Fresh from the post-Civil War salons and drawing rooms of Boston, Lucy McKenna considers herself a sophisticated young woman. But when she meets Texas rancher Ambrose Quince, she turns into a flustered girl. He’s too old, war roughened and unrefined—and she has no idea how to deal with the sensual hunger he inspires.
Ambrose falls fast and hard for the innocent debutante visiting Eclipse, Texas. Persuading Lucy to accept his pursuit becomes a duel of wits and passion as he awakens her desire.
Lucy leaves Boston and childhood behind when she becomes Mrs. Ambrose Quince. Her lonely days on the Double-Q ranch are filled with work and frustration. But the nights are spent in her husband’s arms, learning carnal awareness…one molten caress at a time.
Quincy’s Woman is an enthralling first-person read which takes you through a short portion of Lucy McKenna’s life as she moves to Eclipse in Texas. I didn’t know what to expect from this story as it was written in first person but Gem Sivad writes in such an amazing style you really feel from all of the characters through Lucy. There were moments I had to put it down because I felt so sorry for her as her life is turned upside down and she doesn’t always know what to do or how to react in certain circumstances. The love between Ambrose and Lucy is beautiful if not frustrating at times but overall this is one of the best books I’ve read this year, and I went and checked—there are other books relating to this one.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Mr. Quince stood behind me, close enough so that I could feel the heat of his body.
I moved away, putting space between us and he said, “Hot out here for a woman with such delicate skin. I imagine you’d like to shuck some of those fancy clothes right now.” He made statements like that often, not seeming to understand the inappropriateness of his personal observations.
But he held me fast, and I didn’t struggle for release when he continued the kiss. He savored my lips and murmured sounds that vibrated across my nerve endings. At first, I felt the barest stroke of his tongue—a not unpleasant sensation of wet heat touching my bottom lip. Nudging against the seam of my closed mouth, he muttered, “Open for me.”
Heat pulsed through me and I leaned into his kiss, obeying his order. It was as if I had no will of my own and must comply. He slid his tongue with shocking smoothness through the narrow space I allowed. My whimpered distress didn’t deter his intent. He tasted me, stroking my tongue with his in the most startling fashion.
“Kiss me back, Lucy,” he said against my lips.
And many, many more.
A keeper and one that will not disappoint anyone.