By Tessa Dare
"** *When a devilish lord and a bluestocking trigger at the highway to ruin... time isn't really on their side.* **
Minerva Highwood, one among Spindle Cove's proven spinsters, has to be in Scotland.
Colin Sandhurst, Lord Payne, a rake of the 1st order, must be... anyplace yet Spindle Cove.
These not likely companions have one week to
• pretend an elopement
• persuade friends and family they're in ""love""
• outrun armed robbers
• live to tell the tale their worst nightmares
• commute 400 miles with no killing each one other
All whereas sharing a really small carriage by way of day and an excellent smaller mattress by way of evening.
What they don't have time for is their becoming charm. less wild ardour. And heaven forbid they spend useful hours baring their hearts and souls.
Suddenly one week feels like precisely adequate time to discover a global of hassle. And maybe... simply maybe... love.
Read or Download A Week to Be Wicked (Spindle Cove, Book 2) PDF
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Extra info for A Week to Be Wicked (Spindle Cove, Book 2)
He rakes the rusted file across Jackson’s teeth, ruining a perfect dental record in one stroke. Jackson squeals and bucks against his captors. His mouth is aflame; it feels like a bone-saw is tracing the curve of an exposed vertebrae. Enamel dust sifts onto his tongue and coats the back of his throat. Jackson bites down convulsively and shatters his molars against the metal bit and then he’s choking, pitifully, on his own teeth-shards. Again and again, back and forth, side to side, the tool grinds.
When they run low the tribe goes hunting. ” Charlie hisses through his teeth. “Tough call, son. Can’t say there is… although there’s one place that might be safe. ” “The basement? ” Charlie waves a rag-swaddled hand around his head, as if to shoo away a fly. “This went down before my time, but I’ll tell you what I know. The first bunch of guys who came here were the worst—Christ, they were the reason this fucking place was built, right? ” “His name…her name…its name…hell, I dunno…is Lazarus. ” Charlie runs a hand over his groin.
Its lips were thin bloodless slashes between which teeth glinted in needleish points; a tongue, narrow and forked as a snake’s, protruded from its slack mouth and its breath smelled like a sick animal’s. It possessed no sexual apparatus to speak of: A smooth sexless groin, the skin pebbled like the rind of a tangerine. It looked so terribly wrong floating in the stainless steel bowl, nightmare limbs outspread.