Excerpt of Beautiful Stranger by Julia London

The experience was staggering-each sensation more startling than the last. This woman, this young country widow who had captivated him, was driving him over the edge of a desire he had not felt in the arms of any other woman. He was dangerously close to the edge of an emotional and physical precipice from which he knew he might never recover should he fall. It was too late.

He had fallen days ago, and Arthur suddenly grabbed her hand and pulled it away from his cock, forcing her pale blue eyes to open and gaze up at him. Tiny tufts of black curls swirled around her face. Long, silken tresses draped her skin and the linens of the bed. Her breasts, magnificently exposed to him, gave her a beguiling softness that made his heart pound. He had never desired a woman so intently. He had never yearned to show a woman what he was feeling, to give her all the pleasure he could, to fulfill her in ways she had never before experienced.

Then Kerry reached up to tenderly touch his temple, and he saw the light in her eyes, the glimmer shone from somewhere deep inside her and he felt himself falling into those eyes, drowning in them. Completely immersed, he could not tear his gaze away from hers as he moved between her thighs and slowly entered her. Her lips parted with her body; her eyes fluttered closed with her long sigh, and her back arched, pushing her breasts against his chest. As he slid deeper, her body tightened provocatively around him, luring him into her depths as he began to move, her body flowing instinctively with his.

To his great surprise, a flood of unfamiliar but intense emotion was all at once crashing through him, making him feel oddly tender. Kerry seemed to sense it; she suddenly opened her eyes and smiled brilliantly. "Arthur," she whispered, stroking his cheek, and was suddenly plunging deep into the tidal pool of her longing. His strokes took on greater urgency now; one of Kerry's arms flailed above her head, clutching at the linens, while the other raked his back. She tossed her head to one side, oblivious to the dark hair that covered her face as Arthur dove into her again and again.

It was an extraordinary journey, the press of his body into hers, extraordinary feelings, vague but earnest feelings he recalled having felt as a young man so desperately in love. But this was different somehow, so bloody earthy. As with everything in her life, there was no pretense with Kerry in this bed. She moaned without self consciousness, moved just as fiercely as he each time her body rose up to meet him, and just when he thought he could bear no more, she shoved him, pushing him onto his back and rolled on top. Her hair fell like a curtain around them; she smiled seductively as she braced herself with her hands against his chest. "You've unleashed a beast in me, Arthur Christian," she whispered, and began to move. Ah God, did she move. Arthur grasped her hips, pushed her down and tried to reach her heart of her. As his strokes began to quicken, she collapsed onto his chest, clinging to him, her breath hot and panting in his ear. "Reach for it, Kerry," he muttered as he reached for his own.

The pressure in his groin suddenly burst into a thousand shards that poured into the warm pool of her body. In the fog of that shattering climax he heard her cry from somewhere above and felt her body convulse tightly around him, drawing the life from him. With a final, powerful thrust, a guttural moan erupted from his throat as he released the last of the life into her. Gasping for breath, Arthur slid his arms around her body, holding her close. Neither of them spoke; it seemed to him that they were both quite simply stunned by the sweet sensation, the flame ignited between them. He stroked her hair, the silken skin of her back. It was several moments before he realized that the dampness of his shoulder was not perspiration, but her tears.

He turned his head toward her, but Kerry slid off of him, burying her face in the crook of his arm. He silently gathered her into his arms and pulled her back into his chest, wrapped his legs around her. She said nothing, but her hand covered his that anchored her to him. They lay there for what seemed like hours to Arthur, each lost in their own thoughts, staring at the moonbeam streaming in through the window. When at last she spoke, he had to strain to hear her. "You must know that I love you."

The admission hit him square in the gut. "No," he said. "It's just that it's been a terribly long time since you-"

She stopped him by chuckling softly. "Arthur, a blind man could see how much I love you." She paused; the chuckled died in her throat.

"Donna say anything. Just promise me that you'll go before the sunrise, will you? And…and donna wake me. I canna bear to see you walk away." No more than he could bear to walk away. He tenderly kissed the top of her head.

"I promise."

"And once you've gone home again, you'll send word, promise that too."

"I promise that, too."

She sighed, a softly tortured sound that made his heart ache.

"Kerry…this has been an extraordinary fortnight. I shall never forget my experience here." "

"Then perhaps you will think of me from time to time."

"Aye, lass, I'll think of you, every day I'll think of you," he murmured into her hair.

She turned in his arms then, seeking his mouth. They made love again, slowly and surely, taking their time to feel one another completely, prolong the experience. She whispered her love again just as they reached a glorious fulfillment together. Only then did they drift off to sleep, entwined in one another's arms.

Arthur woke well before the sun had risen, unable to sleep soundly. Thankful that she was such a heavy sleeper, he carefully extracted himself from her limbs and quietly donned his clothes-although he struggled with the restrictive waistcoat. When he was at last dressed, he picked up his boots and turned to gaze one more time at Kerry McKinnon. He stroked her long black hair, tried to brand the image of her in his mind's eye, the same lovely visage he had first seen on a bed of pine needles in the Scottish forest, and one that he would carry with him all his life.

He longed to kiss her one last time, to hold her, to hear her whisper that she loved him once more, but true to his promise, he walked out of the room without waking her.

He tiptoed to the kitchen, only to have the wits startled from him by Thomas's presence-the ornery Scot looked half- dead. His head hung over a bowl of coffee he gripped tightly in his hands. He frowned when Arthur sat on the bench to don his boots. "Ye be leaving," he said flatly.

"That I be, old chap."

"Why, then? Ye seem to like it here well enough."

Arthur smiled at Thomas as he worked his second boot on his leg. "McKinnon, I suspected you were a sentimental goat all along. I like it here quite well indeed, but it is time I was about my business. I've an appointment in Dundee that must be kept, and my family will be expecting me in London shortly."

Thomas snorted and slurped at his coffee. "Ye'll not find such heaven on this earth as Glenbaden, mark me."

"I know that," he agreed solemnly and stood, helped himself to several biscuits piled high on a plate in the middle of the table, which he stuffed into a woven sac May had given him. He turned and walked to the door and paused to glance over his shoulder one last time. "You should try your hand at a little wandering yourself, Thomas. There are many treasures to behold on this earth that you will not find in Glenbaden. Mark me," he said, and with a wave, walked out the door and into the cool early morning air.

And he kept walking, cutting through what was left of the barley field, his stride brisk and strong. He kept walking, kept forcing one foot in front of the other.

Not once did he look back, lest he crumble right there in the middle of this heaven on earth they called Glenbaden.