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Works (12)
  1. The Wheel of Time - Wikipedia
  2. What is Kobo Super Points?
  3. Out at midnight: Invertical Touch is a colour-swapping platformer featuring a cube with legs
  4. Number of problem gamblers in the UK rises to more than 400,000

Ryland—her new landlord, but Cyrus isn't a man who gives up easily. What's a man to do if Cinderella doesn't want her shoe back? Irreverent charmer Lord Marcus Bowles rides north under a cloud of scandal. He's tasked to stay out of trouble an easy feat when wintering in Cornhill-on-Tweed.

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Certainly, the moonlit rescue of a red-cloaked woman errs on the side of honor. Genevieve Turner harbors no illusions about men, her handsome savior included. To her dismay, her midnight hero becomes her tempting daytime employer.

The Wheel of Time - Wikipedia

Simmering flirtation burns hot. Marcus must gamble away his future…or see the first woman to touch his heart lost forever. But, the lushly curved thief hiding in his bedchamber makes him think twice. Always has. Sneaking into the Braithwaite house to reclaim a treasured family heirloom is one way she upends the conventional life that awaits her.

Duty demands she marry.

There's no harm in having a little fun with her childhood friend before responsibility calls Lady Isabella is off-limits for thief taker, Jack Emerson. Other women practically draw maps to their bed chamber windows when he patrols St.

What is Kobo Super Points?

James—never the raven-haired widow. Please note: This is a 35 page novella. He loses everything to a woman—Miss C. Hardinger in oh-so-tempting flesh. Cecelia has long coveted a rare artifact in Mr. For a limited time, this story will be offered as a free serial. Coming late Fall Scandal nearly destroyed Juliette Sauveterre.

Out at midnight: Invertical Touch is a colour-swapping platformer featuring a cube with legs

She hires an enigmatic thief taker, known as Tremaine, to get a certain account book back. Working with him late at night is a nuisance. He makes her pulse race, her skin hot, and her brain muddled. Son of a bricklayer, Tremaine lives for adventure and fast women—the faster the better. Wasting no time, he climbed into the padded interior which fit perfectly to his form after nearly a century. There, finally, he relaxed, surrounded by a sense of security.

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Then he had time to gloat over the fulfilling events of the evening. She'd been a housemaid hurrying across town to prepare the morning repast for the family in her care. She was nothing to look at — middle-aged, well beyond the blush of youth, with careworn face, work-worn hands, faded clothing and sensible shoes. But for him, the attraction went beyond surface shortcomings.

Looks didn't matter, nor did wealth. She had the one vital element he desired above all others. She was alive. Or rather, she had been. It hadn't been necessary to take her life. He could have taken what he needed then left her there, dazed and nearly drained, for some Samaritan to find. But he couldn't stop, he couldn't help himself once the glorious warmth coursed through him. By the time he remembered himself, she was already well past gone.

What did it matter, anyway? Who would miss her? Some spoiled rich merchants who would have to make their own coffee and spread their own jam? He'd waited dangerously long to seek a victim for his feast.

He was far from his sanctuary and in too great a rush to carefully disguise the cause of the woman's death. He'd dropped her into some thick shrubbery where her glazed eyes would greet the milkman some hours later. He knew better than to dash away, leaving death, discovery and dangerous supposition of the cause. He should have made it look like a robbery gone awry. But he held a superior disdain toward such precautions. Humans were such fools.

Number of problem gamblers in the UK rises to more than 400,000

Why should he go to such great lengths to hide the truth from those who were too blind to see it? Besides, he couldn't afford to be caught in daylight. So he'd been careless. So what? He gloried in the scent that came with him — his victim's blood, entwined with faint traces of the woman's floral perfume and the harsher bite of cleaning fluids. Her fatal struggles left those lasting impressions upon him, and he would enjoy them as he sought his rest. He liked it when they fought him. It made the ultimate victory that much sweeter.

He smiled as he sank back upon the faded satin, drowsiness overcoming him immediately in a pleasurable wave. He was still smiling to himself when the startling truth hit home. He was not alone.

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His dark bower had been breached. With a ferocious snarl, he started up and was met solidly by the downward slam of the coffin's lid. As he lay dazed and helpless in the thrall of daybreak, he heard a soft, mocking voice above the sound of nails being driven through hard wood, sealing him inside his daily tomb.

Tragic perhaps, because the woman was so young, but not unusual. Those strangers she passed bowed their heads out of respect, and some crossed themselves as they mouthed words of comfort for the deceased. The young mourner walked on, unmindful of them, apparently lost to grief. A sleek, black hearse waited at the edge of the platform, wreathed in smoke from the train. Its back doors were opened in readiness. The woman stood to one side as the casket was carefully slipped into the back.

Her quiet words stirred the heavy black veil obscuring her features from the travelers hurrying by.