April's Affections and Intrigues: Love and Mystery Bloom

The Saint, July 2014 Original Sinners #5 by Tiffany Reisz MIRA Featuring: Marcus Stearns-Soren; Nora Sutherlin 448 pages ISBN: 0778316149 EAN: 9780778316145 Kindle: B00H5I7ZNA Paperback / e-Book Add to Wish List Purchase Amazon Kindle Barnes & Noble Kobo Apple Books Google Play Powell's Books Books-A-Million Indie BookShop

"Before she became Manhattan's most famous Dominatrix, Nora was merely a girl called Eleanor."

The Saint
Tiffany Reisz

Reviewed by Sherri Morris
Posted September 18, 2014

Romance Erotica Sensual

Fifteen year old Eleanor has never met a rule that she didn't want to break. Eleanor lives with her own realization that her mother would have preferred to be a nun than work her two jobs to make ends meet and raise Eleanor. When Eleanor declares she is done with church, her mother tells her about the new priest that rides a motorcycle, and Eleanor can't resist going to see what he looks like. When Eleanor gets her first glimpse of the gorgeous young Father Soren Stearns, suddenly daily Mass seems like a reward.

However when her father calls for her help, which is most definitely illegal, her mistake in getting caught nearly costs her everything. Instead of allowing her to go to jail, Soren steps in to save her. Vowing to repay him with complete obedience and in return, she wants everything from him....a whole new world is opened up to her as Father Soren reveals his deepest secrets.

After years of learning about Soren's dark world, Eleanor is finally going to get what she has wanted since she was 15......Soren. But can she handle his dark nature?

THE SAINT is book one of Tiffany Reisz's Prequel Quartet called The White Years. The original four books (The Siren, The Angel, The Prince, And the Mistress) are the Red Years. THE SAINT is beautifully written. The story is set up as flashbacks (from age 15-20) and present time, which flow into a story that is wonderfully devastating. Eleanor makes teenage self. Eleanor and Soren's relationship is you laugh and cry and sometimes just sympathize with her complicated at best, but so full of love and respect. This is my first time reading anything from Tiffany Reisz, and will certainly not be my last. This little taste has me hungry for more of her works.

Learn more about The Saint

SUMMARY

Before she became Manhattan's most famous dominatrix, Nora Sutherlin was merely a girl called Eleanor.

Rebellious, green-eyed Eleanor never met a rule she didn't want to break. She's sick of her mother's zealotry and the confines of Catholic school, and declares she'll never go to church again. But her first glimpse of beautiful, magnetic Father Marcus Stearns—Søren to her and only her—and his lust-worthy Italian motorcycle is an epiphany. Eleanor is consumed—yet even she knows being in love with a priest can't be right.

But when one desperate mistake nearly costs Eleanor everything, it is Søren who steps in to save her. When she vows to repay him with complete obedience, a whole world opens before her as he reveals to her his deepest secrets that will change everything.

Danger can be managed—pain, welcomed. Everything is about to begin.

Excerpt

“Eleanor, allow me to apologize in advance.”

“Apologize? For what?”

“For him.”

“Who? Moi?” asked the man who strolled through the nearest door and right up to them. “I hope I’m interrupting something.”

Eleanor’s eyes widened at the sight of the man.

“I love that reaction.” He pointed at Eleanor’s face. “That is the ‘you didn’t tell me how pretty he was’ look, oui?”

“Didn’t I almost punch you on a set of stairs once?” she asked him.

“You broke into my house. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“You have Eddie Vedder hair,” Eleanor said, which was the only thing she had to say for herself. She was still trying to recover from the shock of the man. He wore the most amazing suit she’d ever seen in her life. Black trousers, riding boots, long black jacket, black and silver embroidered vest. He had dark shoulder-length hair and a face that belonged on a male model. And to make matters even worse, he was French. So this was the brother-in-law? The best friend? The Kingsley?

He picked up her hand as if to kiss the back of it, but at the last second he raised her fingertips to his nose and sniffed them. She pulled her hand back.

“So this is elle?”

