{"product_id":"his-wicked-kiss-isbn-9780345480101","title":"His Wicked Kiss","description":"From emerald jungles to the high seas to the glittering ballrooms of Regency London, beloved author Gaelen Foley tells a sweeping, sensual tale of the ruggedly handsome Lord Jack Knight and the passionate beauty who lays claim to his heart.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAn English rose blooming in the untamed jungles of South America, Eden Farraday lives a life of independence–unheard of for a lady–with her doctor-turned-scientist father. But Eden misses England desperately. When the dangerous and darkly charming Lord Jack Knight sails into her life, she seizes her chance to return to civilization, stowing away aboard his London-bound ship.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eRoguish and charismatic, a self-made shipping tycoon with a shadowy past and a well-guarded heart, Jack is sailing on a vital secret mission. When the redheaded temptress is discovered aboard his vessel, he reacts with fury–and undeniable lust. Forced to protect her from his rough crew, the devilish Lord Jack demands a scandalous price in exchange for Eden’s safe passage across the sea. As his wicked kiss ignites an unforgettable blaze of passion between them, Jack and Eden confront a soul-searing love that cannot be denied.“Always fabulous.”\u003cbr\u003e–Julia QuinnNoted for her “complex, subtly shaded characters, richly sensual love scenes, and elegantly fluid prose” (Booklist), Gaelen Foley is the nationally bestselling author of ten critically acclaimed historical romances from Ballantine Books. Her passionate, sophisticated love stories are published in eleven languages and have won numerous awards, including the National Readers’ Choice Award, the Booksellers’ Best, the Golden Leaf, the Award of Excellence, and the HOLT Medallion. To learn more about Gaelen, her novels, and the romantic Regency era in which her books are set, visit her website at www.gaelenfoley.com.February, 1818  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe wanted to dance.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Her toes in silken slippers tapped beneath the hem of her white—no,  blue—no, her green silk gown, in time with the elegant strains from the  orchestra.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Innumerable twinkling candles on the crystal chandeliers cast a golden  haze over the ballroom, where pairs of gliding dancers whirled through the  steps of the new, daring waltz: ladies in rich, pale, luminous silks,  gentlemen in stately black and white.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Suddenly, through the crowd, she sensed someone staring at her. Peeking  over her painted fan, she caught only a glimpse of a tall, imposing figure  before the swirling motion of the dancers hid him from her view again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Her pulse leaped. A thrill rushed through her, for she could sense him,  feel him coming to ask her to stand up with him for the next quadrille.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Wide-eyed, her heart pounding, she waited, yearning for a clearer look at  the face of her mystery man, her destined hero—\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    At that moment, a prickle of instinctual warning on her nape summoned Eden  Farraday back from her lovely reverie.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Her rapt gaze focused slowly as reality pressed back in on her reluctant  senses, bringing with it all the ceaseless sounds and pungent smells of  another black, humid night in the tropical forest.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Instead of crystal chandeliers, a lone, rusty lantern gleamed on the  bamboo table beside her hammock, which was draped beneath a cloud of filmy  white mosquito netting. In place of lords and ladies, pale moths danced  and flittered against the lantern’s glass, and beyond the palm-thatched  roof of the naturalists’ jungle stilt-house, the darkness throbbed with  teeming life.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Insects sang in deafening cadence. Monkeys bickered for the most  comfortable branches to sleep on in the trees, but at least the raucous  parrots had quit their noisy squabbling. Far off in the distance, a jaguar  roared to warn a rival off its territory, for the great stealthy beasts’  hunting hour had come.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Its fierce echo chased away her shining vision of London glamour, leaving  nothing but the artifact that had inspired it—a yellowed, crinkled,  year-old copy of a fashion magazine, La Belle Assemblée, sent by her dear  cousin Amelia all the way from England.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The sense of danger, however, still remained.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    She glanced around uneasily, her jungle-honed instincts on alert; her hand  crept toward the pistol that was always by her side.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    And then she heard it. A faint and subtle hiss from much too close  overhead.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Lifting her gaze, she found herself eye to cold, beady eye with a  monstrous eight-foot fer-de-lance. Fangs gleaming, the deadly serpent  flicked its forked tongue in her direction. She shrank back slowly, not  daring to move too fast.