BIANCA SCHWARZ’S AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY
Bianca M Schwarz was born in Germany, spent her formative years in London, has a US passport and considers herself a world citizen. She lives in Los Angeles because that’s where they make movies and she used to work on them. She writes novels because that’s kind of like making a movie in people’s heads and because she just loves books. Bianca has one son, because that’s all she can handle and she tolerates her husband because, well, she loves him and there is no help for that.
After publishing A Thing Of Beauty with Penner Publishing in October of 2015, she spent some time figuring out how to promote a book. She made some friends and sold some books, but mostly waisted a lot of time on social media. Eventually she threw up her hands in despair and went back to her writing desk.
Since then, Ms Schwarz has completed the second Sir Henry mystery, She Walks In Beauty, and is currently working on a related novella and the third big mystery in the series. She also wrote a short story for the anthology Déjà You, to be published by Emerald Lily Publishing on May 30, 2017. Another short story, Wicked House, will be published later this year.
BIANCA SCHWARZ’S SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS
Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/BiancaMSchwarzAuthor/
Twitter Page: https://twitter.com/schwarzbianca1
BIANCA SCHWARZ’S BOOKS
A THING OF BEAUTY
Eliza woke to the smell of tea and a soft nuzzle against her cheek. Her eyes still closed, she stretched and hummed her contentment. So encouraged, the nuzzle moved from her cheek to her neck and into her hair and turned into an embrace as Henry’s arm burrowed its way under her shoulder and his other arm found its way around her waist. She stretched farther as their bodies aligned, enjoying the feel of his bareness against hers and noted that his skin was cool next to hers. “You’ve been up already.”
He kissed her gently on the mouth, drawing another hmmm, this one disgruntled. “And you used the tooth powder. Not fair.”
Henry chuckled and kissed her again, this time teasing her lips open and stroking his tongue against hers. “I don’t mind, but I’d be happy to keep the bed warm whilst you use the facilities.”
Her eyes were still closed and she snuggled deeper into his embrace. “Hmmm, in a minute.”
His hand traveled over her mussed hair that still sported a few crystal pins – come to think of it, he had found one stuck to his thigh when he had gotten out of bed earlier. His hand stroked farther down her back and over her bottom before he lifted her leg over his hip, nestling his erection between her legs, nudging at her opening. “A little tea perhaps? Or just sleepy sex.”
Eliza rolled her hips against his member, arched her breast into the hand that now caressed it and grinned, still refusing to open her eyes. Her voice was still rough with sleep.
“Sleepy sex, that sounds intriguing.”
Henry nudged her chin up so he could trail his open mouth and tongue down her exposed throat and then dipped his head to suckle her lush, pink nipple. He thoroughly enjoyed the warmth of her body lying so open and supple from sleep in his arms. “Sleepy sex it is then, my lovely.”
His fingertips traced the valley between her nether cheeks and found her sex. She was all soft and warm and moist and he let a finger slip into her to gather more moisture to spread over her clitoris. He caressed her there until her breathing grew heavier and more erratic and then worked himself into the welcoming heat of her channel.
Their present position, side by side with her leg hitched over his hip, did not quite allow for full penetration and so he rolled to his back and pulled her on top of him. Then he held her hips steady, braced his feet against the mattress and thrust up into her.
Eliza drew in a sharp breath, her eyes finally flying open as her hands grappled for purchase to either side of his head to steady herself.
“Oh…there is nothing sleepy about this anymore!” She gasped.
Henry grinned at her wickedly. “Rise and shine, my sweet. I’m all up and, it turns out, I need you awake for this.”
Eliza tried valiantly to adjust to him being so deep inside of her but she had no idea how much control she could have in this position so she struggled. “God, Henry, you feel wickedly big like this.”
He had to smile at her breathless admission. She had no idea how pleasurable it was for a man to hear himself described like this. “And you are squeezing me wickedly tight.”
She rolled her eyes and he took pity on her. “Get your legs underneath yourself so you sit astride with one knee on each side of me.”
He helped her lift her hips and fold her legs under her, then took her hands and showed her how to brace herself against his chest. “See, now as you kneel up or sit down you can take as little or as much of me as you want. You are in control of how you ride me now.”
Eliza knelt up a little and an “oh” of realization shaped her lips. But then she tilted her head quizzically. “Ride? Is that what you call it?”
He chuckled, holding himself still as she tried moving up and down on him. “Ride, swiff, fuck, intercourse, tubb. There are many names for it, but in this position, I think ride is most appropriate.”
She grinned broadly as she sank back down on him, eliciting a groan. “For obvious reasons.”
She continued to move on him, finding out what pleased her. “I like this way, and I like the name better than some of the others, but I can’t figure out how I can ride and kiss you at the same time.”
Henry took her queue and arched up to capture her lips in a brief kiss. “Ah, yes, kissing is a little tricky.” He settled down on his back but lifted one hand to cup her cheek and then let his fingertips drift down her neck to her breast. “But I can do this.” His hand settled on her breast, stroking and fondling, tracing circles around her areola and lightly pinching her nipple until Eliza arched her back in an effort to increase the pressure of his hand on her breast.
