Oct 212014
 

Hott Synopsis:

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Bronwyn Murdoch is shocked when a woodsman appears in her wooded reading haven, especially since he’s exactly as she imagined the hero in the novel she’s reading. But when the woodsman shows Bronwyn that passion must be experienced and not merely read she’s awed.

Prince Alexsey Romanovin adores the little one he found in the woods he’s not as happy when he finds her on the ballroom floor. The fact that she’s a lady will make their flirtation a bit more problematic. Especially since every other eligible maid is thrown in his path and Bronwyn is deemed unfit for royal life.

But a Prince always gets what he wants, right?

Hott Review:

The Prince Who Loved Me is a wonderful new take on a Cinderella story. Karen Hawkins weaved a story that’s reminiscent of the fairy tale we all know, but is still completely enticing and new.

I loved the sarcasm and wit in this book, and Karen Hawkins other books, most of all. She’s so much fun to read!

There is some steaminess to the The Prince Who Loved Me, but it’s only a few pages and, while steamy, isn’t too descriptive.

Excerpt:

With the smallest of efforts he straightened, and suddenly she was in his arms, being carried with what seemed like the greatest of ease.

It was heavenly. So very, very heavenly. She dropped her head against his broad shoulder, her cheek resting on against his wool overcoat.

Alexsey kicked the front door closed behind him. “Where do I take you, little one?”

It was madness and she knew it, but somehow, instead of protesting as she should have been, she found herself pointing toward the sitting room. As he carried her there, she admired the strength of his arms and the width of his chest. If she wished to touch that broad chest, all she had to do was lift her hand.

It was so tempting.

So very, very tempting. And it was the last thing she should do, but . . ..

She rested her hand on his chest beside a large gold button, his heart thudding calmly beneath her fingertips. Somehow, she found herself looking up at him through her lashes. “You know what I think?”

He stopped by the settee, his green eyes alight with amusement. “No, but I am certain you will tell me.”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I know.”

“But I don’t care.”

He chuckled as he placed her on the settee, then set his hat on the small table beside it. “And here I am.”

She pushed herself upright, swinging her feet to the floor. The firmness of the floor and the faint distance between them brought her a tiny breeze of sense. “I’m unchaperoned and I should tell you to go.”

“Do you wish me to go?”

No. Her gaze found his mouth. Never had she met a man with such a sensual bottom lip. Just seeing it made her breath catch, her knees grow weak, her—

“Then I will stay.” Satisfaction warmed his gaze and broke the spell. He unbuttoned his overcoat and shrugged out of it, displaying his elegant dinner coat and a blue embroidered waistcoat. His simple cravat was held by a gold and emerald pin, the fire of which matched his green eyes.

Though his cravat pin sparkled, his eyes captured her attention. His long lashes made him look sleepy and seductive.

He sat beside her on the settee, his thigh aligned with hers. Suddenly the settee seemed very small.

She scooted to one side, but the arm of the settee stopped her. “You are a very big man.”

“And you are a very small woman.” He captured her hand and placed a warm, lingering kiss on her fingers. “Like a bird.”

Her entire body warmed as his lips touched her bare skinned, though she found herself frowning at his words. “A bird?”

He looked up at her through his lashes. “A sparrow.”

She shook her head. “I would rather be a hawk.”

He kissed her fingers again, his lips brushing each knuckle. “With me, Roza, you may be anything you wish.”

With him. She liked that. A lot. Her common sense whispered an urgent warning, one she couldn’t quite hear through her haze. “Alexsey, why are you here? Sir Henry’s dinner cannot be over for my sisters and mama have not returned.”

“No. It continues. I was tired of so many people, all talking nonsense. So I said I had a headache, left the dinner, and instead came here.” He continued kissing her fingers, his lips warm and inviting, each touch of his lips making her ache. He lifted his gaze to hers. “I couldn’t stay away. You have haunted my thoughts.”

He looked so delicious, like a plum cake dusted with sugar. She’d never wanted anything so much in her life, had never yearned for anything so much–

No. I must remain in control if I’m to make him fall wildly, madly in lust with me. Now is the time to woo him, subdue him, make him desire me as no other— She caught sight of herself in the side mirror and gasped. “My hair!” He chuckled as she frantically tried to pat the unruly curls into place. “It’s not funny. I look like a—a—a—I don’t know what, but it’s not— This won’t work at all!”