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Seeking warm-blooded prey, the big snake seemed to sense the vibrations of  her pounding heart. The species invaded many a human dwelling in the  torrid zone: humans left crumbs; crumbs brought mice; and the mice brought  the fer-de-lance, a notoriously ill-tempered viper with a reputation for  attacking with the slightest provocation.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Its bite spelled doom.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Slim and sinuous, it had slithered up into the weathered crossbeams of  their shelter. It must have gone silently exploring then in search of a  plump rodent entrée, for at present it was coiled around the post from  which her hammock hung, and was studying her like it wondered how she’d  taste.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    To her amazement, it had sliced through the mosquito netting with those  daggered fangs that dispensed a venom capable of killing a large man in  under half an hour. Eden had seen it happen, and it was not a pleasant  death.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    When the fer-de-lance arched its scaly neck into that ominous S shape, she  had a fleeting fraction of a second to see the attack coming, then it  struck—angry reptile snapping out like a whip, a flash of fangs.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    She flung herself onto her back on her hammock, brought up her pistol, and  fired.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    A disgusted yelp escaped her as the snake’s severed head plopped right  onto the center of her treasured magazine.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Bloody—!” she started, then stopped herself from uttering the rest, only  mouthing the epithet, for refined London ladies did not curse aloud. Still!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    That dashed magazine had taken a blasted year to reach her, coming via  courier by way of Jamaica. Rolling nimbly out of her hammock, Eden scowled  at the wide-mouthed snake head that now marred the elegant publication.  She flipped her long plait of auburn hair over her shoulder, brushed the  mosquito netting aside and stepped away, shaking off her latest brush with  death.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Everything all right, dear?” her father, Dr. Victor Farraday, called in a  casual tone from his work tent across the naturalists’ camp, located deep  in the heart of Venezuela’s green, steaming Orinoco Delta.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    She shot a distracted glance in his direction. “Fine, Father!” she yelled  back and, with shaking hands, put her gun away. Lord, I can’t wait to get  out of here.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    With a grimace, she picked up the magazine like a tray, balancing the dead  snake’s head on it, and marched stoically to the rustic railing that  overlooked the wide, onyx river. She flung the head into the current  without ceremony, and heard it plop down into the Orinoco with a small  splash.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Well, no doubt something would eat it in minutes, she thought. That was  the law of the jungle: Eat or be eaten. Sending a wary glance out across  the inky river, she saw a number of red eyes gleaming by the lantern’s  glow, and then a large thing submerged with barely a ripple in the silver  moonlight.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Eden shook her head. Man-eating crocodiles, poisonous snakes, bloodsucking  bats—and Papa said London was dangerous. Patience, she told herself, doing  her best to keep her hunger for civilization in check. It wouldn’t be much  longer now. They would soon be going home to England whether Papa liked it  or not.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Turning to gaze in the direction of her father’s work tent, her face  filled with determination. She gave herself a small nod. Yes. The suspense  was torture. She had to hear Papa’s decision—now. She tore off the pages  of her magazine that could not be saved and put them aside as fuel for the  cooking fires, then strode out of their native-style dwelling, known as a  palafito. She fixed her sights on the naturalists’ main work tent across  the camp.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    A ring of torches burned around the perimeter of the clearing to keep the  beasts at bay, but there was little help for the mosquitoes. She swatted  one away as she passed the fire pit in the center of camp, where she  greeted their three black servants with affection. Their bright grins  flashed in the darkness. Now that the heat of day had passed, the  servants, dressed in flowing, light, tropical garb, were cooking dinner  for themselves.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Eden exchanged a few teasing remarks with them and forged on. The skirts  of her cotton walking dress swirled around her legs and her thick leather  boots sunk firmly into the soft turf with every stride. Her forward stare  was confident, but in truth, her heart was pounding as she waited for the  verdict.