A Bluestocking Christmas Originally
Published in Electronic Format
Buy in eFormat

ISBN 1-58608-773-8 | $5.99
 

Holly, Ivy and Me Anthology featuring
A Bluestocking Christmas by Monica Burns
New Concepts Publishing
ISBN 1-58608-886-6
Now Available

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Seductive words, sinful pleasures and a ghostly ancestor all add up to A Bluestocking Christmas with a Dickens of a twist

Miss Ivy Beecham is a bluestocking who has sworn off love, and she’s found the perfect place to hide from love. A library. Simon Carton, Viscount Wycombe, is an intellectual rogue who’s convinced all women can be bought.

What neither of them counted on was finding love amid a stack of dusty books. Determined to win the reluctant bluestocking nymph, Simon seduces Ivy with words and other sinful pleasures. But despite the passion between them, Ivy refuses to risk her heart—at least not until the ghost of her ancestor visits her on Christmas Eve and helps Ivy see that her choices will affect the rest of her life. The question is will Ivy make the right choice.

― JERR

"She will not only arouse the reader with some very descriptive and titillating erotic encounters, but she is also going to do it with intelligent and witty writing that you will absolutely love..." 

― Romance Designs
Community Website
 

"No one sets fire to the page like Monica Burns."

― eCataromance

"Definitely recommended reading." 

― The Romance Studio

 

"This is a wonderful anthology that evokes the visitation of the ghosts upon Scrooge with its own unique twist...The sexual aura that exists within the individual stories is just terrific."

― Fallen Angel Reviews

 

"This story is cleverly penned as we are drawn into the world of Ivy and Simon. The paranormal aspects are cleverly written and thread the story together nicely."

― Coffeetime Romance

         “You’re angry with me.”

            With a hiss of fury, she snapped her head in his direction. “And why shouldn’t I be? Lady Effington hounded me all through supper about that blasted book. I’m certain she knows it’s something thoroughly wicked.”

            Before she could protest, Simon quickly changed seats to sit beside her. Keeping his touch light, he trailed the back of his hand along the edge of her jaw. “I doubt Lady Effington thinks any such thing.”

            His fingers glided down the side of her neck, pausing to caress the rapid throb of her heartbeat. The fragrant aroma of lilies drifted beneath his nose. Beneath his touch, she stiffened.

            “Don’t underestimate the woman. She’s far more astute than most people give her credit.” A breathless note drifted through her words as she trembled against his fingers.

            “I’m sure she is, but Lady Effington’s literary tastes don’t interest me. I’d much rather discuss your personal reading preferences.”

            “You’re absolutely wicked,” she gasped.

            “True, but in order to be good, I must first be quite wicked.”

            The soft sound of her laughter made him grin. She turned her head to look at him, and the close proximity of her mouth sent tension rocketing through him.

            “You’re an incorrigible beast.”

            With a mock growl, he leaned into her and nipped at her ear with his teeth. “Then tame the beast, Ivy.”

            “What…I don’t know what you mean.” The pace of her breathing doubled, and it aroused him in a way that surprised him.

            “Oh, I think you do,” he whispered.

            Staring into her deep blue eyes, he saw the same awareness he’d seen earlier in the evening. With a hesitant move, she leaned toward him. The warmth of her mouth against his, made his cock go rigid in a single heartbeat. God almighty, if she were ever to gain the upper hand in their relationship, he’d be done for.

            Desire barreled through him as he pulled her into his arms and deepened the kiss. Her lips parted willingly and he swept his tongue into the heat of her moist mouth. The peach-brandy cobbler served at supper lingered on her tongue. Smooth and sweet, the taste of her danced in his mouth like the finest of cognacs.

            Eager to touch more of her, he unfastened the short evening cape she wore while moving his lips down the edge of her jaw to the side of her neck. A whimper echoed from her, and in the dim light of the carriage, the tops of her creamy breasts beckoned him with a force that was almost tangible.

            Lightly, he slid his finger along the edge of her dress until he reached the cleft between her breasts. He wanted his mouth on her—his tongue dancing in that small hollow in an imitation of what he eventually intended to do with her.

Pressing another kiss to her throat, he lowered his head until his mouth was teasing the plump mounds displayed so delectably. The soft moan escaping her told him she was enjoying his touch. The knowledge pleased him. Ever so slowly, he circled the top of her breasts with his tongue then slowly tasted the valley between the delicious, plump flesh.

“Oh dear lord,” she gasped as her body instinctively pushed upward to welcome his wet hot caress.

            With methodical strokes, his tongue slid in and out between her breasts, and she shivered beneath the hedonistic touch. Not even Whitby had ever excited her to this degree. This man’s touch stirred a wild and wanton creature inside her. It was a dangerous game she was playing, but at the moment, all she wanted to do was continue playing.

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