A hardened mercenary as adept in bed as in battle, Simon Quinn can have any woman he wants, but he prefers those who know the rules of the game. That way it's easier to leave them behind. . .
Can't Be Avoided
But Lysette Rousseau is one female he can't figure out. Beautiful, sensual, seductive, she should be the perfect match for Simon, yet something about her ties him in knots. Bold and manipulative one time, sweetly innocent the next, she is an enigma bound to bring trouble. . .impossible to resist.
Praise for Sylvia Day and her novels
"Bared to You obliterates the competition. . .unique and unforgettable." --Joyfully Reviewed
"The undisputed mistress of tender, erotic romance." --Teresa Medeiros
"Boldly passionate, scorchingly sexy." --Booklist on The Stranger I Married
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Don't Tempt Me
By SYLVIA DAY
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.Copyright © 2008 Sylvia Day
All rights reserved.
Paris, France — 1780
He was the sort of man who could enslave a woman with a single glance.
A glance such as the one he was presently giving to her.
Lynette Baillon watched the notorious Simon Quinn with similar shamelessness, admiring the raven blackness of his hair and the brilliant blue of his eyes.
Quinn lounged against a fluted column in the Baroness Orlinda's ballroom, his arms crossing his broad chest and one ankle hooked carelessly over the other. He looked both leisurely and alert, a dichotomy she had noted the first time she saw him riding through the moonlit Parisian streets. Tonight he was dressed in somber shades of dark blue and gray, a combination that created an understated elegance she found extremely appealing. Amid the flagrantly sensual theme of the intimate gathering — candles scented of exotic spices, chaises cleverly hidden by a faux forest, and servants dressed in revealing costume — he was austerely attractive. His quiet intensity was far more alluring than the deportment of those who cavorted in blatant rut.
For her part, she was dressed in white for effect, her skirts accented with rich cream-colored bows and silver thread. Combined with her pale skin and hair and the dark ruby red of her half-mask, the ensemble drew all eyes toward her.
Drew his eyes toward her.
They had never been introduced. She'd learned his name by eavesdropping on surrounding conversations, listening with avid interest to whispered tales of his wickedness and common origins. He stood on the fringes, alone. Coveted by the women and shunned by the men for the exact same reasons — he had only his reputed expertise as a lover to recommend him and no title, property, or moral compass to redeem him. The widowed baroness enjoyed shocking Society, which explained his presence. He was a novelty and appeared to be comfortable in that role, but Lynette felt a strong pull to join him, to stand beside him, to enter the solitary enclosure he occupied.
Quinn was a tall man, and a big one. His jaw was strong, his nose a blade. Boldly winged brows gave him a hint of arrogance, while long, thick lashes added a touch of softness. To her mind, however, the most alluring part of his rugged handsomeness was his mouth. The lips were perfect, neither too full nor too thin, and when they curved in a smile — as they were doing now — they were irresistible. She wanted to lick them, nibble on them, feel them move across her bare skin.
"Between you and your sister," her mother had once said, "you are most like me. Your passions run high, your blood hot. Pray you do not succumb to it."
Her blood felt hot now. Her chest rose and fell rapidly in response to his stare. Her heart raced. That a stranger could incite such a response in her despite the crowd that surrounded them and the distance separating them only exacerbated her reaction.
Then he straightened abruptly and approached with a predator's easy, yet determined gait. His long legs ate up the space between them, his pathway direct and unconcerned with those who were forced to move out of his way. She inhaled sharply, her palms dampening within her gloves.
When he reached her, her head tilted back to allow her to gaze upon his face and fully appreciate its savage beauty. She breathed him in, becoming intoxicated by the combination of tobacco and musk. The primitive scent was delicious and she fought the insane urge to rise to her tiptoes and press her nose into his throat.
She shivered as the sensual inflection with which he spoke wrapped around her like a lover's embrace.
"Mr. Quinn," she greeted, her voice husky and inviting.
Quinn's gaze narrowed into an examining perusal. Without warning, he caught her elbow and pulled her away from the wall. She was so startled by his action that she was unable to voice a protest.
At least that was what she told herself. She wasn't yet prepared to admit that she wanted to be claimed by a man such as him. A man whose polished exterior encased raw masculinity.
He led her through the crowd and down a hallway, opening a closed door and pushing her ahead of him into the room. The interior was dark, and for a moment, she was blinded by the dearth of illumination after the blaze of the massive ballroom chandeliers.
