Hey, y’all! I’m BA Tortuga, resident redneck and lover of all the voices in my head. This is an excerpt from the rerelease of my erotic romance, Private Dances, the story of a cowboy-turned-pole dancer and the millionaire that desires him.
Dale is working his way through college as an exotic dancer. While he prefers to keep his performances public, it’s tough to say no to the private dances, even though they’re risky. Three songs, just dancing, no touching—Dale can do this and be handsomely compensated.
For Italian businessman Adriano “Gen” Genovese, the handsome cowboy tempts him into wanting more than one dance. Gen convinces Dale to indulge in another dance and a night in his decadent hotel room. He introduces Dale to a glittering world of wealth on a scale Dale has never even imagined.
As the romance between the down-home Texas student and the millionaire playboy heats up, they come to realize the only risk they face is losing their hearts.
Cat gives this one 4 Meows with a 5 Purr heat index...
Dale is a college student that dances at a male club to pay his schooling and bills. He hates the private dances until he meets a sexy , rich, Italian businessman Gen.
Gen finds himself quickly addicted to the young cowboy dancer.
Private Dances is a very sexy sweet romance. Dale and Gen's romance moves quickly. There is lots and lots of graphic sex, a fun trip to Rome and a small plot twist near the end.
I just wish there had been more story and a little less sex.
If you like sexy Italian businessmen, young male dancers, and lots of steamy man-sex you will like this.
Private Dances Excerpt
“You needn’t look so worried.” Reaching out, Gen covered one of his hands, the fingers closing around his. “We have shared a fine meal. If you wish to leave, I will have Paolo take you home.”
Dale gave Gen a smile. “Not worried, nervous. There’s a difference.” Not much of one, but there was.
“There is.” Rough in texture, soft in touch, Gen’s fingers stroked his hand, turned it so the touch found his palm, making his fingers curl. “Come and sit with me awhile. Such a meal needs time to digest.”
Dale nodded, stood, fingers still twined with Gen’s, strangely reluctant to let go. They made their way to the largest of the sofas, and Gen pulled him down to sit close. The muscles all along Gen’s arm and thigh were firm and strong against him, the fabric of Gen’s shirt soft, maybe silk.
“Thank you for supper, sir. It was good.” He felt all lazy and excited at once—like he could feel every inch of skin.
“I enjoyed it the more for the company. It has been a long time since anyone intrigued me so, Dee.”
“Dale. Dale McBride.” He met Gen’s eyes, shrugged. “Dee’s my stage name.” If he was gonna get personal with the man, he’d best do it for real.
“Dale.” Gen smiled, and Dale was getting good at telling the real smiles, because they actually drew the skin up around Gen’s eyes. “We progress, I think. How long have you been dancing?”
“Almost eight months.” He hadn’t intended on dancing. Hell, didn’t know he could.
“You have a talent for it. You are quite something to watch.” Gen… leaned, and suddenly their joined hands had slid down to the inside of his thigh.
His legs parted instinctively, muscles shifting in his jeans. “I just sort of do what feels right. It works better than a big choreographed deal.”
“Yes. It works very well. I’m sure I am not the only one who thinks so. The man I was with the first night. He wanted you as well.” The back of Gen’s hand rubbed against the seam of his jeans, so lightly that it seemed accidental.
He wrinkled his nose without even thinking. “That part… that’s my job.”
“So you like the dance, but not so much the customers, hmm?”
Okay, that was no accident. Gen had very deliberately turned their hands so Dale was touching himself through the denim, pressing down against his cock.
Dale shifted, hips rolling a little. “I like some of the customers. The private dances are… challenging. Unnerving sometimes.”
“I imagine.” The warm weight at his side increased as Gen leaned against him, the pressure of their joined hands sliding, pushing. His chin dipped, lips parting on a low groan. Talk about unnerving. Oh, Lord. Gen finally gave up acting like they were just sitting, turning to catch his lips, kissing him like the first time. Gentle. Easy.
Oh, now. That was… fine as all get-out.
Texan to the bone and an unrepentant Daddy's Girl, BA Tortuga spends her days with her basset hounds and her beloved wife, texting her sisters, and eating Mexican food. When she's not doing that, she's writing. She spends her days off watching rodeo, knitting and surfing Pinterest in the name of research. BA's personal saviors include her wife, Julia Talbot, her best friend, Sean Michael, and coffee. Lots of coffee. Really good coffee.
Having written everything from fist-fighting rednecks to hard-core cowboys to werewolves, BA does her damnedest to tell the stories of her heart, which was raised in Northeast Texas, but has heard the call of the high desert and lives in the Sandias. With books ranging from hard-hitting GLBT romance, to fiery menages, to the most traditional of love stories, BA refuses to be pigeon-holed by anyone but the voices in her head.
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