He tugged her to his chest, tucking her head under his chin. “There. Now you cannot see your hair, but I can feel its softness.” He ran his fingers over her curls. “I like your hair. It is silken.”

“You like it uncombed?” she asked dubiously.

“I like it however you wear it.” His lips moved closer to her ear, his voice as deep and rich as honey. “But I especially like it when it looks as if you’ve been well kissed.”

Her throat tightened and she couldn’t speak. She suddenly wondered who was trying to make who fall in lust—and then she remembered they were both doing the exact same thing. Somehow, she hadn’t seen it in that particular way before, and she laughed a little at her surprise.

“What is it?” he asked, his heartbeat warm against her cheek.

“I’m just laughing at us. At you. You are trying to seduce me.”

A dark smile flickered over his face. “Trying? I do not try anything. I do.” She met his gaze boldly. “I do, too. A lot.” Ha—take that.

He ran his fingers over her cheek and down to her gray-blue gown. As he did so, a frown entered his gaze. “I do not like that color on you. You will wear reds, Roza. Like the flower you resemble.”

Her smile slipped and she poked him in the chest, emphasizing each word. “Stop. Princing.”

“Princing? What is that?”

“You may be a prince in Oxenburg, but this isn’t your country.”

His lips quirked, but he nodded thoughtfully. “That is what you meant by princing. I suppose I should have asked, nyet?”

“That is exactly what I meant. I won’t take orders from you as if I were a serf.”

He chuckled as if richly amused, and stretched an arm across the back of the settee, turning a bit so that his body encircled her. “My beautiful Roza, we don’t have serfs in Oxenburg. But if we did, you would be a very bad one. Always you argue. Never you do as you are told.”

She opened her mouth to retort that she would make a very good serf, but the absurdity of the idea made her choke on a short laugh. “I’m rather proud of being a bad serf.”

“Which is how it should be.” His gaze swept over her. “I like a woman with pride.”

And she liked that he enjoyed her, unfettered and uncensored. That he didn’t mind if she poked him in the chest while making a point, or that her hair was uncombed and her gown wrinkled. . . . She liked a lot about this man. Too much.

She snuggled against him, sighing against his neck. “Ah, Alexsey, what are we to do? We are from different places, different families, different–”

“Oh, my Roza.” His arms slipped about her and he tipped up her face to his. “Has anyone ever told you that you think too much?”

She nodded. “Everyone who knows me.”

“They are right. Fortunately, I know how to handle a woman who thinks too much.”

“Oh? How–”

His mouth descended over hers, passionate and hot. Every last thought she possessed fled, washed away by a flash of passion.

** from http://www.karenhawkins.com/coming.html **

More…

Author: Karen Hawkins
Source: Pocket Books via Netgalley
Grade: A+
Ages: 16+
Steam: Adult
Setting: Scotland
Series: The Oxenburg Princes #1

Author Bio:

New York Times and USA Today best-selling author Karen Hawkins is known for her wonderfully humorous and emotion-tugging historical and contemporary romances. The author of over 30 novels, Karen writes for a living between shopping for shoes, playing around on Facebook and Pinterest, looking for fun items for Hawkins Manor, and napping, although usually not at the same time. Sometimes, for fun, she takes Instagram pictures of her two rescue dogs, Sadie and Teke, and posts them online.

Yeah, she’s a wild one.

Karen lives in balmy Orlando, Florida, with her husband, aka Hot Cop, and her two dogs. Her children are both out of college and have become productive, non-violent members of society. Karen writes six to eight hours a day when not obsessively reading research books on Regency-era Scotland, snacking on chocolate, or looking out the windows of her house and thinking about gardening. Her hobbies include sculpting, oil painting, playing badminton, and — ok, ok, she doesn’t have any hobbies, but if she did, she’s sure they’d be something refined and fascinating.

If you want to follow Karen on any of the various social media outlets that allow her to engage in ‘productive procrastination,’ you can find her at:

author's website twitter facebook

* from Goodreads & karenhawkins.com

 

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