Who knew ballet could be so dangerous?
Bestselling author, Tara Lain, plunges into the world of romantic suspense in her Dangerous Dancers series. Combining kidnapping, theft, mayhem and murder with Lain’s renowned romantic touch, these books keep your blood pumping and your focus en pointe.
Bestselling author, Tara Lain, plunges into the world of romantic suspense in her Dangerous Dancers series. Combining kidnapping, theft, mayhem and murder with Lain’s renowned romantic touch, these books keep your blood pumping and your focus en pointe.
Golden Dancer
(Dangerous Dancers Series, #1)
By Tara Lain
Blurb:
Blurb:
A reporter and the thief he's investigating both fall for a golden dancer forging a ménage of love and lies that could send one to prison and one to the morgue. Will he get his story or will he get his men?
Mac Macallister is obsessed. The online news reporter needs enough evidence to write a story accusing billionaire art collector Daniel Terrebone of stealing The Golden Dancer, a priceless work of art, from son-of-a-Nazi Horst Von Berg. The story promises the recognition Mac craves. Then Mac meets a real golden dancer, ballet star Trelain Medveyev, and his attraction to the man rocks his formerly straight world.
When the mysterious Terrebone "collects" this beautiful dancer, too, Mac rushes to the rescue like a knight in shining cargo pants and plunges into a three-way passion that tears him between love and guilt. Can Mac keep investigating when his story could send one man to prison and another to the morgue? Will this reporter get his story or get his men?
Publisher's Note: This book has previously been released elsewhere. It has been revised and re-edited for re-release with Pride Publishing.
Available for pre-order at
Release Date:
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016
Excerpt
Mac turned.
Trelain rocked what he guessed would be called a dressing gown. It was a long
robe, but more substantial than a bathrobe, and clearly made of silk. Far from
an English country-house paisley, this was in some watercolor print of aqua and
gold. I must be allergic to silk because, man, it is tough to breathe.
In that get-up, the person in front of him could be a woman, and a very
beautiful one at that. The face was a really handsome guy, but the golden hair
softened everything. Jeez, it played with his mind.
Trelain rocked what he guessed would be called a dressing gown. It was a long
robe, but more substantial than a bathrobe, and clearly made of silk. Far from
an English country-house paisley, this was in some watercolor print of aqua and
gold. I must be allergic to silk because, man, it is tough to breathe.
In that get-up, the person in front of him could be a woman, and a very
beautiful one at that. The face was a really handsome guy, but the golden hair
softened everything. Jeez, it played with his mind.
“Mac?”
Shit. He’d been
staring. “Yeah. Here’s the stuff.” He pulled the little bottle from his jacket
pocket where he’d stashed it in the restaurant.
staring. “Yeah. Here’s the stuff.” He pulled the little bottle from his jacket
pocket where he’d stashed it in the restaurant.
Trelain took it
and walked toward the kitchen, putting the analgesic in his robe pocket. “Can’t
I tempt you with something more interesting than water? Some champagne,
perhaps?” He didn’t wait for an answer—just removed the foil on the bottle and
opened the cage with the precise six turns. Mac knew that piece of erudite
trivia from the story he’d done on champagne last year. Trelain applied a thumb
to the cork and, pop, it opened with the soft sound that indicated he
knew what he was doing and hadn’t damaged the wine. He poured into the sides of
two flutes and held one out to Mac. “Come sit.”
and walked toward the kitchen, putting the analgesic in his robe pocket. “Can’t
I tempt you with something more interesting than water? Some champagne,
perhaps?” He didn’t wait for an answer—just removed the foil on the bottle and
opened the cage with the precise six turns. Mac knew that piece of erudite
trivia from the story he’d done on champagne last year. Trelain applied a thumb
to the cork and, pop, it opened with the soft sound that indicated he
knew what he was doing and hadn’t damaged the wine. He poured into the sides of
two flutes and held one out to Mac. “Come sit.”
Trelain installed
himself on the couch, set down his glass, pulled the little bottle from his
pocket and opened it. He sniffed tentatively.
himself on the couch, set down his glass, pulled the little bottle from his
pocket and opened it. He sniffed tentatively.
Mac laughed. “It
won’t bite, I promise. Just drip some into your palm and then apply it to the
area that hurts. I’d better get a washcloth so you can wipe clean afterward.”
He walked to the kitchenette, found a clean towel, wet it then crossed to the
chair. Trelain dropped a little of the blue liquid with the strong cinnamon
smell into his long, slender hand. He sniffed again, raised a leg onto the
couch, and uncovered himself up to his thigh. Shee-it. He’d seen his
parents’ feet and legs thousands of times, but this felt…intimate. Trelain’s
feet were heavily callused, the toes pushed together as only a true dancer’s
could be. And the leg? It looked more like something carved from marble than
from flesh. Sculpted, hard as stone.
won’t bite, I promise. Just drip some into your palm and then apply it to the
area that hurts. I’d better get a washcloth so you can wipe clean afterward.”
