Jillian Chantal

I haven’t worked on the story I’ve been sharing as I’ve been having some scary complications from my surgery. Things are not quite good yet but my doctor and I have a plan so no worries allowed.  So, this week, I’m sharing from a Regency era story I have almost ready to submit and since I have the word of the week in it three times, I decided to share it so I wouldn’t have to miss a week.

The word this week is coat. In the snippet I’m sharing, the hero has brought lunch to the park to share with the heroine.  Check out all the other stories here.

Their hands touched on the glass and he enjoyed the warmth of hers since she’d removed her gloves to eat.

“Sorry, you can have the first sip.” She tried to push the jar toward him.

“Nonsense. Ladies first.” He held on to the jar and lifted it to her lips. “Let me assist.”

He tilted the vessel gently until the liquid touched her mouth.

Watching her drink while he held the jar almost was his undoing. Who knew such an act would have such a sensual side? The way she took the ale in her mouth and swallowed it made him warm all over. When she licked her lips to take in the remainder of the liquid, he suppressed a moan.

She smiled and leaning forward, took the jar from him. “Now it’s my turn to help you since we both seem to need assistance today.”

“What makes you think I need assistance?”

“I don’t know what happened but you suddenly looked as if you were going to tumble over. Your face flushed and the hand holding the jar trembled. I hope you aren’t becoming ill.”

Ill with lust was more like it but he certainly couldn’t say that to her. “I think I’m all right now but if you want to assist me in drinking some ale, I won’t turn you down.”

“Good.” Briony stood and moved so she was standing in front of where he sat. Taking the jar in her hand, she leaned it toward him but spilled a couple of drops on the front of his coat. “Oh no, I’m so sorry.” She tried to dab it dry but he took hold of her wrist.

“It doesn’t matter. Horses have sneezed there too many times to count so never fear a bit of ale will ruin it.”

“That’s disgusting.” She made a face of horror.

“Never mind that. I’m parched.” He pretended to have a coughing fit. “I can only have my thirst quenched with the help of a sweet Guinevere.”

“Remember, I’m not a fan of the treacherous Lancelot so who are you?”

“King Arthur, of course.”

“So you’ve been promoted from the earl you were the other day?”

His stomach fell when she said those words. Here he was hoping not to hurt her by falling in love—which he realized he was already more than half-way there—and yet he was still deceiving her.