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Ahead, beneath the three-sided military-style tent, Dr. Victor Farraday  and his brawny Australian assistant, Connor O’Keefe, bent their heads  together in close discussion, poring over a weathered map. The field table  was strewn with the latest specimens they had collected today on their  trek, led by the local Waroa shaman to where the medicine plants grew. For  now, however, their new finds were forgotten. Their faces were tense and  serious by the dim orange glow of the lantern.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    It was no wonder why. Her treasured magazine was not the only item the  courier had brought today from the outer world, smuggling their mail and a  few supplies in past the Spanish fleet trolling the coast.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    There had also been a letter, equally out of date, from the solicitor  representing Papa’s aristocratic patron back in England. The letter  announced the sad tidings that the old, philanthropic fourth Earl of  Pembrooke, alas, had gone on to his eternal reward some months ago.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    His Lordship’s heir, the fifth earl, was young and dashing, rumored to be  quite handsome and, if the Society pages of La Belle Assemblée could be  believed, he was also known as a gambler and a bit of a rakehell. The new  Lord Pembrooke was building himself a fine new country house, and as far  as he was concerned, all the artists and scholars, musicians and sculptors  and scientists that his grandfather had for so long commissioned could go  hang. So he had instructed his solicitor to say.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    In short, the famed Dr. Farraday had lost the funding for his research,  and Eden had nearly cheered aloud to hear it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    She had bitten her tongue, however, and suppressed her joy, for Papa had  turned pale at the news, committed as any obsessed genius to his work. Oh,  but it wasn’t as though they would starve once they reached England, she  reasoned with a hardheaded practicality that usually balanced out her  dreamy side.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    A trained physician and now a prestigious author as well, Dr. Farraday had  a standing offer of a highly respectable teaching post at the Royal  College of Medicine in London. When he accepted it, as he surely must, it  wouldn’t be long before she and Cousin Amelia would be promenading in Hyde  Park among the other elegantes, causing the young bucks to wreck their  stylish phaetons for turning to stare at them.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Soon—who could say?—she might actually have a normal life.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Clasping her hands behind her back, Eden cleared her throat politely to  get the gentlemen’s attention.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The two scientists had been so absorbed in their discussion they had not  noticed her standing there. At once, they fell silent, halting their  low-toned discussion.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Well, boys,” she said with a jaunty smile, trying with a touch of humor  to lighten some of the tension they all were feeling about the sudden  change in their situation. “When are we finally going to leave?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Alas, her jest fell flat. The pair exchanged a guarded glance. Belatedly,  Connor stood in the presence of a lady, knowing how she loved these small  gestures of civility.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Connor O’Keefe was a tanned, blond, towering Australian, over six feet  tall and twice as broad as the tribal warriors of the Delta. He was a  strong man of few words and a specialist in zoology; his sensitivity to  the forest animals was endearing to Eden, but more and more frequently of  late, his unbroken stares made her uneasy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Everything all right?” he asked, resting his hands on his waist with a  concerned frown. “Why did you fire?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “A fer-de-lance got into the house. Sorry, Con. It was either your snaky  friend or me.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Good God, are you all right?” her father exclaimed, whipping off his  spectacles and starting forward in his chair.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “I’m fine, Father,” she assured him. “I wondered if Connor would take the  vile thing away. Most of it’s still stuck in the rafters,” she said with a  wince.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The Australian nodded firmly, then glanced at her father. “I’ll be right  back, sir.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Yes, er, give us a moment, my boy. I should like to have a word with my  daughter.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Of course.” Connor paused to give Eden’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.  “You’re sure you’re all right?” he murmured.","brand":"Ballantine Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46301346627813,"sku":"NP9780345480101","price":7.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780345480101.jpg?v=1742923954","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/his-wicked-kiss-isbn-9780345480101","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}