He walked to the kitchenette, found a clean towel, wet it then crossed to the
chair. Trelain dropped a little of the blue liquid with the strong cinnamon
smell into his long, slender hand. He sniffed again, raised a leg onto the
couch, and uncovered himself up to his thigh. Shee-it. He’d seen his
parents’ feet and legs thousands of times, but this felt…intimate. Trelain’s
feet were heavily callused, the toes pushed together as only a true dancer’s
could be. And the leg? It looked more like something carved from marble than
from flesh. Sculpted, hard as stone.
Trelain began to
run the scented liquid over the back of his calf and up onto his thigh. Jesus,
he was playing patty-cake. “No, dig in. Really work it into the muscles.”
run the scented liquid over the back of his calf and up onto his thigh. Jesus,
he was playing patty-cake. “No, dig in. Really work it into the muscles.”
Trelain dug in
for a couple of strokes but then pulled back his hands and shook them. Yeah,
massaging marble couldn’t be easy. But crap, his leg hurt, and the magic blue
stuff could help if he just did it right. Mac shook his head. “That’s not going
to get the job done.”
for a couple of strokes but then pulled back his hands and shook them. Yeah,
massaging marble couldn’t be easy. But crap, his leg hurt, and the magic blue
stuff could help if he just did it right. Mac shook his head. “That’s not going
to get the job done.”
“Sorry. I’m
spoiled. I have a masseuse that travels with the company.”
spoiled. I have a masseuse that travels with the company.”
In frustration,
Mac rose and sat beside the man on the couch, handing him the damp towel. He
grabbed the bottle from the table and dotted some of the warming liquid into
his palm. “Here, let me.” He grabbed the dancer’s foot, pulled it into his lap,
and began rubbing the carved muscle of Trelain’s leg with deep, penetrating
strokes. “Like this.” One stroke, and he knew this was not his father. In fact,
it was a hell of a mistake.
Mac rose and sat beside the man on the couch, handing him the damp towel. He
grabbed the bottle from the table and dotted some of the warming liquid into
his palm. “Here, let me.” He grabbed the dancer’s foot, pulled it into his lap,
and began rubbing the carved muscle of Trelain’s leg with deep, penetrating
strokes. “Like this.” One stroke, and he knew this was not his father. In fact,
it was a hell of a mistake.
The beautiful
head hit the back of the couch. “Chyort! That feels incredible.” Trelain
moaned. Mac tried to pretend he didn’t feel the satin texture of that skin,
like silk over steel.
head hit the back of the couch. “Chyort! That feels incredible.” Trelain
moaned. Mac tried to pretend he didn’t feel the satin texture of that skin,
like silk over steel.
Mac cleared his
throat. “You, uh, really have to dig in, this way.” Mac’s fingers pushed into
hard muscle, the liquid warming his fingers. Yeah, it wasn’t his fingers he was
worried about. Why was he doing this?
throat. “You, uh, really have to dig in, this way.” Mac’s fingers pushed into
hard muscle, the liquid warming his fingers. Yeah, it wasn’t his fingers he was
worried about. Why was he doing this?
Trelain moaned
luxuriously, his head moving back and forth against the couch. That wasn’t all
that was moving. Holy shit. This wasn’t happening. The front of the silk
robe rose like an expensive tent. Wasn’t the guy wearing any underwear under
that thing?
luxuriously, his head moving back and forth against the couch. That wasn’t all
that was moving. Holy shit. This wasn’t happening. The front of the silk
robe rose like an expensive tent. Wasn’t the guy wearing any underwear under
that thing?
He felt like a
damned snake charmer. He couldn’t look away or stop doing the thing making that
serpent rise. He just kept rubbing. Trelain’s eyes stayed closed. Most guys
would make a joke. He said nothing.
damned snake charmer. He couldn’t look away or stop doing the thing making that
serpent rise. He just kept rubbing. Trelain’s eyes stayed closed. Most guys
would make a joke. He said nothing.
About the Author
Tara Lain writes the Beautiful Boys of Romance in LGBT erotic romance novels that star her unique, charismatic heroes. Her first novel was published in January of 2011 and she’s now somewhere around book 23. Her bestselling novels have garnered awards for Best Series, Best Contemporary Romance, Best Ménage, Best LGBT Romance, Best Gay Characters, and Tara has been named Best Writer of the Year in the LRC Awards. In her other job, Tara owns an advertising and public relations firm. She often does workshops on both author promotion and writing craft. She lives with her soulmate husband and her soulmate dog in Laguna Beach, California, a pretty seaside town where she sets a lot of her books. Passionate about diversity, justice, and new experiences, Tara says on her tombstone it will say “Yes”!You can find Tara at
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