Taking the Stage
By: Heather Long
Synopsis
Roseatre 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
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.
My Thoughts
As soon as I saw Heather Long was a fan of both Penny Jordan and Nora Roberts, I knew we would be friends. Her newest release, Taking the Stage, is book two in her Soulgirls series and follows the romance of slave Roseatre and wild cat trainer, Anthony.
I don't want to give too much away as far as plot, but I will say I had a bit of trouble reading it since I hadn't read the first in the series. Characters and the plot line was a little murky so I found myself reading the first one and then moving on to Taking the Stage. This might be my own little quibble though, because plenty of other reviewers had no problem.
Taking the Stage has excellent character building - I loved how hard they fought with one another. They were funny and the interactions heated. The sex...yum! I think Long has done a good deal of world building here and I'm looking forward to what she has next.
Interested in trying Heather's newest tale of forbidden love?
Check out the links and the excerpt!
Contact
Details:
Website:
http://www.heatherlong.netEmail:
heather@heatherlong.netFacebook:
http://www.facebook.com/HeatherLongAuthorTwitter:
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.
