|Publisher:||Epicenter Press, Incorporated|
|Product dimensions:||5.00(w) x 8.00(h) x 0.41(d)|
About the Author
Christine Edwards grew up in the Deep South on Hilton Head Island, SC. At an early age she developed a passion for the arts that led her to earn a bachelor's degree in Art History from the College of Charleston in South Carolina. Christine has a special place in her heart for reading and writing erotic tales. Captured in Croatia is her third novel. Her main focus is on loving, multifaceted relationships involving intense alpha males and feisty heroines. She adores snow skiing, traveling the world, and spending time with her amazing family. Christine currently resides in the sleepy coastal town of Beaufort, SC. You can find Christine online at christineedwardsauthor.com.
Read an Excerpt
I can't help but take two steps away from him. In the daylight he is a giant of a man. His tailored suit is merely a polite disguise to help him blend into society. He's clearly living in the wrong time period, I think, because anyone can see that he is a fierce warrior sprung to life in the twenty-first century.
His chiseled jaw lifts ever so slightly. "Up the stairs."
Will I ever grow accustomed to his husky, growling voice? In a daze, I turn and climb the wide flight of stairs. My small feet pad silently as I make my ascent to God-knows-where. The wood on the floors is ancient and weathered but immaculately clean and quite pretty. How old is this place?
I come to a dead stop at the top of the staircase and stare in awe. Unless it was built with this sprawling, open design in mind, it seems as if all the interior walls on the second floor were demolished to create one vast space. It's the size of at least four large bedrooms rolled into one. Two sets of enormous windows allow for sunlight to spill in, blanketing the distressed wood floors. There's a large boxy structure built in the center of the space. Through the glass, I can see that it's a freestanding, oversized shower; the frosted glass wall behind it must hide the rest of the bathroom.
In the right corner of the room rests a massive king-sized bed set in a beautifully carved, dark walnut four-post frame. Stark white sheets and a matching comforter neatly cover the high mattress. Behind the bed, the interior stone wall is at least fifteen feet in height. Stunning. Wood rafters painted a light gray crisscross the ceiling. They give the room a clean, loft-like feel.
This space must be close to fifteen-hundred square feet. As I look around, I note that aside from the bed and the wood floor, just about everything is either white, gray, or glass. Even the wide fireplace mantle is a pale hue, maybe a birch or pine. Cut logs rest neatly in a brown leather sling on the striated marble hearth.
He steps around me and strides toward the far side of the vast room. We round the corner to the modern shower that features a foot-wide rainforest showerhead and two limestone benches. Smooth pebbles in shades of soft cream and tan make up the floor of the cavernous space. There is no door, just a six inch tiled step.
As I'm taking everything in, he addresses me in his commanding voice. "Take everything off and shower. You need to clean those cuts. You have exactly five minutes."