It’s a little hard to get off with a chick who’s wearing a librarian bun.


I beg to differ. I mean look at Margot Robbie. That is one hot librarian bun. I have illustrated just how sexy a bun can be in the prologue of my new novel The Demon Duchess (out now, excerpt below). The chignon (fancy name for bun) has always been one of my favorite hairstyles. I’m such a fan of the elegant coif that I have built an entire character around it. And I love her almost as much as I love her perfect low-riding knot. Ah, to wear a chignon—to have hair so silky and pale that it shines like platinum—to be an ice queen like my beloved Baroness, with slender proportions and a cool wit. And oh, her fascinating coil.

My heroine may have a fascinating coil, but she is also a giant pain in the ass. No one knows this more than her horse trainer, Jack Johnson, who is trying to make love to her. If I had a man like Jack Johnson in my bed, I wouldn’t be so difficult, but then again I’m no baroness.


Even though he had just agreed not to touch her, his hand went to her hair next, disentangling the tight knot at the base of her neck.

“Leave it,” she hissed.

“It’s a little hard to get off with a chick who’s wearing a librarian bun.”

“It’s a chignon, you horrid man. And I’m not a librarian—I’m a bloody baroness.”

They squabbled and griped at each other as they conjugated, shifting and fidgeting, grumbling and swiping at each other to get somewhat comfortable, or as comfortable as two people could be who detested each other but found their sexual organs mutually involved.

“I don’t suppose I need to tell you I quit.”

“Quite right, you’re fired.” She said as she picked up the pace, posting over him with excellent posture.

“Your heels are digging into my thighs,” he complained. “I hate your fucking shoes.”

“That makes two of us.”

“Take them off, goddamn it.”

His hands slid into the pumps, grabbing her under her delicate arches. She bucked and screeched and he immediately withdrew his hands.

“Mr. Johnson—I’m terribly ticklish!”

She broke into a fit of spasmodic giggles. He cracked up too at the ridiculousness of the situation.

Jack had almost forgotten they were having sex. All the arguing had thrown him off course, but their shared laughter had relaxed things. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her smile. She’d stilled her rocking hips and her hands came to rest on his shoulders. His attention was brought back to the lavish feel of her body around him, the feminine scent of her and the way her cat-eyes grew luminous when she was more at ease.

“Let’s start again,” he suggested softly.


She nodded slowly. “All right.”

Tessa Bowen