, and not
at all like a sex panther, was messing with her.
“I’m sorry.” He laughed. “I sound like
an idiot. Listen, I hope you don’t think I’m some leering wanker. This
is...awkward.”
“You can say that again,” she murmured
with a small smile, wondering what he would say if she told him she’d been
having erotic dreams of him every night for the last six months. It was bad
enough she’d just made out with the guy.
She held out her hand but didn’t make
eye contact. “So listen, how about we forget it ever happened, okay? I’m Lark
Braithwaite. I flew in a couple of days ago from London.”
He took her hand and closed his long
fingers over hers. “Niall O’Hagan. Pleasure.” He stepped a little closer. “And
I’m all for a clean slate, but forgetting’s not on my agenda, lass. I’m taking
that one to the grave. Hands down the best snog I’ve ever had in my life.
Client’s daughter or no, you can’t take it back.”
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Author Info
Roxanne D. Howard is an author with Loose Id.
She has two titles published and one series coming out over the holidays. She
is a U.S. Army veteran, and has a bachelor's degree in Psychology and English.
She loves to read poetry, classical literature, and Stephen King. She is also
an avid Star Wars fan, musical theater nut, and loves everything related to
marine biology. She resides in the mid-western United States, and is the proud
mother of two beautiful girls, several pets, and loves to spend time with her
husband and children when she's not writing. Roxanne loves to hear from her
readers, and she can be contacted at author@roxannedhoward.com.
Author Links:
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The Ultimate Leading
Man
Hello,
I’m Roxanne D. Howard, and I write erotic contemporary and paranormal romance
novels. Today I’d like to discuss what I think makes up the ultimate leading
man (or how he’s currently known to the literary world, a book boyfriend).
1. Baby, you can drive my car. He needs to be driven and to have something he’s
passionate about (besides the heroine/love interest). Fabrizio the hard-core shifter
Alpha is all well and good, but who is he beneath the bulging muscles and
chiseled eight pack? Men have needs and set goals just as women do, and more
importantly, they have emotions. Does he wear his heart on his sleeve or bottle
it up inside and take it out in the boxing ring? Either way, something drives
him, and I like to both write and read about a guy who’s going places, and
knows what he wants.
2. If you’ve got it, flaunt it. Or, wait… don’t. He should be capable
and confident, but not cocky. A line I’ve always loved from the Harry Potter series is, “If you want to
know the measure of a man, Harry, watch how he treats his inferiors.” A good
leading man doesn’t need to constantly prove he’s got what it takes; he simply
does, and can stand back with a humble air, even if his biceps rival Arnold
Schwarzenneger’s. Nothing is worse to me than a man who loves himself too much.
I like heroes who know their worth, but remain humble about it.
3. He knows what she wants. He should anticipate the heroine’s
needs, and be the yin to her yang. If the heroine is pouring her heart out to
her rock star Alpha boyfriend, but he’s doing a Wayne’s World guitar riff in
his head, super not cool. A good leading man should listen to his leading lady
and care about how she feels. Her needs should be a priority. How she feels
should affect him, and he should be invested in her happiness.
4. Alpha tendencies with a Beta’s understanding. What I enjoy about a
fully fleshed out leading man is the way he lets the heroine be her own woman
and respects who she is, but takes more control of the wheel after they close
the bedroom door.
5. Great lover. Let’s face it, in the mashed potatoes and
gravy of literary romance, the love scenes are the gravy. We all want to read a
great plot that includes a nicely crafted love scene with a leading man who
knows how to please his mate.
In my
first novel, At the Heart of the Stone,
Niall O’Hagan steps out of Lark Braithwaite’s nightly dreams and enters her
life, turning it upside down. Niall hails from Ireland, and he’s the
Braithwaite’s family attorney. When Lark dreams of him, he’s her mysterious
dream lover, giving her everything she needs and wants, which she doesn’t get
in her waking relationship with her cold, philandering fiancé. When Lark meets
Niall in person, his direct curiosity catches her by surprise, and breaks apart
every preconceived notion she had about what love truly is.
What do
you think makes up a good leading man?
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