a book! It was the best 99¢ I've
spent in a long time! It's full of
explicit sensual desire and heart pumping adventure that will
definitely provoke your emotions. I
highly recommend this book!" — a
reader @ Amazon.com
Montana Wildfire ~
A shiver of heat splashed through
Amanda when the stranger's gaze raked the partially dried hair
scattered around her face and shoulders. His attention dipped, lazily
taking in the water-darkened bodice of her cream-colored shirtwaist and
the dark rose skirt that clung to her hips like a clammy second skin.
She'd heard rumors of men who could strip a woman bare with one
smoldering glance, but she'd never met one who would dare. Until now.
As the man's attention poured over her,
Amanda had the unpleasant feeling he could see right through the
saturated barrier of cloth. A warm, tight sensation curled in the pit
of her stomach: unfamiliar, alarming. She tipped her chin up
defensively. Crossing her arms over her chest, she cut his lewd
investigation short. His gaze took its sweet time lifting to hers.
His grey eyes shimmered in the
mid-morning sunlight, telling her it was far too late for modesty. His
appreciative expression said something else again; that he'd already
decided what "type" of lady she was... and that he could tolerate her
sort with little trouble.
"I suppose you'll be wanting my help
now, ma'am?" The way his tongue wrapped around the word "ma'am" sent an
odd, warm-cold tremor down Amanda's spine. Somehow, he made it sound
less like a title and more like a sensual endearment.
"If it wouldn't be too much trouble,"
she replied stiffly, and thought, why not? Her left leg throbbed from
supporting her idle weight for so long. She was wet and chilled to the
bone. She knew if she didn't allow this man to help her, she might
never get out of this frigid water.
He nodded and turned his attention to
Roger. "Go find some sticks and get a fire started. Don't skimp; I want
it blazing. The lady's going to need all the heat she can get once
she's out of there. And get some blankets, too. All you can spare.
There's a couple rolled and tied on my horse. Use them."
Roger's golden brows slashed high,
disappearing beneath the curls that kissed his forehead. He glanced up
at the stranger as though the man had lost all grip on reality.
"You want me to do what?"
"Get a fire started," the man gritted impatiently, even as he sank to
the ground and began yanking off his knee-high moccasins.
"What the hell are you waiting for, kid? I want that fire started, and
I want it started now!"
It must have been the ring of authority
in the man's voice, Amanda decided. Either that, or the veiled threat
glistening in his eyes. Whatever the reason, Roger spun on his heel and
sprinted into the woods with unheard-of speed.
"Looks like it's just you and me,
princess," the man said as, lithely pushing to his feet, he took a step
toward the river. His attention rose from the spot where the water
lapped at her hips. His gaze ascended—slowly, hotly—over her breasts,
her shoulders, her chin, and lips.
Finally, he locked onto her fear-widened
eyes. In that instant, Amanda knew why Roger had run. If her foot
wasn't stuck, she would do the same thing. The savage glint in the
man's eyes, coupled with his insolent perusal, had a terrifying affect
"You have a name?" His question was
instantly followed by a loud splash. He'd just taken his first
swaggering stride into the icy river.
"O-of course." Closing her eyes, Amanda
stifled a groan in the back of her throat. Her voice deserted her. Not
for all the money in the world could she have forced her eyes open at
that moment, forced herself to watch as that dangerous-looking man
stalked toward her like a hungry wolf hunting down its trapped,
You going to tell me what it is?"
His voice was closer. Amanda thought
that reason enough not to answer him. That, and the feel of the water
being disturbed around her. The icy current lapped at her stomach. She
rolled her lips inward and ordered herself not to shiver. It wouldn't
do for this man to think her tremors were caused by his nearness and
not the water's numbing coldness. And he was near. She could sense it,
"Okay, princess, let me put it another way. You want to get out of this
river any time soon?"
Amanda's eyes snapped open. A split
second too late, she realized it for the mistake it was. The stranger
was standing close. Too close. The span of his shoulders and chest cast
a chilly shadow over her, blotting out the warmth of the late morning
sun, blotting out everything.