Her eyes slowly adjusted to the softer moonlight spilling in through the windows. When she could see, she stepped farther into the large, liberally furnished library. The smell of leather and parchment teased her nostrils, reinforcing the sensation of being primitively claimed.
The door latch clicked into place and she jumped, her nerves stretched too thin. The sounds of laughter and music faded from her perception, leaving her aware only of Quinn and the fact that they were alone together.
"What game are you playing?" he asked gruffly.
"I was staring," she admitted, turning to face him. She appreciated having the light behind her, which shielded her features in shadow while revealing the whole of his. "But then, every woman here was doing the same."
"But you are not just any woman, are you?" he growled, coming toward her.
So ... he knew who she was. That surprised her. Her mother had insisted they hide their identities. They stayed with a friend instead of at their own property and were using an assumed surname. Her mother said it would prevent her father from becoming angry with them for deviating from their stated destination — Spain. She would have agreed to anything in order to come to Paris. In all of her life, her family had never visited here.
But then ... If Quinn knew her true identity, why would he pull her away from the festivities in such a public manner?
"You approached me," she pointed out. "You could have kept your distance."
"I am here because of you." He caught her elbows and jerked her roughly into him. "If you had stayed out of mischief for a few days longer, I would have been far from France now."
She frowned. What was he talking about? She would have asked if he had not placed his hands on her. No man had ever been so bold as to accost the daughter of the Vicomte de Grenier. She could hardly believe Quinn had done it, but she could not jerk away because the sensations elicited by his proximity stunned her. He was so hard, like stone. She could not have expected that.
As her breathing quickened, she felt herself sway into him, her chest pressing into his. It was madness. He was a stranger and he seemed to be angry.
But she felt safe with him, regardless.
For a long, taut moment Quinn did not move. Then he yanked her toward the window, impatiently pushing the sheer curtain aside so that moonlight touched her face. With a tug of his fingers, he untied the ribbons of her mask and it fell away, leaving her exposed. She suddenly felt naked, but not nearly naked enough. She felt a reckless, goading need to strip off every article of clothing while he watched. It was heady to be the focus of such heated, avid interest from so handsome a man.
He loomed over her, scowling, his mouth set in a grim line. "Why are you looking at me like that?" he snapped.
She swallowed hard. "Like what?"
Quinn made an aggravated noise, dropped the curtain, and caught her about the waist. "As if you want me in your bed."
Mon Dieu, what did one say to that?
"You are ... very attractive, Mr. Quinn."
"'Mr. Quinn,' is it?" he purred, his large hands cupping her spine, making her feel tiny and delicate. Conquered. "I always knew you were mad."
Her tongue darted out to wet her dry lips and he froze, his gaze burning.
"What game are you playing?" he asked again. This time, she heard something else in his tone. Something darker. Undeniably arousing.
"I — I think we are both c-confused," she said.
He moved, cupping the back of her neck and the side of her hip, mantling her body with his. "I'm bloody well confused, curse you." He tugged, forcing her spine to arch, leaning over her so that she had no leverage to move.
Every inhale was his exhale. Every movement was an enticement, their bodies sliding against each other in a wanton dance. She felt a fever in her blood, a conflagration that had started with that first smoldering glance in the ballroom.
"Do you want to be fucked?" he purred, his head lowering so that his lips touched her jaw. The caress was divine and wicked at once, making her shiver with delighted apprehension. "Because you are begging for it, witch, and I am insane enough in this moment to indulge you."
"I — I ..."
Quinn turned his head and kissed her, hard, his lips mashing against hers. There was no finesse, no tenderness. Her mouth was bruised by his volatility and ardor. She should have been frightened. He seemed barely leashed, his emotions swaying from irritation to consuming desire.
She whimpered, her hands fisting in his jacket to keep him close. Enamored with the taste of him, she licked his lips and he groaned, his hips grinding restlessly into her. She surrendered weakly and he gentled his approach, seemingly soothed by her capitulation.
"Tell me what you are involved in," he murmured, his teeth nipping at the corner of her mouth.
"You," she breathed, tilting her head to deepen the contact. She felt drunk. The room spun behind her closed eyelids and she suspected she would crumble if he weren't holding her so tightly.
Quinn turned slightly and sat in a nearby slipper chair. The change in position stole her balance and she settled between his spread legs nearly prone.
