by Diane Demetre
Dance of Love Book Two
Born to Dance… Dying to Love
At twenty-four, Samantha O’Brien scores her dream job as a dancer at the famous Moulin Rouge, only to arrive in Paris to find her well-laid plans in disarray. Fortuitously, Sam is rescued by the eccentric, tarot-card reading proprietress of Hotel Hollandaise, who cautions that Paris is for lovers, but not always love.
As Sam launches into her new career, the show’s super sexy, Sicilian stage director, Tony Di Falco reveals he is more than just a creative genius and hard taskmaster, leaving Sam to wonder whether secrets, specifically her own, are indeed best shared.
Meeting Philippe Lacroix, a struggling, young artist in Montmartre saves Sam from imploding under the pressure. He introduces her to the city of love, captivating her with his angelic good looks and sensuous touch. Yet the mounting attraction intensifies between Samantha and her passionate nemesis Tony, and a tense, sexually-charged relationship threatens to overwhelm them both. But the show must go on.
Filled with backstage bitchiness, tough rehearsals, a sprinkling of cocaine and the French addiction to cigarettes, Samantha grapples with her new life. Then without warning, Sam’s destiny changes literally before her eyes and she finally discovers that even in the most romantic city of the world, you don’t find love, love finds you.
Genre: Erotic Contemporary RomancePurchase link(s): Luminosity Amazon ARe iTunes Kobo B&N
Content/Theme(s): Ménage, Actor, Dancer, Director
Release Date: March 1, 2016
Publisher: Luminosity Publishing
Excerpt & More
She was free. She was alive. The rich smell of baking bread wafted up from the ovens downstairs heightening another sense in her performance. With arched feet and explosive muscles, she transformed into the ballerina she had trained to be. Floating like a cloud, she soared around the small flat, dancing intricate steps in time with the music. Folding forward and backward around Philippe’s table, she hovered in mid-air before curving her supple spine until her head almost touched her buttocks. Sam was lost to the magic of Tchaikovsky and Philippe seemed lost to the magic of her. Then on the second chorus, she lifted first one leg and then another, extending each overhead in elegant développés with feet pointed to the heavens. Philippe sat mesmerized as she exposed not only her body but her soul, just for him. On and on her solo continued interwoven with the oboes and flutes. Pat de chats, arabesques, glissades, step after step, Sam executed with complete control and yet with complete abandon. Twirling to and from the bed, reaching to Philippe then pulling away, she resembled a nymph in the forest, untamed and delicate. Her black hair whirled around her face while her blouse seemed to transform to sprite’s wings. With crescendo building, she gathered speed without falter in the tiny space. With nowhere to go, she leaped high on the spot scissoring from one side to the other, until, having used every inch of the space, she spun, arms outstretched for a grand landing on the bed.
Philippe sprang to his feet applauding loudly. “Magnifique. Magnifique.” He dropped to his knees beside her and peppered kisses all over her face.
Big heaving breaths escaped Sam’s chest as a satisfied smile spread across her face. She licked her lips, eager for a drink. Registering the need, Philippe bounced from the bed and returned with a glass of water. ‘Samantha O’Brien. You are indeed a star.” He handed her the glass and she sipped slowly. Her lids fluttered at him and her awareness of her nakedness returned, as did the ache between her legs.
When she regained control of her breathing she said, “So, Philippe, perhaps it’s time to show me how much you enjoyed my performance both last night and now.” Sam was surprised at how brazen her remark sounded, but she didn’t care.
His lips were upon her throat before she took her next breath. “Of course, La Goulue. I have a little surprise for you, though. Why don’t you undress and I will return.” Philippe left the bed like a thief in the night. Now hungry for the promised love-making session, Sam unbuttoned her blouse and slipped out of her bra in double time. Just as she was about to jump under the covers, Philippe leaped on the bed and stood over her straddling her naked body.
“Lie down,” he said. She did but her body was beginning to chill. She needed warmth for her muscles. Just as she began to shiver Philippe raised his hand high in front of him and from it drifted a flurry of white powder. It was sprinkling all over her like tiny snowflakes.
“Philippe, what are you doing?” She coughed a little as some caught in her throat.
“You are my star. You are more beautiful than Tchaikovsky’s sugar plum fairy so I am covering you in sugar dust.” In his voice humor and passion partnered while in his hand he held a flour sifter. With each punch of the handle, he released another dusting of baking sugar over Sam’s body until she resembled a human-pastry dusted in sugar. Once satisfied with the result, Philippe jumped from the bed, throwing the sifter to the floor.
“Now I will eat you.” He stood straight and tall, legs splayed, hands on hips, his shorts trying to contain his manhood.
“Philippe. You look like Peter Pan.” Sam giggled with girlish innocence, causing the powder to tremble on her body like water on a beating drum.
“Is that so?” Philippe did his best impersonation of J. M. Barrie’s boy hero as he tore off his sweater. Spinning it three times above his head, he flung it to the far corner of the room where it obviously surprised Jasper who meowed in disgust.
Dropping the act, Philippe skulked over to her. The mood changed to one of intense sexual tension as he growled his pledge. “Now I will eat you.”
Purchase link(s): Luminosity Amazon ARe iTunes Kobo B&N
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