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REVIEWS for Dancing with the Devil

4 Cups: "Dancing with the Devil is one of those exceptional stories that will send chills down your spine. Nothing is scarier than a crazed old woman who craves youth so much she will dance with the devil. Fascinating characters and a very intense dialog keep you on the edge of your seat from the beginning. Set at a fast pace, you go back into time with Lorna Desmond as she tries hard to reach for her youth through two young people. And each step brings a chilling end. Spicy sex scenes top this thriller off, making it one story you will want to read over and over again." —Wateena, Coffee Time Romance  

STORY EXCERPT

Shania thought about the sounds she'd heard the night before, and the voice that had come through the locked door. He was tormented, desperate. Who was the real Devil around here? The man, or the woman who had him locked up? Shania's eyes lifted, and saw Dagmar studying her. “Dagmar, you're not crazy. What's going on around here?”

Dagmar's dry old lips turned up in a crooked grin. “You'll find out. Time you did, too. Now you pick up that tray. You ain't a guest in this house no more, you work to earn your keep.”

Realizing she had no choice, Shania picked up the tray with trembling hands, then followed Dagmar as she led the way up to the tower. When she reached the top, she slowed. She remembered standing in front of this door the night before, and knew it hadn't been a nightmare—at least not the kind that came to her in her sleep. She held her breath as Dagmar took the key out of her apron pocket and stabbed the keyhole. What would she find behind the closed door? A maniac? A crazed madman, perhaps? Instead she saw a man lying on the bed splayed out, resembling a sexy centerfold. He looked spent, his long, dark hair tangled around his face, his broad, muscled chest heaving with life. His face almost took her breath away. On one hand, the shadow of his beard gave him a virile, manly aura, yet on the other his face was so perfect, so symmetrical, that anymore delicacy would have made him too beautiful for a man. His body was magnificent—muscled and hard. A thrilling tingle buzzed through her when she thought of how he might feel beneath her touch. This was the Devil? More likely he was a god.

* * * *

Lance opened his eyes when they came in, and immediately noticed Shania. He sat up slowly, keeping his eyes on her. His stare was bold as he assessed her frankly. He gazed at her red hair, the color of firelight, and her bright green eyes—large and enticing holding a starry glitter. They weren’t wide and innocent as he might expect of one so young, but had a certain laziness that caused a burn in his groin. Her face, creamy and dimpled, her lips soft and pink—so very inviting, and strangely erotic. Moist like the petals of a rose. When he saw how well she filled out the top of her halter, he was reminded of how long it had been since he'd been with a woman.

Suddenly he was in another world—a world where they both lay on a bed of tangled sheets. Oh, God, how his mouth tingled at the heavenly sight of her full young breasts, heavy and round, and budded with pink nipples. Firm, they were, firm, taut, and waiting. Oh, God, he was hungry, so hungry for a woman.

This one, he thought as he looked into her steamy emerald eyes then shifted to her perfect lips, would do so nicely.

As he mounted her in his fantasy, parting her young thighs, he became ridiculously hard. So hard he could feel himself growing into the soft cleft between her legs—so very close to the hot, pulsing sheath that would surround his cock. His skin tingled as he ran his hands over her velvety smooth body, wanting so badly to enter her and begin the mad push and pull until he was wickedly satisfied…

Suddenly he was jolted back to reality when his gaze moved downward and he saw scars on her naked midriff. For one crazy moment he thought he’d hurt her. “Oh, God…I…”

“I was running through the woods,” she said timidly when she saw him staring. “I must've fallen.” She indicated to the tray. “I brought your breakfast. You look kind of hungry.”

“Yes—hungry,” he said, knowing she must have been the one at the door the night before. Reaching out to take the tray, he lightly touched her, then boldly moved to wind his fingers around hers beneath the tray. Their eyes met, each remembering their encounter the night before. Now the touch they shared beneath the door meant so much more. She'd sounded frightened, unsure of herself. Apparently she wasn’t part of this household. Part of the insanity that was running rampant through it. If she didn’t leave there must be a reason. Maybe she was like him—held against her will!

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