TAKING THE STAGE
SOULGIRLS #2
by HEATHER LONG
Roseâtre takes one look at the white tigers that the
stage manager has brought in to shake things up at the Midnight Mystery Lounge,
and nearly has a heart attack. It doesn’t matter that the beautiful creatures’
handler raises her pulse and makes her want to purr. The tigers are sure to
recognize her—and arouse her need for the hunt.
Pride outcast Anthony diNapoli wasn’t expecting to
encounter an Amazon princess when he brought his white tigers to the lounge.
The lucrative show will go a long way toward securing his future, but not if he
gives in to the urge to make her submit to his dominance, and claim her as his
mate.
No matter how desperately her body aches for the
sun-kissed stranger and his completely lickable abs, Roseâtre is no man’s
prize. Yet she finds herself hungering for Anthony to defeat her and take her
for his own.
It’s show time in the Arcana Royale’s Midnight
Mystery Lounge and all bets are off.
Warning: Contains sword fights, shackles, sexy showgirls, and a game of dominance
between a determined weretiger and an Amazon who refuses to submit. Blades,
bliss and battles, oh my!
Taking
the Stage
Soulgirls
#2
Release
Date: Aug 13, 2013
ISBN:
978-1-61921-580-1
Samhain
Publishing
Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Diesel
|Kobo | Samhain
About
the Author:
A national best selling author, Heather Long lives
in Texas with her family and their menagerie of animals. In addition to
military romance, Heather writes a wide variety of romance from paranormal
historical western romance to contemporary romance and romantic suspense. She
loves characters and the stories they have to tell. As a child, Heather skipped
picture books and enjoyed the Harlequin romance novels by Penny Jordan and Nora
Roberts that her grandmother read to her. Heather believes that laughter is as
important to life as breathing and that the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy and
Santa Claus are very real. In the meanwhile, she is hard at work on her next
novel.
Contact
Details:
Website: http://www.heatherlong.net
Email: heather@heatherlong.net
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/HeatherLongAuthor
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/HVLong
Enjoy the following excerpt for Taking the Stage:
“Not the toes.” Roseâtre refused to squeal. As lead
dancer for the Arcana Royale’s Midnight Mystery Lounge, she would never squeal
or scream, but her voice pitched high enough that the syllable at the end of toes cracked.
The great white tiger snuffling her feet through the
five-inch strappy black-and-sapphire Louboutins rolled his head away. Instead
of obeying, he stroked a whiskered cheek down her bare leg.
“Cut!” Voice booming, the show’s stage manager
hustled out from the wings. Heidi was a brisk woman with a quick temper and a
stout body, dedicated to creating the best shows. After Pandora’s escape from
her contract, she relied on all of her girls to have the same dedication to the
performance, Roseâtre more than most.
Pandora. She’d always made the lead look easy. She’d walked
out on the stage and owned the audience. Roseâtre believed Pandora could have
shared the stage with twelve chimpanzees and it wouldn’t have mattered. Gazes
would have been riveted to the tawny nymph.
The white tiger stretched out his neck and yawned,
showing off a mouthful of glistening teeth. He flexed his paws, claws scoring
the stage. She wasn’t fooled by the sleepy-eyed expression or house-cat
similarities. Big cats weren’t pets.
The rest of the dancers relaxed from their poses,
some even dropping down to coo and stroke the cats whose arrival had elicited a
long round of awws and aren’t they sweets. Roseâtre, however,
shifted away from the cat with his tickling whiskers and raspy tongue.
“Rose?” Heidi beckoned, a pen behind one ear and a
notebook tucked under her arm. She pursed her lips in a
you’re-not-in-trouble-yet moue, but the wrinkles knitting her brow told an
entirely different story.
“Yes, ma’am?” Roseâtre didn’t drag her feet. One
certainly never dragged Louboutins, but she couldn’t quite resist displaying
her mutiny with an uplifted chin and wrinkled nose.
Cats.
Her nose twitched. Her sinuses burned. Her eyes
threatened tears. But she maintained her composure.
Damn cats.
“Look, I know you’re not thrilled with this idea.”
The opening gambit was classic Heidi, softening her up for the too-damn-bad
often attached to those statements.
Closeted together at the far end of the stage,
Roseâtre was glad to be out of earshot of her shield-sister Cerveau, the other
dancers and thankfully, the damn tigers.
The Midnight Mystery Lounge was closed for an entire
week so the dancers could learn this new act. She’d woken to the bad news that
the diNapoli Tigers—tigers—were
joining the show for a three-month trial to drum up business in the magical
casino and resort.
“But you’re just going to have to get over it. The
apothecary will provide you with a tea for your allergies. We need this show
and you’re the headliner. That means you and the tiger will be all over each
other on that stage and you’re going to love it.”
And there it was, the verbal slap demanding
submission. The command chafed. But a promise was a promise and she was as
bound by her oath as her shield-sister Cerveau was by her curse.
“Is there any way we can do this without cats?”
“Not really, no.” The sympathy was real, but from
Heidi’s compressed expression, the stage manager was plainly not on Roseâtre’s
side. “I’m sorry, Rose. But the diNapoli Tigers were an enormous success in
Monaco and Paris. We need them for resurgence of interest or the Overseers may
very well break up the show.”
“Really?” Panic drifted under the surface of her
skin, sending her heart puttering. The Overseers controlled the Arcana Royale,
the sprawling complex where meta-humans of all types were welcome and could be
themselves. They controlled the shows, the people and in the case of the
dancers, their souls. Breaking up the show meant the dancers with varying
leases on their souls could be placed elsewhere at the Overseers’ discretion.