“And I can do this.” Henry’s other hand trailed down her belly, over her mound and when his thumb settled on her clitoris, stroking tantalizing circles around it, she gasped and let her head fall back.
“Oh yes, definite advantage.” She breathed.
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Déjà You (Stories of Second Chances)
1760, somewhere in Essex, England
The setting sun painted the facade of the lovely Palladian mansion pink, but the overgrown boxwood hedges and the weeds on the lawn pointed to a general neglect of the estate. It was an odd contrast to the owner’s ostentatious London wardrobe and flashy horse flesh. Marcus Landover supposed it was to be expected of a young man less than a year in possession of his fortune. He had it on good authority the fool had already blown through his cash reserves and had to retreat to his estate to escape his creditors. That begged the question why Marcus had let himself be goaded into accepting an invitation to the Baron Tillister’s card party. Especially since he knew the man intended for him to part with a good portion of his money.
Marcus, at nine and twenty, was almost a decade older than the young baron’s crowd and had little interest in their excesses but he was fond of his great-aunt, Millicent, and Aunt Milly worried about Baron Tillister’s stepsister. The girl, a Miss Sophia Chelmsford, had not been heard of since her mother’s funeral seven months prior. Although her mother had been estranged from the family, she had been a Landover by birth and Aunt Milly wanted Miss Chelmsford to know she was not alone in the world. The two letters she had written had gone unanswered, and it concerned the old lady.
Of course Marcus had no expectation of meeting the girl at a high stakes card party, but he could persuade one of the servants to take a note to her. Sophia was eighteen and had not yet been formally introduced to society. Her stepbrother was her legal guardian, so a message was the best he could do for now. Well, that and losing a little money to the youngsters to ease Aunt Milly’s mind.
There were three coaches ahead of him in the driveway so it was safe to assume Tillister had invited all of his cronies and planned to make an occasion of it. Marcus felt almost sorry no one had deemed it necessary to warn the young Baron that Marcus’s fortune had been won at the card table. He was far from the easy mark the young man assumed. But Tillister’s friends either didn’t know or didn’t tell him.
The coach stopped outside the brightly lit front portal and Marcus allowed his man, Richard, to help him down, maintaining the illusion that he was incapable of doing anything for himself. “Get everyone put up and rest, but keep everything ready. I plan to depart around three in the morning.”
The trusted retainer bowed low and murmured so only Marcus could hear. “I figured. Them youngsters don’t look like they could keep up.”
Marcus smiled. “Quite. We will be traveling to the Marchioness from here.”
Richard bowed again and Marcus ascended the shallow steps to leave his hat and cape with the aging butler. The man handed both to a footman and then led Marcus past an elegantly curved staircase and into a beautifully proportioned drawing room. The house was rather lovely despite the shabby exterior and there was plenty of fashionable furniture, but the fabrics were beginning to fade.
“You are not staying the night, Sir?” the aging butler inquired as he held the door for Marcus.
“Not if I can help it.” Marcus sighed.
The old retainer just nodded. He obviously was used to young men spending the night. He turned to the young baron holding court by the fireplace and announced the new arrival. “His Lordship, Marcus Landover, My Lord.”
Marcus stepped forward to greet his host whilst the butler bowed himself out of the room. Baron Frederick Tillister beamed with all the enthusiasm of a man whose grandest scheme had just fallen into place and rushed towards him.
“Landover, come in! I hope your journey was not too arduous.” He shook Marcus’s hand vigorously and led him to the group of young men by the fire. “You know Welsh, Adrian, Micklesby and Bingly from town of course. The brooding chap over there is my neighbor, Len Wilder, and the three over here who can’t stop arguing about horses are the brothers Fairly.”
Marcus nodded to all the gentlemen he was acquainted with and turned back to Tillister whose grin was full of pride and expectation.
“Let me pour you a drink. I picked up a rather decent brandy at Berry’s last week.”
Marcus was intimately familiar with the establishment on St. James’s street. Any wine from there came with a hefty price tag. The baron was apparently going all out to impress him. “By all means, Tillister. Just the thing to wash the dust of the road from my throat.” He took the snifter Tillister handed him and noted how quickly the young man consumed his drink. At this rate he would be impaired by the time dinner was served. He either drank because he was nervous or because he was overconfident. Marcus was undecided as to which one was the cause. “You must be expecting more guests, we are uneven numbers for whist right now.”
“We will be thirty for dinner, and my sister will join us shortly. She is my hostess tonight.”
Marcus tried to hide his surprise, but his brow must have shot up in question.
“My stepsister.” The baron clarified. “My stepmother’s daughter, Miss Sophia Chelmsford. My friends generally like seeing her preside over the dinner table.”
Marcus was taken aback for a moment. A young married woman appearing as hostess for a dinner mostly attended by men was rare enough; a young miss not out in society would ruin her chances for a decent marriage. Surely Tillister wouldn’t allow that.
“Ah, I do seem to remember the late baroness had a daughter.” Out of the corner of his eye, Marcus noted the brooding young man start for Tillister with a murderous look on his face, but two of the horse-mad brothers held him back. Something involving Miss Chelmsford was going on and Marcus promised himself to get to the bottom of it. Aunt Milly may be right to worry about the girl.
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