Recently, I came across two books with lots of “sword” mentions and since I am, um, 12, it amused me to point them out:
From Sabrina Jeffries’ Never Seduce a Scoundrel
He laid his hand on the hilt. “It’s the mameluke sword I offered to show you.”
A thrill shot through her, unbidden. All right, so the scoundrel had brought her the one thing guaranteed to spark her interest. That didn’t mean she should fall down at his feet in a swoon.
“How kind of you,” she said coolly, though she ruined the effect by hurrying over to clear a space for it on the end of the table opposite where Mrs. Chaperone continued to eat her breakfast. “Bring it over here so I can see it.”
He did as she asked, unsheathing the sword and laying it before her. With her heart in her throat, she examined it thoroughly, imagining him wielding it in battle.The curved hilt of gold-plated brass shone gem-bright, even in the foggy-morning light. But the blade itself was what interested her. “What are these?” She indicated the black, Eastern-looking symbols etched along the nearly three feet of tempered steel.
“I don’t know what they all mean, but this one is the Star of Damascus.” He pointed to a six-pointed star. “Damascus sword craftsmen use two triangles joined as a sign of their guild.”
“May I touch the symbols?” she asked.
“Be careful, my dear,” Mrs. Chaperone called from the other end of the table.
“Yes,” he said, “don’t cut yourself. This is a working sword.”
“A very hardworking sword, I’m sure.” It’s numerous nicks and worn spots attested to that. Amelia fingered each one, wondering where it had been acquired. “Did you carry it at Derna?”
“No. My government only issued the mameluke to the rest of us after Hamet presented O”Bannon with his.”
“It’s astonishing.” She skimmed her fingers down the blade. “You keep your sword in excellent condition, Hero.”
“I do my best.” His voice sounded rather choked.
She glanced up to find him staring at her hand as she stroked down the blade, then up again. What was wrong with him? It wasn’t as if she could hurt the steel by touching it. From the way he stared, she’d have thought the sword was a living thing, for goodness sake.
Next we were instructed to caress that “sword” men carry between their thighs, first with our hands and then with our mouths.
Surely he was not . . . he did not imagine that she . . .
She started to jerk her hand back, but something stopped her. The harem book had said that a man became uncomfortable when he was aroused. And Lord knew she wanted to make the major uncomfortable. Deciding to test that possibility, she caressed the sword again, this time with a lingering, loving touch. “It’s truly magnificent,” she gushed.
He went rigid, a muscle working in his jaw. “Thank you.”
“I’ve never seen such a fine piece of work.” Delighted by the results of her experiment, she stroked the weapon up and down.
His hand shot out to halt hers. “You might hurt yourself. The blade is sharp.”
“It certainly is,” she said coyly. She moved her hand away . . . only to clasp the hilt.
His audible groan made her want to crow aloud.
She fondled the hilt. “Would you let me do a rubbing of it?”
His gaze shot to hers, and the heat in his eyes gave her pause. “A rubbing?” he said hoarsely. “Of my . . . er . . . sword?”
“Yes. I’d take care not to use too much pressure.” She smiled sweetly, though his smoldering gaze made it difficult to breathe. “But I doubt I could harm it, as hard as it is.”
“You have no idea.” Without warning, he sat down rather stiffly in a chair and pulled it up to the table.
“Hero,” Amelia admonished him, managing a frown, “it’s impolite to sit before all the ladies are seated.”
copyright: Sabrina Jeffries
From Madeline Hunter’s The Charmer
Jacques threw up his hands. . . . “You do not deserve her, and unless you plan to use that sword, we will not let you force her to return.” “Then I will have to use the sword.” “If you use it with the skill that she says you deploy with your other weapon, we are safe.” Utter silence this time. Not a sound, not a movement. The air stilled around them. Sophia tried to speak, but her wide-open mouth would not move. Finally Adrian shifted his weight and scratched his brow, as if checking to be sure that he was really standing on this ship and had just heard correctly. “Are you saying that Sophia told you that she is leaving because I am a poor lover?”
I love both authors although I do admitting to liking Hunter a little bit more than Jeffries since she is more of an emotional read for me. If you know of any other books with lots of “sword” play, please let me know so that I can check them out.