By Cathy Yardley
Whilst a lady is ripe for the settling on . . . Beth Cordova's lifestyles is not any fairy story. Having slightly escaped the evil snatch of her depraved stepmother, this “missing princess” seeks safe haven in a strict commune the place carnal pleasures are forbidden. occasionally only one chew of the apple . . . Her international is lonely and void of intimacy, until eventually the fascinating Stephen Trent arrives on the commune. abruptly Beth yearns for a man's contact, the texture of his lips on hers . . . and Stephen is raring to teach this pure-as-snow princess that she will be able to nonetheless be the sensual lady she used to be upon a time. Is all it takes to unharness her desires... yet all isn't what it kind of feels, and the beautiful good looks reveals herself back at risk, her stepmother scorching on her path. The commune's founders won't tolerate the pair, but fleeing its partitions might end up deadly. Trapped in a global the place ardour is outlawed, can Beth dwell fortunately ever after?
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Additional resources for Crave: The Seduction of Snow White (Avon Red)
He wanted to believe that he could just bury himself in the next assignment, and her violet eyes would just be a fleeting memory, something he thought of at random when he saw a movie or maybe the purplish blue of the night sky. But some part of him knew he was just trying to fool himself. She was already beginning to haunt him, and he was afraid that, once he left, she’d become an obsession . . one that no other woman could ever live up to. He got up, his tray clacking on the table. ” Eamon said, surprised.
He wanted to know more about her. “You can’t,” she said, her eyes darting toward the foliage. ” He inched closer. Just a foot away, now. ” Her voice was a low, lush whisper. “Nobody can see us,” he said. “Besides, we’re just talking. ” “Talking leads to liking,” she said, her voice a highpitched squeak as he took one more step forward. “Liking leads to . . ” She nodded. ” He didn’t know why he asked the question, but once it popped out of his mouth, he found himself riveted to her answer. He stared at her face, her lips, waiting for her next sentence.
But he knew that it had nothing to do with his story, and everything to do with seeing her again. She was wearing another plain outfit, this time a lighter brown, resembling the cinnamon-apple oatmeal he’d eaten at breakfast. She wore a gray veil and carried her laundry basket tucked under her arm, balanced against her hip like a pro. He wondered how long she’d been here, to be so proficient. She didn’t look old at all, maybe young twenties, if he had to guess. Other women were making their way with bas- Crave a 29 kets, so he kept carefully back.