In a scant eleven days, the Brava anthology Improper Gentlemen will appear on shelves. The cover has already appeared on a coffee mug I had made, and I sip my tea from the hunky chest every morning. Quite a wake-up call. 
My contribution to the book is “To Match a Thief,” where Lucy and Simon, long-parted childhood lovers, discover neither one of them is dead or in jail, and that their old attraction is every bit as strong as ever. Reunited lovers are always fun to write, and Lucy and Simon didn’t disappoint me as they reacquainted themselves with each other. But there are a few bumps in the road to their happily-ever-after–a cross-dressing earl, some jewelry theft, and a naughty night at the opera.
He grabbed her arm. “Not so fast.” He gazed down at her, his blue eyes assessing. Lucy really wished she was not wearing her lumpy socks on her feet. Or had coal dust on her hands. Or whiskey on her breath.
“Where will you go?”
“Oh, what do you care? You left me once. Now I’m leaving you.”
He inched closer and Lucy stopped breathing. “Did you want to see me hang, Luce?”
“The world would no doubt be a much better place,” she replied tartly.
“I trust Napoleon agrees with you.”
“Napoleon! What does he have to do with all this?”
“I’ll tell you about it some time. In bed.”
Lucy stumbled backward. “I am not going to bed with you!”
“Just once. It might be nice to have you in an actual bed. For old times’ sake.”
“You are mad!”
Simon loomed over her. “A kiss then.”
“I have not brushed my teeth!” She swept her tongue over her teeth, dislodging a chunk of apple. She was not dressed for seduction. She did not smell like seduction. And if she knew anything about Simon Whateverhecalledhimselfnow, he would not settle for a single kiss. “Absolutely not! Unhand me, sirrah!”
“Och, you’ve been reading silly things, Luce. You sound like a heroine from a gothic novel.”
“What would someone as ignorant as you know about books?” she asked spitefully.
“You’d be surprised, lass, verra surprised. I’m a changed man, I am.”
“Hah,” Lucy snorted. But she had no chance to say anything else, because Simon chose that moment to silence her with a kiss.
Not just any kiss.
A kiss that shook her down to her nubby socks.
His mouth captured hers. His lips were warm, dry and his tongue tasted of spearmint. He wielded that tongue like a weapon designed to vanquish her and anyone else who got in the way of what he wanted. Any thought she had of denying him entrance evaporated—the searing heat of his hands at her shoulders held her in place. Flames licked from his fingertips down her spine to the emptiness between her legs.
Lucy forgot about brushing her teeth or washing or tidying her hair. She stood rooted in her doorway, standing on the wet carpet, her breasts pressed against his damp waistcoat as he kissed and kissed and kissed her.
There might be another word for it, but Lucy couldn’t think. She could only do. She explored his mouth, shivering with cold and desire, her hands brushing against his tailored coat. He was so much bigger than he’d been—taller, heavier, stronger than the scrawny scarecrow boy she’d loved so. And his kiss was taller, heavier and stronger, too. He had been practicing.
Lucy found her courage and stomped on his boot with a wet stockinged foot.
He pulled away, his face neatly arranged as if they’d done nothing more than shake hands. Lucy was sure her cheeks were on fire.
“You’ve improved some, I see,” he drawled.
“I was thinking the same of you, you rat.”
“I thought you were dead, Luce. What’s your excuse? Fell for the first rich lord who came by? Or is Ferguson just the latest of many?”
Lucy was so furious she couldn’t speak. And that was just as well. She’d promised Percy not to share his secret, and she had nothing to prove to Sir Simon Keith after what he’d put her through.
Revenge. She wanted it, a great, heaping portion of it. With cinnamon.
Publishers Weekly says: Robinson’s witty multidimensional characters are vividly entertaining in “To Match a Thief.” I’m giving away a signed copy at my website contest this month. Go enter!