The water was cold, but it would have
needed to be covered with a thick sheet of ice to counterbalance the
intense male heat his lean body radiated. The earthy, leather-and-spice
smell of him surrounded her, seeped through her, seeped into her. The
scent warmed her blood, thawing what Amanda had begun to think would be
an everlasting chill.
She didn't feel chilled right now. Just
the opposite; she'd never felt so hot in her life! The man angled his
head to look down at her, and Amanda saw that he'd removed his hat. His
straight black hair scattered flatteringly around his face.
The breeze tossed the inky strands
around his shoulders. Her gaze picked out a thin, tight braid, no
thicker than her pinkie, woven into the underside of his hair, just
behind his left ear. She trailed the braid down to a small brown
feather, anchored by a leather thong tied to the end of it. On another
man, that braid would have looked more than odd; it would have looked
feminine. She wondered why it didn't work that way on him.
"Well, what's it going to be, princess?" he asked, his warm breath
puffing over her cheeks.
"The way I see it, you've only got two choices. Either you stand there
gawking at me all day, or you answer my question so I can dig you out.
I'd say it's your call."
Question? she thought dazedly. Had he
asked her a question? Maybe. She couldn't remember. It was hard to
remember her name with him standing so close. Amanda told herself her
lengthy stay in the water had warped her mind as well as her
fingertips, but she wasn't convinced.
No, more likely it was seeing the man's
eyes up close that robbed her of the will to speak... as well as a good
deal of breath! His eyes weren't grey, as she'd first thought, but a
rich, smoky silver. The intensity of his gaze was enhanced by a fringe
of thick, sooty lashes, and emphasized by his deep copper skin.
"Guess I was wrong. Looks like you don't
want out after all," he said as, tearing his gaze from hers, he pivoted
and began wading back the way he'd come. Only after his body heat—the
smell of him, the confusion of him—had been removed, did Amanda shake
herself to her senses. By that time he was climbing lithely onto the
"Wait, Mr....!" He didn't turn around.
"Un-uh. That was my question, princess. And until you answer it, you're
Amanda blinked hard. That was it? All he
wanted was for her to tell him her name and then he'd help her out?
That seemed reasonable enough. No, it wasn't reasonable at all! A
gentleman would never leave a lady stranded in the middle of frigid
water merely because she hadn't supplied her name the second he'd
snapped his fingers and demanded it.
Then again... Her gaze narrowed on his
back, on the way the tough denim pants clung wetly to his heavily
muscled thighs and calves. She reassessed. This was definitely no
gentleman. Her deduction had nothing to do with his native heritage. It
had everything to do with the way he dressed—truly, those pants were
indecent!—and the way he walked—make that swaggered. His every move
screamed arrogance and authority.
Which would have been fine, were it an
unintentional, spontaneous thing. It wasn't. Amanda had a gut-feeling
this man knew exactly what kind of cocky, insolent impression he made
on people, and that he played it to the hilt. When he turned his head
and regarded her from over one shoulder, Amanda knew she was right. She
also had an uneasy feeling that he knew what she was thinking.
"Change your mind yet?" As he spoke, he
sat down in the grass and reached for his moccasins, although he made
no move to tug them on. Yet. The enormity of what he was doing hit
Amanda like a slap. She glared at him. "You aren't really going to
leave me here, are you? Just because I wouldn't tell you my name?"
He tipped his head to one side. A lock of black hair fell forward on
his brow when he shrugged.
"What do you think?"
"I don't think you'd dare."
"Then you don't know me very well."
Her chin tipped haughtily. "I don't know you at all."
"We could do something about that."
Was it possible for a grin to be
devastating yet emotionless at the same time? Amanda wouldn't have
thought so—until she saw the proof of it with her own eyes. Her heart
flipped over in her chest, its tempo hammering in her ears. Her
trembling fingers closed around the water near her hips in empty fists.
"That wasn't very nice," she snapped, and stifled a groan when his grin
The smile, she noted, didn't reach his eyes. They remained narrow
"I'm not a very nice person," he said.
"Ask anyone, they'll tell you."
