Sary and the Maharajah's Emeralds by Sharon Shipley

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  • Love, Lust, and Peril: Sary's Adventure Series 3

    Imprisoned by a fanatical, corrupt maharajah in the torrid climes of 1910 India, Sarabande Swinford battles the maharajah's lust and another man's passions, all while desperately trying to regain her memory. She has forgotten her perilous adventures in both love and fortunes, but her intrepid spirit remains as she encounters jealousy in the harem, man- and woman-eating crocodiles, and venomous snakes, all in her attempts at escape.
    Her defender in every potentially fatal situation is, surprisingly, the rajah, brother to the maharajah. Rami is all the maharajah is not: handsome and muscular, graceful, intelligent, and compassionate, a fitting challenge to Sary's spirited nature, a man well educated and well travelled in the world. But the real question is whether he can overcome his brother's hold on power and survive while rescuing Sary.

    Rating: Spicy
    Page Count: 274
    Word Count: 63533
    978-1-5092-2292-6 Paperback
    978-1-5092-2293-3 Digital


    The rajah was devastatingly appealing, as always, in his loose white silk caftan with simple gold embroidery about a deep slit neck. It billowed in the humid breeze off the lake. Worse for my composure, the filmy silk floated against his body, revealing all his manly attributes, plus a smooth bronzed chest. His hair, unbound, hung sleek and black as that of any pirate or Cornish brigand. He even owned a dratted dimple playing hide-and-seek in his bluish jaw, which I had never before noted. Damnation but he was handsome!

    Flushing, I averted my eyes, placing the frosted cup on my neck. Oh, how I hated him!

    I sucked my palm where the game piece had bit in. He set the cut glass tumbler on the table and turned my hand over.

    I jerked it away.

    Ignoring me, his hand hovered over my breast instead. He plucked a jeweled pin. “Instead, I shall take this.” His fingers, warm, strong, deft, and the brush of skin between my breasts, slightly raspy, sent a subterraneanquake rippling from my toes.

    I waited, breathless, for what came next.

    Instead, he plopped akimbo on the cushion opposite, replacing the shattered pawn with my jeweled pin and, with a wave, indicated I make opening gambit.

    “But perhaps you should care to destroy more?” he murmured. “A piece of your clothing, for, say, a queen or a king? A lock of hair for a checkmate? Or perhaps a kiss for—”

    “They call it strip poker back in…” I scowled.

    Back in where?

    The dratted door to memory swung shut just as I nearly had it.


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Sary and the Maharajah's Emeralds

Sary and the Maharajah's Emeralds

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