Teresa Medeiros

Jayne, here, with my guest author, Teresa Medeiros. Those of you who are already familiar with her work will be thrilled to know that she's got a hot new historical out right at this very moment, SOME LIKE IT WICKED. Those of you who haven't had a chance to read her yet are in for a thrilling treat. The thing is, no one, but no one does bad boys like Teresa. Enjoy!

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Why is there always something so delicious about a bad boy in need of the love of a good woman? With SOME LIKE IT WICKED, I'd like to introduce you to one of the baddest boys I've ever written—Simon Wescott, an unrepentant rake who could be a descendant of Captain Jack Sparrow and an ancestor of Sawyer on LOST. In this scene, Simon is just realizing he's been outwitted by the bonny Scottish beauty who has braved the terrors of Newgate Prison to hire him to escort her to the Highlands.

Excerpt from: SOME LIKE IT WICKED:


As Simon watched Catriona knot the ribbons of her bonnet into a jaunty little bow, it took him several ragged breaths to identify the unfamiliar emotion coursing through him as anger. Simon Wescott didn't get angry. He got drunk. He got bitingly sarcastic. And occasionally, he got even. But he never got angry. And in truth, he wasn't angry now.

He was bloody well furious.

He hadn't been so thoroughly duped since he'd caught Philo Wilcox at the faro table with an entire deck of aces tucked up his sleeve. He had satisfied that slight by calling the man out and shooting him in the arse when he turned to flee instead of fire. He supposed society would frown if he inflicted a similar punishment on the cunning Miss Kincaid.

But that didn't mean he was without recourse.

He stalked toward her, kicking the stool out of his path. Something in his narrowed eyes made hers widen with alarm. She scrambled backward, betraying her first trace of genuine fear since finding herself locked in the cell with him.

"Why, Mr. Wescott," she said breathlessly, "was there something else you wished to discuss?"

"Oh, I think we've done all the discussing we need to do." He backed her up against the wall until there was nowhere left for her to flee. "But I can't let you leave here believing me remiss in my duties. If I'm not mistaken, it's traditional to seal such a bargain with a kiss."

Her hand fluttered to her throat. "Oh, no...I really don't think...it would hardly be proper if—"

He bore her against the wall with his body, cupped the back of her head in his hand, heedlessly crushing her bonnet, and brought his mouth down on hers, cutting off her protest in mid-squeak. If this was a devil's bargain, he was determined she would leave this cell knowing exactly which one of them was the devil.

But he hadn't anticipated that the softness of the mouth crushed beneath his would give him a taste of both heaven and hell. The scorching sweetness of her kiss tasted of nectar and ambrosia. The flames only licked higher as she twined one hand around his nape and clung for dear life, as if she were sliding down into some deep, dark abyss and was determined to take him with her.

Catriona had spent a thousand lonely nights dreaming of the kiss Simon might have given her in that sunlit barn where they had first met if she hadn't been so young and he hadn't been so jaded. She would close her eyes with a wistful sigh and imagine the tender communion of their minds, hearts and souls as his lips gently brushed over hers in a chaste caress.

This was not that kiss.

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So who is your favorite bad boy of all time? Captain Jack? Spike from Buffy the Vampire Slayer? Derek Craven from Dreaming of You? Tell us which bad boy makes YOU shiver with longing and is the most likely to turn you into a very naughty girl?

--Teresa Medeiros