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(Written with Mari Carr)

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Two to Tango

She’s got the rhythm, but he’s got all the right moves.

Ballroom Blitz

© 2012 Lorelei James

A
Two to Tango
Story

After years on the road, rock drummer Jon White Feather is home from tour to reassess his music career. When his shy niece begs him to take a ballroom dancing class, Jon agrees, aware he’s not Fred Astaire material. Still, it stings when his sexy-hot instructor—who makes his heart do the cha-cha—deals his ego a low blow: he has no rhythm.

Maggie Buchanan is doing everything to make ends meet since her IT career fizzled, including teaching couples dancing at the community center. She’s prepared for anything—except her immediate attraction to the bad boy rocker who doesn’t know his right foot from his left.

As Jon sets out to prove he can rock his body—and hers—their sexual chemistry burns a path across the dance floor, straight to the bedroom. And Maggie wasn’t expecting a man with limited dance skills would know exactly how to sweep her off her feet.

Warning: Sweet and hot…this couple knows how to bump and grind.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Ballroom Blitz:

But the second night was more of the same torture. Jon was hapless and Raven tried not to act annoyed or mortified about the extra attention they received from the instructors because of his screw ups.

However, Jon certainly didn’t mind having Maggie’s soft curves pressed against him as she walked him through the dance steps. The woman was an enigma; confidently giving instructions to the entire class and yet blushing so prettily when they were pressed body to body. He was actually sorry when class ended.

After the rest of the students took off, Jon noticed Raven wasn’t racing out the door, but in deep conversation with Seth. He wandered over to where Maggie sat on the bench, changing shoes.

“So it is true,” he said, sitting sideways on the bleachers beside her.

Maggie glanced up. “What is true?”

“There is such a thing as putting on your dancing shoes.”
Lame, Jon.

“Different types of dancing shoes for different dances. Probably like you use different drums for different parts of a song?”

“You’d be correct.” He angled forward. “So while I’ve got you alone…give it to me straight. Am I failing class?”

The corners of her lips curled into a smile even as she remained focused on buckling her shoe. “This isn’t a pass-fail situation. I’m giving you an A for extra effort.” Maggie’s eyes met his briefly before her attention drifted to his arms. Her gaze started at his wrist and moved up to his bicep. “I’ll admit I’ve been admiring your cool tattoos during class.”

“Do you have any tats?”

“No. Never had much chance to see artwork designs up close to see what my options are.”

He held his arms out. “Go ahead and take a closer look if you want. See if there’s anything you like.”
Feel free to touch as much as you want.

Her eyes clearly broadcast
I want
, even if her alluring mouth stayed closed.

The first tentative touch on his forearm was potent as an electric charge. He held himself still, willing that charge not to travel straight to his dick.

Her cheeks were flushed. Her blue eyes bright. Tendrils of reddish-blond hair had escaped from her tight bun, tempting Jon to loosen it completely and crush the soft stands in his hands. Or smooth the strands back into place just to touch that creamy-looking skin. Maggie unsettled him. She was wholesome looking and a little shy—not his usual type. So his immediate attraction to her was baffling. Not unwelcome, just confusing. Question was, did she feel the same pull?

Yes, if he went by the way her hand trembled when she touched him.

When her soft fingertip drifted over the crease of his arm, he bit back a growl. Oblivious to his response, she continued the northerly progression, one hand clamped around his wrist, the other hand driving him out of his mind with a mix of innocent curiosity and overt sensuality.

“Are these marks tribal symbols?” she asked, continually caressing the same section of black swirls and scrolls.

“I told a buddy of mine who’s an artist I wanted markings with a tribal feel, but more artistic. So they don’t mean anything specific.”

“So it’s wearable art that’s unique to you.” Her thumb swept across the stylized barbed wire motif on his bicep. “Even if the design was used on another person it wouldn’t look the same. Your skin coloring gives it a different dimension. As does your musculature.” She ran a fingernail on the underside of his arm. “Your biceps and triceps are amazing.”

“I can’t take credit for that.”

“I’m pretty sure you weren’t born with all these muscles.” Maggie looked at him, as if startled by what she’d said.

When she attempted to remove her hand, Jon placed his palm over hers. “Thank you. Most of the time I get grief for the tats. I’m happy to hear a beautiful woman appreciates them.”

“I do.” She wet her lips and her gaze dropped to his mouth.

Sweet Jesus. She was killing him. Everything about her embodied soft and sweet—her hands, her mouth, her eyes, her tender touch. Which ironically enough, made him hard as a fucking drumstick.

“Maggie?” Seth called out.

They both jerked back.

“Yes, Seth?” she said a little breathlessly.

“Can you show Raven a couple of steps?”

Maggie said, “Sure,” and stood. She faced him. “Truly magnificent, Jon.”

“Glad you like them.”

“I wasn’t talking about the tattoos.” Then she spun, leaving him staring after her.

Whoa. That comment had dripped with sexual sizzle.

Hmm. Maybe Maggie Buchanan wasn’t as soft and sweet as he first believed.

He kissed the girl and he liked it. Now to convince her it could be love…

A Touch of Confidence

© 2012 Jess Dee

A
Two to Tango
Story

When a coveted retail space opens up in Rose Bay, Claire Jones and her sisters waste no time grabbing the perfect spot to relocate their expanding children’s bookshop. But when Claire arrives to sign on the dotted line, she discovers someone else got there first.

