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Anna Durbin Biography

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“She spun away from him and raced into the house toward her room to avoid an uncomfortable discussion. And as she flopped back on her bed and stared at the ceiling, she finally confronted the awful, alarming, dreadful, and entirely horrifying possibility that she had been rejecting all day. Though she could hardly accept it, she could no longer deny it. She was pretty sure Mr. Rodman was the King of Wands.”

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“Well, let me put it this way: the only thing about the King of Wands that doesn’t quite fit with you is that he is a man of fiery passions.” He raised his brows. “And I am not?” She smirked at him. “I don’t know. Are you?” Such a question. He dismissed it as rhetorical until she laid the king on the table and locked eyes with him. Boldly. And as he studied her expression, he sensed an invitation. A dare. A challenge for him to answer her about whether he was a man of fiery passions. He nearly succumbed to the temptation to show her just how fiery his passions could be. Restraint, Charles. Hold yourself in check. He sobered, as temperance, his lifelong, rational, and calming friend, curbed his urge to kiss the question right off her lips.”

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Book:King of Wands
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“But there was something else going on here. He had to admit even to himself that the woman challenged his intellect and his beliefs with her own, and she wasn’t afraid to disagree with him or to disapprove of his views. Nor did she make any attempt to school her sentiments behind the polite, prim, and proper demeanor of the typical English noblewoman. She was fierce. She was passionate. She was fiery and intense. She was like no other woman he had ever met. And suddenly, just like that, he was under her spell once again.”

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Book:King of Wands
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“Now he was kissing the shell of her ear, nipping at it gently and then soothing the nips with soft kisses. “You have no idea what you’re about to unleash if you continue.” He chuckled low once again, but said nothing as he bit the nape of her neck and gently licked it with his tongue. “You play with fire, sir.” “Let it burn, Julia. Let me be your King of Wands.”

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“It was the prospect of seeing Mr. Rodman again that agitated her, especially after their miserable discussion of her beliefs and their silent but heated interaction over the Kama Sutra last Sunday. She didn’t like Mr. Rodman. Not really. There was no denying he was attractive and that he had the potential to affect her like no other man ever had. Still, he was an arse. Not only did he disparage her beliefs and practices but also he had condemned her for keeping wives from their husbands by offering them refuge in her home. True, he might have said he approved of the shelters after hearing the story of Phoebe, but when it came down to it, he was a man. And she had no doubt that, as a man, he would side with other men, the law, and the Church over a woman’s fate, if ever asked to do so.”

LoveDesirePassionConflictLustSecretsDilemmaOpposites AttractSecond Chance At Love
Book:King of Wands
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“Thank you, Mr. Rodman.” When he heard her whispered response, his gaze fell to her lips, and desire coiled through his body as he imagined how they would feel beneath his. Warm and pliant, no doubt. Eager and willing, maybe. Greedy with insatiable need? He hoped. “You’re most welcome.” She didn’t move, and he? He couldn’t move. He remained rooted to the stone floor as her lovely face entranced him. He was too aware of how close they stood to one another for rational thought. It would take no effort whatsoever for him to lean down and kiss her luscious lips. Something flickered in her eyes as they stared at each other, and he could sense the moment she felt the same pull as he did. Something primal, something hot flashed between them, and as he reached up to stroke her cheek with the backs of his fingers, he determined right then he would do it. He parted his lips slightly and bent down subtly. He was inches away from contact, but he wavered just one second too long as he debated with himself whether to touch her lips lightly with his own or give in to the powerful urge to crush his mouth and body against hers.”

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“Did I misread the heat in your eyes? Was I wrong about what you wanted?” Still unable to form words, she said nothing. “Because I know without question what I wanted in that moment.” He paused as though he were waiting for her to respond, but still, she remained silent. He chuckled, his voice low and seductive. “Wouldn’t you like to know what that was?” She shook her head no. He shrugged. “I’ll tell you anyway. I wanted more than anything in the world to take you in my arms, Julia, and kiss you senseless. And much more. So. Much. More.”

