The House of Elyot

A Taste of Springtime Honey

Posted on: March 20, 2011

The vernal equinox is upon us, presaging all that is fresh and green and new, including my fresh, green new release from Total E-Bound, Honeytrapped. It’s a Lust Bite, so a tender morsel of around 11K words on the subject of failed detective work and scorching tango teachers and how the twain meet.

Here’s an excerpt:

“Okay then,” he said, all businesslike and brisk. And hot. And masterful. And suggestive. And the sexiest thing in the whole world, no, no, no. “Let’s start at the very beginning. By the way, ten pounds should cover it.”

“Bargain!”

“Glad you think so. Good. What we start with, Tilly, is the frame.”

Her spine tingled at the way he spoke her name, then the tingle sparked into a full frisson once he took her right hand in his and lifted it to his shoulder level, bringing it out to the side of their bodies, which were pulled suddenly close as Norman’s left arm enclosed her upper back.

More than a frisson now, more like a full-scale shiver, as their chests met and their abdomens pressed together, as far as they could given the height differential.

“It’s called the abrazo – the embrace,” said Norman, his voice filtering down from somewhere above Tilly’s head, which was less than an inch from his firm shoulder and the glorious scent of aftershave that clung to his neck. “In Argentine tango, the hips don’t meet. The man has to give his partner the freedom to follow his every step. Perhaps freedom isn’t quite the word – because I’m afraid that you, as the woman, have no say in how the dance goes. It’s a macho dance from a macho culture. You may need to leave any politically correct baggage at the door. At least until the dance is over.”

Tilly could hear the smile in his voice, but the weight of his hand at her back, and his tight grip on her gave her the strange feeling that he revelled in being able to exhibit his unashamedly masculine side. And who could begrudge him that, when it was such an attractive spectacle?

“I can see that you’re about a foot shorter than me,” he murmured, using his body to make subtle adjustments to her stance so that she felt like a poseable doll. “But that needn’t be a problem. Now really, what you have to do first of all is familiarise yourself with the rhythm. I’ll take you through it.”

Without warning, his hips launched them into a series of steps, deceptively simple at first, but then mutating into unexpected complications that meant Tilly got her toes stepped on rather heavily.

“Ouch! It’s because you’re making me go backwards!” she complained. “I hate not being able to see where I’m going.”

“I’m steering. You don’t have to see. You just have to feel. Later, when we get to the stage of locking eyes, you will have no choice.”

“I don’t have that kind of…soul,” objected Tilly plaintively. “I don’t feel stuff. I have to see it.”

“Ohhh, nonsense,” crooned Norman, and his tone was so shockingly seductive that she had to close her fists, clinging on to him tighter than ever in order not to lose footing. “I think you have the pulse in you. I mean, you do have a pulse.” Jokingly he moved one thumb down to that point in her wrist that jumped and raced. “Rather a quick one. The dance is exciting you. So that means you do have that kind of soul.”

It’s not the dance, it’s you, you great lummox!

Get on your dancing shoes and get your hot copies here.

 

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