Y'all know I like to invite authors to post here once in a while. Please say hi to Emma!
Emma likes nothing more than a challenge. First,she tackled the male-dominated field of engineering. Next, she expanded her understanding of the world by studying international relations. Finally, her husband dared her to use her experience and knowledge and devote herself to writing. She accepted his challenge and has been writing ever since.
Writing keeps Emma sane. Her characters demand their stories be told and nag her incessantly until she complies. The characters are very insistent about her remaining faithful to their individual adventures. As a result, Emma writes a range of genres and levels of heat. She never knows what the next set of characters will demand!
Blurb for His Hope, Her Salvation:
Promised in marriage to an abusive oaf, Judith resolves to find out if there can be passion without love. Snatches of conversation overheard at the local inn lead her to a mysterious American merchant who might be able to satisfy her carnal curiosity and capture her heart.
Donovan, a Guardian Hunter, is on the trail of a rogue Elysian in Georgian England. As the son of the First Hunter, he long ago gave up hope of finding his heart's mate. When Judith appears in his study, his inner beast and his heart demand he answer her plea for help.
Will their passion answer their hearts' pleas, or will it wither under the threat of reality?
The voices in the taproom of the Horse and Hound deafened us as we entered. A large group of men stood packed together in the center of the room. A roar ripped through the crowd as it surged inward.
I shoved my way through the mass of sweaty bodies with Eallair following in my wake. I stopped when confronted with the scene that held the crowd enthralled.
A large, older, well-dressed gentleman gripped my mysterious guest from earlier by an elbow. He shook her and yelled, “You little whore!” He raised a hand and slapped her across the face with his open palm.
The crowd cheered as she collapsed to her knees, her shoulder wrenched as the hand on her elbow restrained her from crumbling into a heap on the floor.
The dead look in her eyes and the lack of any outward emotion testified to the regularity of similar scenes she must have suffered. With a bellow of rage, I swooped forward and scooped her to her feet just as the old man raised his hand to strike her again. Placing my body between them, I snarled, “Release her.”