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“His touch had scorched her skin and lit a fire within her so intense she thought her hair would ignite. Worse, when she turned around to thank him, she froze, spellbound by his gaze, realizing that if she didn’t do something to tamp down the desire that his aquamarine eyes, his bergamot scent, and his very presence had enflamed within her, she would do something entirely inappropriate, like reach out and launch herself into his arms. He is not the King of Wands. He is not the King of Wands. He is not the King of Wands.”

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“They kissed for years, it seemed, and yet when he broke contact, it felt like he had kissed her for mere seconds. She wanted more from him, but he let go of her and backed away. Irritated with him for taking advantage of her sensibilities and with herself for succumbing to her baser urges as she always did with him, she crossed her arms over her chest again. “Is that all then? Have you nothing more to say?” “I think I’ve said everything, except . . . I’m an arse, Julia.” Her eyes narrowed of their own accord. “Go on.”

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“He gazed at her for what seemed like an eternity before reaching out to stroke her cheek. “I’d just like to forget. Forget every last thing.” Her heart beat erratically from the emotions flickering through his eyes. Need and want. Fear and hope. She couldn’t tell where one emotion ended and the next began. The only thing she could tell for certain was that, in the subtle flicker of candlelight, something had changed between them. Profoundly changed. Desire coiled in and around them like a vine and settled low in her belly. Heat blossomed over her, quashing her ability to think straight as he bent his head and touched his lips to hers. She closed her eyes to everything but the feel of his mouth on hers, in a kiss so different from their first that it astonished in comparison. This was not the wild and savage connection they had shared behind the assembly rooms. Yet, there was passion in its tenderness, and hunger in the languorous fusion of their tongues.”

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“Have patience, my dear child. Your happiness will be a few years in coming. You have many challenges ahead of you in the meantime. But be brave. Be tenacious. And you will survive even your worst nightmares. Remember, you are the clay vessel, and the misfortunes that befall you are but the fires of a kiln. They will strengthen you and transform you into a radiant work of art.”

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“She suppressed an eye roll when he reiterated his question as if she had not heard it. She regarded him more closely then, and not for the first time, she noted that he was a handsome man. Alarmingly so. Were he anything other than a vicar and she anyone else but his patroness, she might have found herself attracted to him, in fact. The wildly inappropriate notion amused her while also sending a warm wave throughout her body, and she fanned herself again as she laughed aloud. Embarrassed by her sudden outburst, she managed to sober herself before speaking. “Next Sunday, you say?” “Yes, next Sunday. Why do you laugh?” Nerves, she supposed, and then she laughed again. “I don’t really know.” “You don’t really know whether you’ll attend church next Sunday, or you don’t really know why you are laughing?” “A little of both, perhaps.” She laughed yet again, and when he did not, she sucked in her cheeks in an attempt to stifle more laughter. “Forgive me, Mr. Rodman. In answer to your question, I don’t know whether I’ll be in church next Sunday. I could be back in London then, for all I know.”

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“Smiling, she reached for the book. “I’d be happy to show it to you. It’s one of Arthur’s favorites.” Oh, what wicked fun. She was taunting him without mercy now, she realized, but his reaction was so entertaining— almost adorable —that she couldn’t help herself. When he said nothing, she plucked the book from his hands and flipped it to page forty, revealing a couple in a pose so erotic that even she raised a brow when she saw it again. She stepped closer, turning the book toward him as she tapped the illustration. “This is the one.” As he peered down at the picture, his eyes widened a fraction. She suppressed a grin as she sensed this very staid and proper vicar’s inability to look away, ensnared by his own carnal instincts. He examined the image for several seconds and then lifted his eyes to hers. Something unexpected— something primal — flashed in his expression then, and her knees wobbled and nearly buckled under the intensity of his gaze as it smoldered and bored into her soul. He gently tugged at the book, removing it from her grip, and in so doing, inadvertently brushed her fingers with his own. She wanted to pull away from him, but so help her, she could not break the contact, and suddenly, the tables turned. Suddenly, this was no longer her little game, her amusing trifle. Suddenly, it was very real. All humor vanished as she realized the joke was now very much on her.”

LoveDesirePassionConflictLustSecretsDilemmaOpposites AttractSecond Chance At Love
Book:King of Wands
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