Message From The Author

Author's Message

The Homecoming

After dealing for so many years with the Regency period and elegant gentlemen and ladies of the ton, I wanted to tell you why I've decided to uproot a few similarly sophisticated creatures and plunk them down in 1763 Pennsylvania...

Have you ever ridden along a rural highway and looked deep into a stand of old trees, and thought-just for a minute-that you may have glimpsed a proud Native American silently running through those trees?

I have. Living in Eastern Pennsylvania, once the home of the Lenni Lenape, I probably couldn't avoid it. I grew up playing in the woods behind my house, digging for arrowheads and imagining myself to be an Indian chief.

As I grew up, physical reminders around me-except for those that were bulldozed to make way for shopping malls-remained, and memories lingered.

Frankly, they wouldn't leave me alone.

Slowly, over the years, the "what if" game all writers play became my ruling passion. What if there was this wise Lenape brave...and what if he befriended a wealthy, mysterious English gentleman who had not so much emigrated to Pennsylvania as he had fled there...and what if that gentleman suddenly found himself saddled with this fiery Irish wife...

Thus were born Lokwelend, Dominick Crown and Bryna Cassidy. Here's a condensed excerpt to give you a glimpse:

Bryna was asleep on his couch, unaware of his presence, curled into a tight little ball of femininity.

Christ, but she was beautiful.

"And probably drunk," Dominick told himself, seeing the empty wineglass in her lap. "An intriguing reaction to finding oneself suddenly married, and one I probably should have considered myself."

He sat down beside his wife, removing the wineglass from her slack fingers. Unable to resist, he then reached out and touched her fiery, unbound hair, silently agreeing with Lokwelend's conclusion that it felt warm and alive. He wanted to bury his face in that warmth.

How long had it been since he'd touched a beautiful woman? How long since he'd even desired one? Desire cut through him now, as Bryna moaned softly in her sleep, screwing up her features almost comically as, instinctively seeking warmth, she moved toward him. She sighed as she laid her head in the crook of his shoulder, then snuggled close, her hand at his waist, cuddling like a kitten curling up on a soft pillow.

Dominick sat there, feeling stupid, feeling more than stupid; feeling the tortures of the damned, feeling her hand slip lower in her sleep, until it rested, quite innocently, on his rapidly heating manhood.

His reaction was anything but innocent, and if he didn't do something soon, something very English and very gentlemanly, he was going to regret it for the rest of his life. Probably even more than he would regret not doing it, he thought with a small, wry smile.

Although he'd be damned if he'd move her hand...

You can write to Kasey Michaels c/o Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas,

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