Worse, Roseâtre and Cerveau could be separated.
Roseâtre couldn’t allow that to happen. She’d sworn an oath. Pride could be
sacrificed. Honor could not.
A shield-borne oath was an oath.
“I’ll try.
It’s not just the allergy, though.”
“What is it?”
No simple answer existed. Roseâtre glanced over her
shoulder to where the great cats lounged. Some groomed themselves while yet
another rolled over on its back, presenting its belly to Peppermint for
attention. Of all the dancers, Peppermint was the most gracious, the most
loving and the most likely to enjoy gamboling with the tigers on the stage.
“I assure you, nothing
is wrong with my cats.” The dark,
deep masculine tones teased up her spine. She jerked her attention back to
discover a bare-chested, bare-footed blond god had joined them.
Oh my. Who did he kill to get those abs?
She snapped her jaw shut with a flicker of
irritation, and forced her gaze up from the hard six-pack of clear-cut muscle
to roam over the ripped planes of his chest and shoulders.
Dear gods, does it end?
The cool dislike in his blue eyes slapped her back
to the present. Everything about the man seemed larger than life, from his
thick thighs, easily three times the size of hers, to his wide hands and
square, chiseled jaw.
“Roseâtre, Anthony diNapoli.” Heidi’s snapped
introduction rebuked her. “Anthony, this is our headliner, Roseâtre.”
Be professional. She extended her hand and kept
her gaze focused above his chin. Despite the five additional inches her
designer shoes added to her considerable height, topping at around six foot,
the man towered over her.
And he inspected her with an air of detached
amusement, his gaze clearly dipping below her chin to where her breasts
strained against the confinement of the black leotard.
“Your pleasure, I’m sure.” The bastard smiled and
ignored her hand.
“Anthony’s cats are in high demand, and he’s
graciously consented to this trial contract so we’re going to do the best we
can to make the most of this situation.” Heidi turned to Anthony as though
unaware of the icy drop in Roseâtre’s regard. “We’ll add extra rehearsal time
so Roseâtre and her cat can get used to each other.”
We will? Incredulous, Roseâtre could barely pull her eyes
away from Anthony to look at the stage manager. “More rehearsals?” Tired of
holding her hand out to the air, she let it drop.
“Absolutely.” Heidi nodded briskly, clapping her
hands and striding away to gather the dancers, completely ignoring the cats
with the poise of one who was likely more dangerous than the wild animals.
“Ladies!”
Cerveau stood next to Kiki, Peppermint and Amber,
the question in her expression obvious, but Roseâtre shook her head, waving her
off with one short hand gesture. She didn’t need backup.
“So what’s your problem with cats, princess?” The
words shivered up her spine. Anthony’s voice prowled behind her, his body heat
brushing against her in challenge and invitation.
“Does it matter?”
She didn’t have to play nice. The bastard couldn’t
be bothered to shake her hand.
“It might. You’re going to be riding my tiger every night for the next three months.” The words
dripped with mockery and some other indefinable emotion.
Roseâtre shifted away, sparing him a dismissive
look. She’d practiced the art of cool disdain for years under her mother’s
tutelage. He might call her princess in his low, rolling sexy voice as a jest,
but it didn’t make it any less true.
“What’s the problem now, princess?”
“You’re getting sarcasm on my shoes.” She lifted
one, taking great care to inspect it.
Anthony threw his head back and laughed, a deep
belly-trembling shout of amusement.
The noise drew the dancers’ attention like children
to free chocolate. Cerveau’s face twisted comically, a mixture of censure and
curiosity reddening her cheeks. She wouldn’t approve the tone, but she would
appreciate the cause.
“You still haven’t told me why you don’t like my
cats.”
“They’re cats.”
Head canted to the right, he studied her. The deep
blue of his eyes was enhanced by a circle of darker blue along the iris. His
pupils seemed to blink on their own, but that wasn’t possible. Roseâtre forced
her gaze back to his dimples, just barely disguised by the thick rush of blond
beard coating his cheeks.
“Cats are magnificent, bold and affectionate
creatures. They are slow to trust, but have unshakable loyalty.”
“Until you’re dead and then they just eat your
corpse.” She shuddered.
He laughed again. “You don’t need your body when
you’re dead.”
She was missing everything Heidi was saying to the
other dancers. Clearly, the stage manager didn’t care because she wasn’t even
looking in Roseâtre’s direction, much less shooting her with her optic laser
beams of impatience.
“I’d rather my body was undisturbed, thank you very
much. The idea of anything feasting after I’m dead is unappealing.” Not to
mention sacrilegious. A warrior’s death should be honored with blades and
flame, never teeth.
Or, the gods forbid, a hairball. Roseâtre grimaced.
“Would you prefer they do it while you’re alive?”
The silken whisper brushed against her ear. Tingles raced over her skin from
the sweep of his beard on her cheek.
Heart leaping, Roseâtre barely managed to suppress
her startled scream and settled for smacking his chest. The hard muscles didn’t
even budge as her hand made contact, leaving a vivid, white mark against the
golden tan.
“You really need to stop doing that.” Enough is enough. The man might be here at
Heidi’s request or the Overseers’, but his job was to deal with the damn cats.
“Stop what?” The mock innocence coating his teasing
grin reminded her more of the tiger yawning than it did a conciliatory gesture.
“Invading my bubble.” She rolled her hand in the air
between them. “You haven’t been invited into my bubble.”
The coolness in his gaze warmed considerably, his
grin widened. He was obviously enjoying the hell out of her irritation.
“How does one get invited into your bubble?” He
batted the air in front of her, a downright playful gesture that sank its claws
into her belly.
Nope. Not going to be turned on.
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