An Excerpt From: INCORRECT SPELLING

Copyright © C.S. CHATTERLY, 2005.

All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

From his vantage point on the small hill behind the fish pond, Rowan saw the woman exit the cottage. His sharp eyes missed nothing. “By all the celestial events, she’s lovely,” he gasped. He quickly ran both hands through his hair and felt his body responding to the presence of a seductive young beauty. It seemed he could already smell the luscious, sweet fragrance of her skin.

Sky walked a few feet into the garden and stared into the twilight. “Hello,” she called. “Um, hello out there?”

“I’m here, Sky. Come to the fish pond.”

She swallowed hard at the sound of that baritone-deep voice. “If it’s all the same, could you please come nearer the cottage? The light is better here.”

“I’ll provide the light. Just come to me.”

Sky felt a strong pull and was able to recognize the magic surrounding the creature. “I dislike having magic used on me. I can tell when it’s being done.”

“I’m not doing anything. If you feel something, it’s because you want to.”

At that arrogant remark, she angrily flounced forward until she came to the fish pond, at the back of the garden. Gazing around her, Sky still couldn’t see anything but she could definitely feel the strong presence of a very male creature. “All right. Come out, right this minute.” All her tactful reasoning fled in the face of his magical conjuring.

Standing behind a particularly tall growth of ferns, Rowan took a moment to look her over. Strands of long, honey-colored hair escaped a scarf that held the bulk of the thickness at the nape of her neck. Even in the dim light, he could see that her eyes were more blue than any summer sky. Bluer even than any of the Mountain Fairies’ eyes. He likened the color to the clearest sapphires the Queen wore.

And her figure was exquisite. She was taller than most women, and the curve of her breasts suggested a fullness that should have been exposed to the evening air so the nipples would grow taut and erect. Her legs appeared shapely yet lean, but not too thin. The skin of Sky’s face was flawless, clear and kissed by the sun. He bet she had just enough freckles to give her the playful look he so loved. And as she gazed into the darkness, searching for him, Rowan couldn’t have picked any painting in the world that could do her bone structure justice. She was divine. And his blood heated to a point he’d never experienced. It was in that moment he truly believed his coming to this place was no accident. This woman was meant for loving. He knew he was the one with whom she should seek ultimate pleasure.

“Where are you?” Sky called out. “We need to talk.”

He moved quickly.

Sky heard the scurrying but was unprepared for the deep voice coming from so near.

“Behind you.”

She turned and half-choked out a response. Before her stood the biggest, most muscular man she’d seen in her entire life. Much, much taller than herself, the dark-haired giant in front of her was built for hard physical labor. She’d expected some kind of waif with rather pale skin and a paltry physique. Not this monumental, granite structure with muscles on top of muscles. She swallowed hard and stared into his unearthly green eyes. They seemed to glow from some inner source. A gentle breeze lifted his shoulder-length, curly hair and dropped strands of it across his face. A slow, sinfully delicious smile, bright as any sunburst, spread across his unshaven, square jaw.

“Uh, w-we need to talk,” Sky repeated.

“Shouldn’t we at least introduce ourselves more formally? I know you’re Sky…”

“P-Pyewackett,” she stuttered out her surname.

“I’m Rowan Sultmhor. And I believe you know the circumstances surrounding my appearance in your world.”

“Uh, M-Mr. Sultmhor,” she said and quickly licked her lips to quench the dryness in her mouth, “my aunts made a small mistake. I’m sure we can come to some agreement about you returning to your world.”

“No.”

She simply stared for a moment.

“I’ve already told them I’m not going back until I’m ready.” He walked from behind the cover of the ferns. “And I’m not ready.”