Tuesday, 28 June 2016

Excerpt: Bewitching in Boots by Lila DiPasqua + Giveaway

You all know how much I love fairy tale retellings, and there's no contest Lila DiPasqua is the Queen of erotic fairy tale retellings! Her Fiery Tales series is sizzling hot, you'll need a fan (or some smelling salts ;-) nearby when you read it! (You can read my review here.)

Today I'm happy to share with you an excerpt of Bewitching in Boots, Book #6 in the Fiery Tales series and a great deal: you can grab your copy of this thrilling, sensual historical romance for only $0.99! Hurry, the offer ends soon. And there's also a giveaway at the end! For a chance to win Little Red Writing, leave a comment and tell us what was the last historical romance you've read!

Bewitching in Boots by Lila DiPasqua

Inspired by the tale of Puss in Boots—an erotically charged historical romance novella from the acclaimed Fiery Tales series.

Elisabeth de Roussel, daughter of the King, is accustomed to getting what she wants-and she wants gorgeous Tristan de Tiersonnier, Count of Saint-Marcel, the ex-commander of the King's elite private Guard.

A recent injury has forced Tristan to leave his distinguished position. But Elisabeth is determined to make him see he's every bit the man he once was-and more than man enough for her...

NOTE: Originally published in the AWAKENED BY A KISS anthology.

Buy at Amazon - Kindle - KoboiBooks - B&N

**Just 99 cents for a limited time, grab your copy NOW!**


“Is this what you do all day? Sit in the library?” Gabriel de Tiersonnier asked with a smile as he strolled into the room.

Seated on the settee, his leg propped up, Tristan stared out at the gardens. Without glancing at his brother, he responded dryly, “No. Sometimes I sit in the salon.” His tone was caustic. Embittered.

He wanted to be left alone and tried to ignore his younger brother and his good mood. It was as infuriating as the unrelenting dull ache in Tristan’s leg. An incessant reminder of his debilitated state. All these weeks and no bloody sign of improvement. He still walked with a cane. He still couldn’t make peace with his crippled limb. He hadn’t wanted to believe the royal physicians’ prognosis. Now he was beginning to lose all hope of a complete recovery. And his frustration and fury over it mounted daily.

Still smiling, Gabriel shook his head and sat down in a nearby chair, making himself comfortable.

Merde. His brother meant to stay.

“Really, Tristan, this sedate existence of yours is as exciting as living among celibate monks.”

“You should know. You were one of them—that is until they tossed you out last week.” Gabriel had returned two days ago, shattering Tristan’s solitude, and he resented it.

He resented just about everything nowadays. He resented how far he’d fallen for a man who had it all—command of the most prestigious, most elite corps in the realm, the ear of the King and his esteem, magnificent apartments at Versailles, and a number of women to bed whenever he chose, including his favorite, Veronique. But his favorite turned out to be a conniving little opportunist, who was quick to leave. The moment he was replaced as Captain of the Guard, she was bedding his successor.

What did he have left when all the dust had settled? A lame leg. A broken-down château he cared nothing about. And worse, staid empty years stretched out before him—a life so contrary to his active existence. He’d fought in countless campaigns for his country during his distinguished military career. He’d risen through the ranks to eventually head the King’s private Guard, and had conducted covert operations and quashed conspiracies while in charge of the safety and protection of the royal family.

Gabriel chuckled good-naturedly. “I was not a monk, and well you know it. I was in the seminary. I hadn’t taken any vows yet. Our dear departed father felt he needed to have one son in the service of God. I told him it was a mistake to send me.”

“I suppose ‘our dear departed father’ overestimated your restraint. Here you thought celibacy was a mere suggestion and not a requirement for a man studying to become a member of the Holy Church.”

“Exactly.” Gabriel grinned. “Glad you see my point.”

“Yes, and who could have guessed they’d take it so seriously when they caught you with two women at the same time—twice.”

Gabriel laughed. “Ah, now Tristan, those women were well worth being expelled from the seminary. Who needs to wait to die to go to paradise when a man can sample those four lovelies right here on earth?”

“Tristan?” The sound of his uncle’s voice grabbed Tristan’s attention. He turned to see Richard de Tiersonnier entered the room, his brow furrowed. Despite his salt and pepper hair, he was still the tall, strong figure he’d been during his years in the military. “Are you expecting a Duc?”

“A Duc?” Tristan repeated. “Of course not, why?” No one from court had visited him since his departure from the royal palace. He’d been well forgotten in mere weeks—after years of loyal service to the King and his family.

“There is a six-horse carriage among the entourage outside.”

Tristan was baffled. Entourage? A six-horse carriage was definitely a Duc. What Duc? Why was he here?

Grabbing his cane, he struggled to his feet, refusing help from Gabriel, and made his way to the courtyard to greet his notable visitor, his uncle and brother falling in behind him.

The moment Tristan stepped outside the main entrance of his château, he arrested his steps. His heart lost a beat. Two carriages, one with six white horses, and thirty of his former men each on horseback filled his courtyard.

But if that wasn’t enough, by far the most astonishing sight was the King’s favorite daughter, Elisabeth, Duchesse de Roussel. Flanked by her maid and her sister, she stood not twenty feet away dressed in breeches, black boots and a white shirt—male clothing custom-fitted to her form.

She looked like anything but a man.

Her breeches accentuated her mouth-watering curves, black boots—like none he’d ever seen—molded to her slender calves, and then there was her shirt. The breeze fluttered the white material, teasing him with glimpses of creamy skin above her breasts. He felt his pr*ck harden.

Tristan squeezed the handle of his cane. Jésus-Christ, he hadn’t had sex since his injury. He’d definitely gone too long without a good f*ck if the sight of the King’s most spoiled offspring, dressed in men’s clothing, was stiffening his c*ck.

“Where is the Duc?” his uncle asked.

Gabriel stepped around Tristan. “Never mind that, Uncle. Who is that woman dressed in breeches?”

“One of His Majesty’s illegitimate daughters.” Tristan couldn’t keep the disdain from his tone.

“I thought he legitimized all his children born to his mistresses,” Richard stated.

“He did. He gave them status and arranged powerful matches for them, too,” Tristan said. “This is one of the more self-indulgent among those in the royal brood.”

Tightening his jaw, he made his way across the courtyard, hating it that his former men had to see him hobbling like a cripple. Whatever Elisabeth wanted, he’d refuse. Whatever game she was playing—and it was obvious she was up to no good—he wouldn’t engage in it.

He was going to send her and her entourage straight back to Versailles.

Buy at Amazon - Kindle - KoboiBooks - B&N

**Just 99 cents for a limited time, grab your copy NOW!**

Lila DiPasqua writes wicked & witty historical romance for Penguin/Berkley. She lives with her real-life hero husband and three children and is a firm believer in the happily-ever-after.

For more information about Lila and her books, visit
 her website / blog / Facebook / Twitter / Goodreads


Lila is generously giving away TWO signed copies of Little Red Writing to two lucky commenters!

Just leave a comment and tell Lila what was the last historical romance you read?

Giveaway is open worldwide and ends on 8 July 2016!

 Good luck!

Related Posts with Thumbnails