"Why now?" he asked, nibbling his way to her ear.
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and bared her throat. His hot, open mouth suckled the tender skin and she writhed in mindless pleasure. "Mr. Quinn ..."
He chuckled, surprising her with the warmth of the sound. "Who knew you burned so hotly beneath all that ice?"
"Kiss me again," she begged, more infatuated with his mouth now that she had experienced its skill.
"We must leave, before I lift your skirts and take you here."
Quinn suckled her lower lip and her body softened further, becoming hot and damp and aching. "Then let us retire to a more private venue, Lysette. Before lust rules my better sense."
She stilled, the beat of her heart arrested by the sound of the name that was not her own.
The sudden understanding of all his questions horrified her. Simon Quinn knew her sister. Her twin. Her dearest friend and most agonizing loss.
For Lysette was dead, her body entombed in a beautifully sculpted crypt in Poland.
How, then, did Quinn know her and believe her to be alive?CHAPTER 2
The coast of France, three days earlier ...
Lysette Rousseau, an accomplished assassin, inhaled the sea air through the cabin window and wondered why her rapidly approaching demise did not frighten her. Her livelihood had shown her many faces of death. Most had been terror-stricken and accompanied by desperate pleas for mercy. She attempted to dredge up similar attachment to her own life and felt nothing. Death would be a reprieve; she could think of it no other way.
The ship she was prisoner upon would dock on the coast of France by morning. What awaited her there was unknown. She had been sent on a mission to recover information in England and was instead captured. Two more French agents had been held behind as leverage. Another was dead by her hand. It was quite possible, given the disastrous results, that this night would be her last. Yet the knowledge had such little impact, she scarcely felt it.
She was not a woman to ruminate over her emotions, but she did ponder how her lack of memory had become a lack of joie de vivre. Her past prior to two years ago was a mystery to her. Without roots to ground her and give her an anchor, Lysette was adrift. Aimless. Perhaps some would find it strange that an existence fueled by the power of others would be so exhausting, but for her it was.
The lock turned in the door behind her and her keeper entered.
"I have brought you supper," Simon Quinn said in a voice designed to lead women to ruin. The sensuality of the low, deep tone was not an affectation; it was inherent to the man.
Lysette turned to face him, noting how his simple attire of shirtsleeves and breeches together with his dark, unbound hair gave him the appearance of a pirate. In truth he was a mercenary who had spent the last several years in service to the Crown of England. That made him her opponent in a fashion, yet she felt safer with him than with any other man. He felt no sexual attraction to her, a state proven by the last few months of near constant proximity to each other. She had even offered sex to him once, and he had declined. Due to his lack of interest, she almost liked him. Almost.
"I am not hungry," she said, watching as he set a plate of salted meat and hard biscuits on the round table in the corner.
A black brow lifted and brilliant blue eyes assessed her from head to toe. Simon was Irish, his breeding evident in both his coloring and the inflection that tinged his every word. He was stunningly attractive and dangerously charming. He could offer a woman the world with a single smile ... with the caveat that it was only a temporary gift. Simon was not a man to become a permanent fixture in anyone's life. That sense of transience was a potent lure. She'd watched women fall into his lap without any effort on his part.
"You need to eat," he said.
"The rolling of the ship does not sit well with my stomach."
He ran a hand through his inky locks, the gesture rife with frustration. The movement of his arm was graceful, the large biceps flexing powerfully. Simon bore the form of a common laborer, which attracted more women than it repelled. Lysette admired it with the same offhand attention with which she contemplated death.
"Does our arrival tomorrow ... disturb you?" he asked grudgingly.
"Would it plague your conscience if it did?"
The glare he shot her made her laugh.
She knew he regarded her with wary confusion. He sensed the division in her caused by her lack of memory, but he had yet to learn the reason for it. Lysette viewed her missing past as a vulnerability, and she had learned — in the most heinous fashion — that she could not afford any further liabilities beyond her gender.
"You do not even attempt to be likable," he complained.
"No," she agreed, moving to occupy the only chair in the room, a walnut spindle-back with a contoured seat. They shared a fairly comfortable cabin and yet the first days had been some of the tensest in her short recollection. She was not accustomed to keeping such close quarters with men, especially over a length of time. "You will be free of me tomorrow."
