Dangerous to Know: eBook (Reflowable ePub). By Katy Moran. A modern-day love story for the festival-going generation. Alex and Bethany are. Dangerous to Know & Love book. Read reviews from the world's largest community for readers. Silence is only skin irkeraslajour.gaen year old Daniel Colt. The Accomplice by John Grisham. The Accomplice (Theodore Boone #7) by John Grisham ePUB | AZW3 | MB Woody Lambert is in trouble.
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Dangerous to Know & Love by Jane Harvey-Berrick – Free eBooks Download. Description: Silence is only skin deep. Nineteen year old Daniel Colton is the guy . Anne Mather - A Dangerous Taste of Passion [HP] (epub) - dokument that beautiful Lily presents; after all, he knows that wherever he goes, danger follows. Brazilian Millionaire's Love-Child Latin Lovers Mendez's Mistress The Greek. My brain keeps telling me what we're doing is wrong, but my body says it's deliciously dangerous. I want more. I know Hunter will keep me safe.
Will she surrender to the stranger at Orchid Cay? For Lily Fielding, the small, safe Caribbean island is all she's ever known. But the appearance of an intriguing newcomer is about to change everything for this unworldly vicar's daughter, for the sensual awakening he promises is both intoxicating and illicit Raphael Oliveira should resist the temptation that beautiful Lily presents; after all, he knows that wherever he goes, danger follows Although, once she is under his spell, Rafe's intense passion and dark past threaten to destroy them both!
With a groan that was part protest, part relief, Rafe gave in to the desire to taste her. Lily's mouth was soft and pliant, and unexpectedly hot. Still finding it difficult to breathe, he pulled her even closer, plundering her willing sweetness with his tongue until he was forced to take a breath. Her submission was as incredible as it was eager, and when he'd dragged his mouth from hers he buried his face in the hollow between her shoulder and her neck.
But when she gave a little moan and wound her arms around his neck Rafe knew he had fallen into a trap of his own making. As he inhaled her scent he knew he'd never dreamt that he might be seduced by her youth and inexperience. How could he have known that her lips would excite and inflame him until his body was bathed in her heat? When he'd thrust his tongue into her mouth he'd revelled in its possession. Querido Dios, his control had almost been swept away.
Aware that the fire he had created was threatening to consume him, Rafe curled his hands about her nape. Her silky hair tumbled over his fingers and he badly wanted to go on kissing her.
But this was madness, he told himself. It couldn't be allowed to win. It's a beautiful area, and she can't imagine living anywhere else. She's been making up stories since she was in primary school, and would say that writing is a huge part of her life.
When people ask if writing is a lonely occupation, she usually says that she's so busy sorting out her characters' lives she doesn't have time to feel lonely.
She loves reading and walking and browsing in bookshops. And now that her son and daughter are grown she takes great delight in her grandchildren. You can email her at mystic-am msn. With all my love. Was he watching her? Lily didn't know. But she didn't need her intuition to realise who he was. Dee-Dee had told her; had warned her actually. And Dee-Dee seemed to know everything. But then, Dee-Dee also claimed she had the sight, and no one on the small Caribbean island of Orchid Cay would argue with her.
And it was true, the old woman had foretold Lily's mother's illness, and last season's hurricane that had almost destroyed the marina in town. Lily's father didn't agree that Dee-Dee knew everything. He regarded their housekeeper's visions as just mumbo-jumbo. But Lily supposed that as an Anglican priest he couldn't be seen to have anything to do with the 'black magic' he declared Dee-Dee's claims to be.
Still, right now, Lily was less concerned with Dee-Dee's abilities than with her desire for the man to go away. She didn't like thinking he was watching her and she wondered again what he was doing on the island. The old housekeeper had speculated that he'd got in trouble in the city and had bought one of the most expensive properties on the island to escape from justice. But even Dee-Dee's speculations couldn't always be relied upon and no one had even known that the house at Orchid Point was for sale.
Whatever, Lily wished he would just turn around and go away. This was the time she usually took her evening swim, but she had no intention of taking her clothes off in front of him-even if he was more than a hundred feet away. Folding her towel over her arm, she started back towards the rectory. She only permitted herself a surreptitious glance in his direction when she was almost home. And discovered, to her chagrin, that he was gone. She'd worked for Cartagena Charters ever since she'd left the university she'd attended in Florida.
It wasn't a particularly demanding job, but Orchid Cay was a small town and there weren't that many jobs that her father would approve of. Her working area, such as it was, was behind a screen that separated the counter from the office.