Worse, the new tenant is shaking hands with a man who is definitely
not
the elderly Jack Wilson with whom she made a verbal agreement three days ago. This Jack Wilson is a tall, hunky giant—and no amount of righteous indignation can mask her body’s bone-deep sexual response.

Jack never planned to take over the family company; he’s a teacher, not a businessman. But with his grandfather in the hospital, he’s taken up the reins—and steered straight into trouble. Now he’s faced with a serious mistake, and a beautiful, Amazon warrior of a woman who’s demanding satisfaction.

He’d love to give it to her, but his idea of
satisfaction
has nothing to do with business, and everything to do with getting the curvy goddess naked. The sooner the better…

Warning: If you’ve never made love to a man who quotes Shakespeare during sex…be warned. You’re gonna want to after reading this book.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
A Touch of Confidence:

He had no idea what it was about Claire that had his balls all tangled up in knots, but spending twenty minutes in a car with her sent his libido sky rocketing.

The second he’d closed the driver’s door, her perfume had overwhelmed him, and he’d known he was going to have to kiss her again. So kiss her he did. With her body trapped between his and her seat, he took ownership of her mouth and refused to release it.

Her laughter died on her lips, and her breath hitched. For a good few seconds she froze, her jaw slackening with surprise.

Good enough for Jack. It offered his tongue free entry into her tempting mouth. He dipped it inside and ran it along her tongue, then withdrew, driven by a consuming need to nibble on her lower lip.

Dragging his teeth over that pouty flesh, he sucked it into his mouth and nibbled to his heart’s content. Only his heart demanded a whole lot more than her lower lip. It demanded full ownership of her mouth and body, and he had to force himself to go slow, to focus only on the nubile flesh between his teeth, sucking, nibbling and releasing it in slow succession.

A throaty groan erupted from Claire, and then her hands were on his head, pulling his face closer. Her fingers tunneled through his hair, tickling his scalp, massaging it, holding him there.

She was responding, kissing him back, nipping at his lips, seeking his tongue. Their mouths melded together and the kiss turned hot so fast, the windows steamed up.

Fuck, he’d damn near come in his pants from kissing her yesterday, and he feared he might face the same dilemma today. Still, it didn’t stop him, didn’t inspire him to pull his mouth away even one inch.

Claire emitted soft, hungry moans that played havoc with his already knotted balls. She kissed him as though she fed off his mouth, gaining sustenance from him. And damned if it didn’t give him an erection from hell. Damned if her enthusiasm and her taste didn’t have his hand on her breast and his fingers gently squeezing the abundant flesh.

She more than filled his palm, making him greedy to touch all of her, greedy to have both breasts in his hands—unencumbered by shirts and bras.

All his life he’d favored small women. Short, thin and small-chested, everything Claire was not. Yet here, with her tantalizing tongue tempting his, and the nipple of her ample breast tightening beneath his touch, he had no idea how he could ever have found skinny women more appealing than this beauty.

Jack lost himself to her kiss, to her feel, to her touch. Their mouths worked in perfect accord, as if they each instinctively knew what the other sought or needed.

Or perhaps Jack just knew what he instinctively needed and sought to give her the same. One thing he did know was that kissing Claire Jones was an experience he wished to relive over and over again. Or maybe he’d just ensure this kiss never ended.

But a kiss would never suffice. His cock pointed out that fact as it swelled against his zip, demanding attention, demanding satisfaction, demanding access to Claire’s body.

He pulled away with reluctance, then almost sealed their lips together again when Claire groaned in protest.

He forced his eyes open, forced himself to look at her, and had to bite his cheek hard at the sight that greeted him. Claire’s head was tipped back, her eyes closed and her lips swollen and parted. It took every iota of willpower he possessed not to clamp his mouth back over hers.

“Unless you want me to strip you naked and fuck you in this car, right here, in the middle of Mosman,” he rasped, “I suggest you climb out very quickly.”

Her eyes popped open, their hazel rims almost invisible around huge black pupils.

“I seem to have very little control when you’re around, Miss Jones.” He grit his teeth, pain and frustration radiating from his pelvic area, making speech almost impossible. Jack pushed through it, aware that his hand was still on her breast, his thumb brushing over the distended nipple. “Go now, before I rip off your shirt and suck on your nipples.” He yanked his hand away, knowing if he moved any slower, he’d never release her.

They sat in his car on Military Road in broad daylight. Anyone could look inside. And while the idea of being watched bothered him not at all, he couldn’t bear Claire facing that indignity. She’d blushed just discussing their kiss yesterday, done her best to deny it. If strangers saw her getting naked with him, he suspected she’d never get over the humiliation.

She stared at him with dazed eyes, blinking rapidly. It took a while, but her gaze began to clear. Her pupils contracted and the hazel rims grew bigger. As her gaze sobered, so did her expression. She snapped her mouth shut and color flooded her cheeks.

“Go now,” he half whispered, half threatened and pushed back, freeing her. He used the hand that had been on her breast to unclip her seatbelt, lest he slip and replace it on her soft, round globe and tease her nipple with his thumb once more.

Claire scrambled from the car, clonking him on the shoulder in her haste. Her color grew deeper as she called out an apology, but at least she was no longer beside him, beneath him, tempting him with her presence.

Fuck, if his pop could see him now, he’d smack him one on the back side of his head. It was bad enough he’d messed up with the contract. But to mess around with one of his clients would never suffice. Big Jack would not stand for it.