“This is she. Eleanor, this is Kingsley. Kingsley, Eleanor. Now please go back to the rectory, Kingsley, before Eleanor starts liking you.”

“Liking me more than you, you mean. Too late. Isn’t it?”

“You are seriously French,” she said.

“Would you like to see how French I am?” He imposed himself between her and Søren and stared down at her with the most seductive expression she’d ever seen on the face of a man with all his clothes on.

“Kingsley, please,” Søren said.

“I’m not talking to you. I’m talking to her.”

Kingsley stepped even closer.

“How old are you?” he asked her.

“Seventeen. How old are you?”

“Thirty. Is your hymen intact?”

Eleanor stood up straighter.

“Is your brain intact?”

“I ask for a reason.” He shook his finger in her face to hush her. “I f**ked a virgin last week. I didn’t mean to.”

“What happened? You trip and fall into her hymen?”

“You jest but do you know how hard it is to get blood off raw silk upholstery?” Kingsley asked, sounding positively perturbed. “She could have told me before I f**ked her. I would have put a towel down first. But c’est la guerre. What’s the etiquette for accidentally f**king a virgin? Should I send flowers? If I f**ked you and broke your hymen what would you want from me after?”

“Hair of the dog that bit me?” Eleanor suggested her father’s favorite hangover cure. “F**k me again?”

Kingsley looked her up and down. He seemed to like what he saw.

“Would you like to play a round of Justine and the naughty monk with me?”

“Never heard of it.”

“I swear I will have you arrested,” Søren said to Kingsley. He sounded stern but Eleanor saw amusement in his eyes.

“Have you ever read Justine by Le Marquis de Sade? Wonderful book. Little twelve-year-old Justine runs away to a monastery and the monks rape her and subject her to orgies and beatings over and over again. So that’s how you play the game. Shall we?”

“How do we know who wins?”

“Whoever has lost the least blood by the end of the game wins.”

“Sounds fun,” Eleanor said. “I’ll play the monk. You play Justine.”

“Why, Kingsley,” Søren said in a taunting tone, “it’s like she knows you already.”

Kingsley only gazed at her a moment and she sensed him taking stock of her. The smile left his face, the amusement disappeared from his eyes. In a warning tone the man addressed Søren.

“You are asking for so much trouble with this one, mon ami.”

“He didn’t ask for trouble,” Eleanor interjected. “I offered.”

Kingsley nodded his approval.

“You weren’t exaggerating,” he said to Søren.

Søren put his mouth near Kingsley’s ear.

“I told you so,” Søren said in a stage whisper.

“Can I have her?” Kingsley asked. Søren replied something in French, something that made Kingsley grin even more broadly.

“What did he say?” she asked Kingsley.

“He said, ‘Wait your turn.’”

She glared at Søren, who only shrugged as if Kingsley had lied to her. She knew he hadn’t.

“She doesn’t like my translation.”

“She should learn French,” Søren said. Kingsley nodded his agreement.

“Hello!” Eleanor waved her hands. “I’m still here. I can hear you both talking about me. And you, I can see you giggling.” She stabbed the center of Søren’s chest with her finger.

He gave her an affronted look.

“Priests don’t giggle.”

“What are you looking at?” she demanded of Kingsley, who seemed to be undressing her with his eyes.

“She’s spirited, this one,” Kingsley said to Søren.

“Unholy spirited,” Søren agreed.

Kingsley turned his attention back to her.

“Why do you have your clothes on?”

“Was I supposed to take them off?”

“I’ve never heard a stupider question in my life,” he said with a very French, very disgusted sigh. “You weren’t supposed to have them on to start with.”

“I get it,” Eleanor said to Kingsley. “I do. You’re Prince Charming if Prince Charming wasn’t charming.”

“And wasn’t a prince but a king.”

Kingsley raked her body with his eyes. She might have been embarrassed by his nakedly hungry stare but he had a French accent, Eddie Vedder hair and the power to annoy Søren. The man got a free pass to make a pass.

Kingsley finally spoke again.

“I could lose my watch inside you.”

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