Lure of the Emerald Peacock
Champagne Books www.champagnebooks.com
CHECK OUT THE TRAILER LURE OF THE EMERALD PEACOCK
Historical. Set in India during the dying days of the British Raj.
India, a land of ancient culture, rich and colourful history, where sorcery and magic potions run hand-in-hand with everyday life.
A stunning tale of a war between love and honour. Courage up against prejudice, treachery, and impossible odds.
A Scottish hero, a half-breed princess. Consumed in their love for each other, but will they too, succumb to the
Lure of the Emerald Peacock?
An intriguing story with a surprising finish.
ROMONA HILLIGER Author Romantic Suspense.
AUTHOR WEBSITE www.thewaterfront.net.au/romona
AUTHOR YOUTUBE http://au.youtube.com/user/snowstarZ2
Even bloodied, sweating, and bound in handcuffs, the magnificent Scotsman was a fearsome sight. His arms pulled above his head with a rope and pulley, he braced his riding boots on the floor to ease the sting of his raw and bleeding wrists.
The goonda chief grinned and prodded his prisoner. “Bow to the lady. She is Maharaja Asohk Kumar’s young sister,” he sneered with a grin, knowing that the Scotsman could barely move let alone bow. Discarding his prisoner, the chief rushed to welcome the young woman entering the room and grovelled before her, then, holding the door wide he waited for the Maharaja’s entry.
Through a haze of pain, the Scotsman observed the half-breed girl looking across at him. She hung back a moment, shock imprinted on her face at what she saw, then, took a few steps forward into the full light of the room. Her beauty was beyond anything he’d ever imagined, the delicate eggshell texture of her skin and midnight hair that fell in waves to her waist. And those lips, the colour and sweetness of a pink lady guava, demanding a man taste of them.
The beauty’s eyes travelled salaciously over the expanse of his broad bare chest along his ribcage to the waistband of his trousers, lingering at the area of his exposed navel and on down below that, where her gaze rested. The tip of her tongue circled her lips to moisten them, her thrusting breasts, breath-taking seduction, rose with the long breath she drew. Despite his pain, the Scotsman’s gut tensed and his blood flared in his veins.
The goonda chief and his two burly brutes bowed with folded hands as the Maharaja came tearing in. “Sarkar despite all my efforts, he won’t talk—typical British. Too stubborn for his own good.”