"Ha!" Simon sat on the edge of her bed to remove his boots. A hammock slung across the far corner served as his sleeping place. It swung gently as the ship rolled, a sight that often lulled her into daydreams of a brighter future. "I would have been free of you in England, if you had not been lying, deceiving, and making mischief the entire length of our association."
"That is my livelihood, mon amour."
"Soon to be inflicted on some other unfortunate soul."
"Your hypocrisy is impressive."
He glared. "I resigned my commission before leaving England. I am returning you to France only because of my men. If not for them, I would be elsewhere. Far from you."
While she wore a mocking smile on the outside, on the inside she admired his loyalty and sense of responsibility. His underlings — a dozen men who had worked covertly on his behalf — were now being held against their will as insurance for her return. His resignation freed him from any obligation for their safety, yet he pressed on, regardless.
"As to whether or not I will be free of you tomorrow, I doubt it. This will not be a swift exchange," he said, surprising her. "I will see all of my men first. Should one of them be injured, we will wait for his full recovery before proceeding. In addition, we must negotiate the terms for Jacques and Cartland. Much will depend on how cooperative Comte Desjardins is."
"And if you do not regain all of them?"
Simon glanced at her. "Then, your people will not regain you."
"Perhaps you will never be rid of me."
He growled. "That would not be pleasant for you."
"Oh, I might beg to disagree. You are pleasing to the eye and you maintain a surly sort of charm."
When other men would have made her life a misery, Simon had seen to her comfort and care, albeit grudgingly. His tarnished honor fascinated her. Lysette had spent their time together attempting to discern what fueled him. If she could discover that, the knowledge would be to her advantage.
"Witch," Simon muttered in response to her taunting.
She placed her slippered feet atop a roughly hewn wooden footstool with a silent sigh. Did she have a family or anyone to care for her and miss her? Did someone pine for her and wonder at her disappearance from their lives? She had no notion of what motivated a man like Simon, what roads in life had led him to hire himself out for money, but she knew what motivated her — the desire to regain the knowledge of her identity. She required funds and resources for such an undertaking, and the skill to kill anyone who impeded her quest.
Excerpted from Don't Tempt Me by SYLVIA DAY. Copyright © 2008 Sylvia Day. Excerpted by permission of KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
I was confused by this, it states it was published in 2013 but the storyline sounded familier. Turns out, I've already read it, it's on my Nook, and the cover has just changed. I think it would have let me buy it again without warning me since it is claiming to be published this year. I recall enjoying the book but be careful it isn't a duplicate BEFORE you buy!
This is an old book with a new cover. Makes me mad when they do this and allow you to purchase again! Waste of money!
While I loved her Crossfire Series, I am underwhelmed with this book. There were too many characters (many of which unnecessary) and the plot was too hard and confusing to follow.
excellent however sometimes a little hard to follow the plot. however, exceptionally written.
I am a fan of Ms. Days books, but this one "Don't tempt me" left me a bit bored, and unfeeling. I thought it was too drawn out And quite frankly, bored. To me, this book started getting interesting close to the end. I was disappointed to say the least.
Forced to marry in 1757, Marquis Marguerite lovingly raises her twin daughters Lysette and Lynette Baillon. However, she becomes heartbroken when she finds out her older daughter Lysette died and was buried in Poland still she has her beloved Lynette.------------------ In 1780 Paris, Irish mercenary Simon Quinn recognizes Lysette as someone he sold out three years ago to Desjardin. However, although she looks the same she behaves radically different from the tough women he dealt with as she seems girly. Mistaking Lynette for Lysette, she learns that her sister has been an English assassin and is alive in France. She plans to find her sibling to bring her home, but Desjardin has plans for his stubborn pretty captive whom he must break. His chance of succeeding while crossing the Channel with a still confused Simon looks excellent.----------- This is a brilliant historical romantic suspense as Sylvia Day blends several subplots into a powerful thriller. The story line is fast-paced from the moment that Quinn sees Lynette and never slows down as she changes from girly girl to superhero trying to rescue her twin. The heated asides between her and Quinn feel right as this is one author who will make the readers¿ day and night with this strong tale of courage and love in France, a decade before the Revolution.-------- Harriet Klausner
keeps you engaged and is a good story.