As though to prove it, he started
tugging on his moccasins. When he was done, he pushed to his feet. In
the same fluid movement he swiped up his hat and settled it atop his
head. He pinched the low-riding brim between his index finger and
thumb, nodded to her in mock politeness, then turned and walked toward
Amanda blinked hard. Dear God, the man
really was going to desert her. The rotten bastard! She didn't realize
she'd said the words aloud until she saw him stop. His shoulders
squared. His back stiffened. Even from this distance, she could see
tension pull the muscles in his back, shoulders, and arms taut.
Come again, princess?"
Since it was too late to deny it—the
damage was already done—Amanda sucked in a deep breath and repeated
herself, loudly, and clearly enough so he would have no doubt as to
what she'd just called him. "Goddamn. That's what I thought you said."
He sucked in a sigh and released it in a
slow hiss. Then he shook his head—regretfully? she doubted it—and
plucked off the hat. With a flick of his wrist, he sent it hurling to
"Guess I'm going have to fetch you out of there after all."
There was something in his tone—too
calm, too leashed—that sent a shiver down her spine. Amanda couldn't
pinpoint the underlying emotion he'd stressed, and, as she watched him
again tug off the deerskin moccasins, she stopped trying.
Before she knew it, he was trudging
through the water toward her. Forcing herself not to shiver in dread
took all her concentration. Wondering what had made him change his
mind, she glanced up. He glanced down.
Silver and green warred, and in that
instant Amanda knew exactly why he'd decided to free her. His eyes were
narrowed to steely slits. His jaw was bunched hard, and a muscle ticked
beneath the high copper plane of his cheekbone. As she watched, his
lips thinned into a tight, uncompromising line. Calling him a bastard
had hit a sore spot with him. The man was quietly furious.
Worse—much, much worse—all that tightly
leashed anger was directed at her. The knowledge seemed a good enough
reason for Amanda to flinch when he stopped so close his chest
threatened to graze the very tips of her breasts. "I-I'll tell you my
name," she offered, and winced when her voice squeaked.
"Don't bother. Where are you stuck?"
Swallowing hard, she fixed her gaze on
one of the flat metal buttons trailing down his shirt. As for the tight
bands of muscle rippling beneath the dark blue cloth... well, she
refused to notice them at all. "Amanda Lennox. That's my name."
"That's dandy. I repeat: Where are you
stuck?" His hand came out of nowhere. His index finger hooked under her
chin, dragging her gaze up. His warm, sweet breath blasted over her
face when he said, "Better give some thought to answering me this time,
princess. You've got exactly ten seconds to tell me what's going on
under this water. After that, my hands start doing some exploring of
"[Montana Wildfire] was enthralling. I couldn't put it down! This is one steamy romance you will want to read again, and again, and again!!!"
(5 Stars) @
Barnes & Noble.com
"This book is amazing and I was riveted! Well written and definitely filled with some smokin' passion!"
for California Caress:
“My first Rebecca Sinclair novel but definitely NOT
my last. Wowee was this ever a good read! Ms. Sinclair takes her
readers on a ride of laughs, heartache, betrayal, and intense passion.
Her characters are finely chiseled and compliment her captivating story
for Perfect Strangers:
“Historical romance at its very best, PERFECT STRANGERS delighted
this reader with its proud heroine and fabulous hero. Their rocky start
takes them on a conflict-filled journey, but, in the end, their love
for one another cannot and will not be denied.”
♫♬♩♫Happy Birthday, Dear Ree—eeb!♫♬♩♫
Reb's birthday is rolling around in April. You know what that means:
she wants YOU to help her celebrate — all month long! How? Simple.
She's throwing a contest, of course! Up for grabs is one very nice
coffee/tea/coca gift tower, exclusively from...
<May I have a drumroll, please?>
< ... >
Oh, yeah — it just doesn't get any better, baby!
Details on how to enter will (very soon!) be posted on this blog,
Facebook, G+, Goodreads, Twitter (and Pinterest if we can figure out a
way <g>). So check one of these, or check all of them for even
more chances to win!