Laura Drake dropped by the virtual offices to share an excerpt and the cover for her new Harlequin Superromance, Her Road Home. Check it out, and if you enjoy the excerpt, you can pre-order by clicking the links below.
EXCERPT – HER ROAD HOME by LAURA DRAKE
“I’m full blooded Italian.” His back to her, he added, “My mom taught me. Those are my best memories – she cooked to Verde and while the pasta boiled, we’d dance in the kitchen.” The soft pain in his voice sounded like a bruise – an old, deep bruise.
He turned, and held out a hand. “Will you dance?”
She stood like a scared rabbit. You don’t want to give him mixed messages.
The violin wove through the music, a crying thread of sadness.
He doesn’t want you, he wants a memory. You could give him that.
She looked up.
His hand hung outstretched. “It’s only a dance.”
His soft smile convinced her. She stepped forward and took his hand.
It was large and warm, the calluses a reminder that this dance partner was also her mechanic. He swept her away, gliding across the kitchen, his steps sure and graceful. He held her classically, giving her space. But his pheromone-loaded working man smell bridged the gap. She took a long breath of him and held it, feeling no guilt – she was doing him a favor, after all. His strong arms supported her but didn’t push; suggesting movement rather than demanding. Relaxed in his surety, her awkward body shifted — to something petite, fragile, almost graceful. She felt like Cinderella, at the ball. When he spun her, a bubble of joy rose in her chest until it burst from her mouth in a laugh.
If this man loves like he dances, any woman would be toast.
Not that she’d ever know. She stiffened, her fairy tale moment popping like a soap bubble.
He danced her back to the stove and pulled her into a brief, fierce hug. Lips beside her ear, he whispered, “Grazie, bella signora.” He released her, and stepped back.
She curtsied low. She had no idea why; surely it was the first curtsy of her life. But something in the formal passion of the old world music and his courtly manners made her feel . . . womanly.
He turned to the oven, missing her blush.
You’re a little old to play princess, Crozier. And a Tiara doesn’t fit under a motorcycle helmet.
About the book:
You can find Laura here:
Barnes and Noble – http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/her-road-home-laura-drake/1114668442