DON'T TEMPT ME by Sylvia Day is an exciting Georgian Erotic Historical Romance set in 1757 Paris, France. #4 in the "Georgian"series, but can be read as a stand alone. See,"Ask for It"," Passion for the Game",and "A Passion for Him".Re-issue from 2008. "Don't Tempt Me" is the story of Simon Quinn,a spy and mercenary and Lynette Baillon,who has lost her twin sister. Filled with danger,secrets,deceit,lies,vengeance,passion,and love. Lynette's twin sister,Lysette has been dead for two years,or so her family believes. Lysette Rousseau ,is a hired assassin,who lost her memory two years ago.Ms. Day has carefully woven subplots of Lysette and Edward James, as well as the story of Simon and Lynette, and the twins mother, Marguerite,her ex-lover, the Marquess of Saint-Martin,and her husband De Grenier. Brilliant plot with engaging characters. Fast paced. A true page turner. I enjoyed not only the characters as the truth unfolds,but the plot of taming an assassin and a mercenary. Powerful story of how love can save even the most wicked,as is not what it seems and the betrayal of one you trust. While, this title is listed as Erotic,the sensual part was not over the top. If you enjoy historical,the Georgian era,romance,and the power of love you don't want to mess "Don't Tempt Me". A must read! I have enjoyed this series and can't wait to read the next installment. Ms. Day pulls her readers into the story and holds them there. Recieved for an honest review from the publisher. RATING: 4.5 HEAT RATING: MILD REVIEWED BY: AprilR, (Review courtesy of My Book Addiction and More)
I fell inlove with this book! Wish the author made a series though!
love simon quinn!!
DON¿T TEMPT ME is the story of Simon and Lynette, two young lovers whose passion knows no bounds. They both realize that because of differences in their backgrounds and social status they cannot plan for a future together, but even more important at present is simply staying alive.***** Simon Quinn is not a man to be ignored. Lynette Rousseau can attest to this as the two exchange heated glances across a crowded ballroom floor. Lynette knows Simon¿s reputation of being a relentlessly seductive rake, but there is some confusion between the two when, during their first conversation, Simon calls Lynette by the name of her identical twin sister, Lysette. As the relationship between the two escalates from that of mere acquaintances to lovers, not only does their passion increase to an incendiary level, but Lynette¿s curiosity about her twin makes her determined to learn her whereabouts. What Lynette doesn¿t realize is that the search to learn her sister¿s secrets has put her in grave danger as well. Simon understands the danger and while his intention is to keep Lynette safe while discovering the strange truths behind her sister¿s situation, he knows that the evil putting Lynette and her family in peril won¿t risk discovery before eliminating the beautiful young sisters.***** The heat between Simon and Lynette smolders on the pages. Their attraction, seemingly doomed from the beginning, is made of the strongest, sweetest emotions mixed with the steamiest passions. The history of and relationships between secondary characters are brilliantly told at the beginning, shedding light on the back story and giving readers the bonus of an additional story.***** I remember the first review I did for then-new author Sylvia Day several years ago I compared her style to that of veteran historical author Nicole Jordan. No comparisons are necessary these days. Ms. Day has come into her own as a masterful storyteller whose historicals are repeatedly guaranteed to become reader favorites. I highly recommend DON¿T TEMPT ME for all historical fans.
Sylvia Day¿s DON¿T TEMPT ME is her next stunning historical for Kensington Brava 'April 2008' and a most anticipated Book #4 in her Georgian series. In 1780 Paris France, Lynette Baillon is attending her first Parisian ball after being raised in Poland and finally convincing her mother to let her visit the glorious city where her parents were brought up. Lynette¿s mother, Marguerite Piccard, has always dreaded returning to her hometown after having a scandalous affair years ago with the married Marquis Philippe de Saint-Martin that ended tragically. She left in disgrace, entering a marriage of convenience with the Vicomte de Grenier. At the ball, mercenary Irishman, Simon Quinn flirts shamelessly with Lynette and acts like they are well acquainted. Lynette realizes that Simon has mistaken her for her twin sister, Lysette, who died in a carriage accident two years before. Simon wonders why he is suddenly attracted to the French assassin he knows as Lysette. Lysette is being controlled by master manipulator, Desjardins and her latest assignment is to seduce Benjamin Franklin¿s personal secretary, Edward James to gather information about him. However, getting Edward to notice her is not easy. Darker forces are at work here and everyone is in danger! Only in the extremely talented writing hands of Sylvia Day, does she manage to untangle this web of lies and deception into three great love stories. DON¿T TEMPT ME is the ultimate temptation for hot historical romance fans everywhere!