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Author Jeanette Cooper
Emotionally ravaged by the bloody murder of her adoring parents, a young daughter vows on their graves to avenge their deaths and bring their killers to justice.
That vow becomes an obsession after Rianne’s godparents sprint her away from the only home she has known. Taking up residence with them, she grows and blossoms into a beautiful young woman, soon finding herself attracted to and seduced by a dashing pursuer who claims her heart. She struggles between love and her obsession to avenge the tragic and violent murders of her beloved mother and father.
Before she is free to pursue her goal, Passionate Promise takes you on a vivid and exciting journey from the enchanting countryside of 18th century South Wales, to a vast cotton and tobacco plantation in the budding American Colonies, and back home again on a besieged sailing vessel weathering turbulent high seas.
Ultimately, Rianne must choose between the pull of irresistible passions for her dashing lover or setting a course of vengeance for her parent’s killers. . .
“Get out of here, Brent. I didn’t invite you in here,” she said stormily.
Brent was smiling in that devious spirit of old that Rianne recalled so well. His composure had returned after having spent the afternoon doing what he loved best with Bonnie. Now he could afford to be a bit of a rascal.
He liked it when he put Rianne on the defensive, “You did invite me in. I thought you might have shown a bit more modesty though. It isn’t often I’m found in a lady’s bedroom with her in a state of undress.”
“I bet!” Rianne snorted derisively, holding the sheet over her breasts. “That’s the only reason you would be in a lady’s bedroom.” She glared at him.
“Now come, Little Sister, you do accuse me falsely. Surely, you do not think that is why I am here. I would find no pleasure in seeing a little girl’s body.”
“I am not your sister, and I’d appreciate it if you do not call me that again.”
“Would you prefer not to have me for a brother? Could it be that thinking of me as a brother bothers your conscience in some manner, Little Sister?”
“Why should it bother my conscience, Brent? It is you who should be worried about conscience.” The minute she said it, she wished she had kept her mouth shut. She could tell he knew what she referred to the instant she saw his eyes chill to a steely cast.
But he wasn’t about to let her have the last word. His lips curled into a tolerant and amused grin as he drawled lazily. “I suppose the way you rubbed against me, you were bound to notice.”
Rianne gasped, her mouth flying open in shock. “How dare you?” she cried. “How can you say such a thing? I never did any such thing.”
“Rianne, your memory fades all too easily. I recall very well what you did.”
This type of banter was normal for them; the subject matter was what was foreign.
“It was unintentional. My foot turned sideways, and I was trying to balance myself. You are disgusting!” she retorted, pulling the covers about her neck tighter and flouncing upon her side.
“If I were you, I’d put out the candles unless you plan to burn the house down.” He walked over to the bedside stand and began blowing them out.
Forgetting her revealing gown, Rianne scrambled quickly from the bed and shoved him away. “I don’t want them blown out,” she snapped at him, her face tensed with anger.
Brent was staring at her again, and when she glanced down, she gasped. Her entire breast lay exposed above her nightgown that had slid down on her shoulder. Her nipple poked out like a rosebud. “Oh!” she cried out and jerked the sleeve back up again.
“Rianne, no doubt you need a new seamstress who can make your clothing fit better.” His voice was soft and suggestive, but his earlier sarcasm had departed. He felt the stirring of warmth in his loins.
“Brent, if you don’t get out of my room, I’m going to scream so loud I’ll bring the whole house down.”
“Now why is it that I don’t believe you,” he said. “Have you forgotten all the secrets I can share with father about your escapades?”
“You wouldn’t,” she chided, stepping forward to push him out the door. As she put her foot down, her toe caught in the hem of her gown, and she flew headfirst right into Brent’s arms.
He grabbed her against him, his arms wrapped about her. The soft flimsy fabric of her nightgown did something to his senses. He felt the heat of her against him. Instantly, caught up in the web of desire, his manhood grew boldly in his tight pants, and he knew she was aware of his tumescence. “Rianne, must you make it a habit of falling into my arms?” His voice had lost its teasing and now sounded rather hoarse and husky.
“Let me go, Brent,” she said, her voice high pitched but dwindling down to a low soft whisper as she leaned heavily against him....