Usually her boss, Ray Myers, attended to all enquiries himself. But today Ray was away in Miami, taking delivery of a new two-masted schooner. He'd told Lily there probably wouldn't be any new customers until the weekend, but she was nominally in charge.
Sighing, as much at being interrupted as at the prospect of having to deal with an enquiry herself, Lily slid out of her seat and rounded the Perspex screen into the business area. A man was there, standing with his back to her, staring out of the plate glass windows at the masts of yachts bobbing in the marina beyond. He was tall and very tanned, with overly long dark hair, broad shoulders encased in a leather jacket.
His thumbs were pushed into the back pockets of tight-fitting jeans, accentuating the fact that they clung to narrow hips and long powerful legs. Lily swallowed. She knew who he was instantly; had sensed it, she realised, before she'd actually walked round the screen and seen him.
It was the same man who'd watched her from the cliff a week ago, the man Dee-Dee had warned her might be dangerous to know. He'd heard her footsteps and turned almost before she'd had a chance to school her expression. She saw dark brown eyes, long-lashed, above hollow cheekbones, a prominent nose and a thin, yet sensual mouth.
Not handsome, she thought, but endlessly fascinating. For the first time she allowed the thought that Dee-Dee might just be right. If he recognised her, he gave no sign of it.
So he knew Ray, she thought. She hadn't sensed that. Although he spoke in English, he had a faint but distinct accent, as if it wasn't his first language. Mr Myers isn't here,' she said, realising he was waiting for an answer. My name is Rafe Oliveira. He would remember me, I think. Did he know of his notoriety amongst the island's inhabitants?
And he called himself Rafe, she mused, liking it better than Raphael. Add to that the fact that she was wearing little make-up, and she probably looked hot and bothered. What an image! Though it was not something she wished to dwell on. Her father would have kittens if he thought she was entertaining such thoughts about a man who had created such a stir amongst the island's population.
He'd called Ray 'Myers' again, she thought.
Which was hardly friendly. Maybe even assuming Ray was an acquaintance was pushing it. His eyes had drifted towards the marina again and, taking the opportunity to tug her vest down over the wedge of tanned skin she'd exposed, Lily said, 'He should be back the day after tomorrow. Can I give him a message?
Not because she could read his mind, however, but because of the faintly mocking expression that had taken the place of his earlier detachment. Flicking through the leaflets with a careless finger, he glanced back at her out of the corners of his eyes.
Hence we may conclude, that every thinking man will take care to banish this kind of works from his library. He will then likewise proscribe that novel, now so much prized, called Dangerous Connections, or Letters collected in a Society, and published for the Instruction of other Societies.
After having read a few pages of this work, one is almost led to think this title a piece of pleasantry; the letters of Madame de Merteuil, and of the Viscount de Valmont, published truly for the instruction of society. Is it in order to form people to the detestable art of seduction, or to inspire them with a horror of it?
I am far from a wish to calumniate the author, who, I am assured, is a military man of the highest character for wit and good conduct; but his work, which seems to have a moral end in view, is in reality very dangerous. It has been said to be a picture of the manners of a certain class in society; and, if it was not a resemblance, where would be its utility?
Must monsters be created to cause in us an aversion of ordinary vices? If it is true, it ought to have been concealed; there are shocking nudities which our minds revolt at rather than receive any instruction from.
The veil that covers the Tiberiuses and the Messalinas, ought not to be wholly lifted up. Young men will find in this novel easy means of seduction; young women will here see portraits of embellished vice; and old libertines will be amused by the exploits of Valmont. But what a monster is Valmont, if such a character exists; and those who know that class of society, assure us, they have met with many such.
If there really are such beings, ought not their society to be avoided carefully? It is a forest filled with robbers: to enter it we should be well armed. It is a road full of great precipices, to avoid falling into which, we must be very circumspect. What a character is the Marchioness de Merteuil!
Sometimes she is a Medea, sometimes a Messalina. Read the tenth letter: vice is to be drawn; but should it be drawn in such seducing colours? Are there many young people who will prefer the character of a virtuous man to the brilliant and lively one of the profligate Valmont?
Are there many who will not blush at the awkwardness of Cecilia? And when one blushes at being ridiculed, they are not very far from the vice that exempts them from it. In France, ridicule is too much dreaded; they would rather be vicious; and this book will rather assist that taste. The style of romances may serve to lead us to the knowledge of the morals of ages and nations.