Ok, this should have gone up before the excerpt from Untamed, but uh. . .I don’t want to point fingers or blame anyone, so it’s just going up now! It really is a good book.
SNEAK Peek from Chapter 3
Ever felt like you were leading a double life? Sparks fly and passions flare when former Roxbury House orphans, oh-so-proper barrister, Gavin Carmichael and music hall chanteuse Daisy Lake AKA Delilah du Lac meet fifteen years later in a smoky London supper club. Can this on the surface mismatched couple really have a shot at a sexy second chance at love?
E-X-C-E-R-P-T
“The boy I love is up in the gallery,
The boy I love is looking down at me,
There he is, can’t you see, waving with his handkerchief,
As merry as a robin that sings in a tree.”
—The Boy I Love Is Up in the Gallery, Music hall song made famous by Marie Lloyd
The song spiraled to a close, and Daisy parked herself by the piano to catch her breath. Draping an arm about the pianist, she called out, “Maestro, for my final number give us a cross between spicy and sweet, if you please.”
Each night, her act concluded with her selecting one man from the audience to bring up onstage for her most seductive number. This night’s selection would be “A Little of What You Fancy,” made popular by music hall legend, Marie Lloyd. Like any song, it was the delivery more so than the lyrics that set the tone of the piece. A suggestive smile, a shimmy of shoulders or hips, a subtle inflection of voice could transform the most demure of drawing room melodies into the bawdiest of ballads. It was all in good fun, and the audience ate it up as evidenced by the hefty tips that came her way afterward.
The handsome dark-haired man sitting at one of the front row tables with his friends had caught her eye from the very first. A real gentleman, she’d thought, but beyond that he had the look of someone she’d once cherished and lost, Gavin Carmichael, the orphan boy she’d idolized as a child. For a split second, she’d actually thought he was Gavin before dismissing the notion as fancy fed by wishful thinking and a more than passing resemblance. Taking in his confident carriage, the apparent ease with which he chatted with his tablemates, and the habit he had of looking everyone, including her, squarely in the eye, she told herself he couldn’t possibly be the sweet, stammering, slope-shouldered boy of her memory.
Like Gavin, this solemn-eyed man struck her as the serious sort, not one to appreciate being singled-out and subjected to a feather boa looped lasso-like about his immaculate shirt collar—which made the prospect of tweaking that aristocratic nose and coaxing a flush into those high-boned cheeks all the more irresistible.
From the orchestra pit, a drum roll sounded, her cue to sashay down the stage stairs and choose her night’s “victim.” Summoning her most sultry smile, she announced, “I’ll need a volunteer from the audience. Whichever of you fine, strapping gents shall it be, hm?”
Predictably, hands shot up to the sky along with calls of “Over ‘ere, sweet’eart,” and “Pick me. Me!”
Playing to the crowd, she pursed her painted lips into the pout she knew from experience would turn every man within eyeshot into a randy, raving lunatic. “Oh, my so many gallants to choose from, my poor head is spinning.”
Tapping a finger to the beauty patch beside her mouth, she made a show of scanning the audience, pausing every now and again to hesitate over a pair of pleading eyes or to smile into a flushed face, all the while knowing exactly who she would pick—the dark-haired archangel with the sad, solemn eyes and the beautiful lips. For the span of a single song, she simply had to have him.
“I think it will be…you!” She stabbed her finger at him and then crooked it, beckoning him onstage.
Looking like a startled stag confronted with a hunter’s rifle, for a handful of seconds he stared at her unmoving. One of his grinning friends jabbed him in the side. Coming to, he looked back over his shoulder as if the object of her pointing must be sitting at a table behind him. Daisy hid a smile and silently counted off to five. By “four” he’d turned back to her, expression horrified. Staying in his seat, he jerked his head back-and-forth and mouthed “no.”
He’s shy, she thought, followed by how delicious. After two solid weeks of being ogled by brutes and occasionally pawed by the bolder ones, the prospect of having to coax a man onstage with her was strangely titillating. Watching the mortified flush spread over his high-boned cheeks, she felt a jet of warmth shoot between her thighs and was startled by it. Though her act was overtly sexual, when performing she was very much detached from her body. More often than not, she felt as though she’d left her physical self entirely, as though she were the puppet master pulling the strings behind the scene of a Punch and Judy show only instead of Punch, the puppet she manipulated was called Delilah. The byplay and banter she kept up with the males in the audience was entirely for show. The allure of her act rested on her ability to convince every man in the room she must be mad for him, but the truth was she’d never once felt the slightest sexual stirring while onstage—until now.
Heart drumming and palms perspiring, Gavin watched Daisy sashay down the steps, the spotlight following her as she headed straight for him. As much as he’d wanted to see her, becoming part of her act hadn’t been any part of his plan.
She drew up at their table. “Bonsoir, gents. Do any of you lads know French? It’s the language of love after all.” Even though she addressed the trio as a group, Gavin didn’t miss how her eyes never left his face. God, Daisy.
Rourke volunteered Gavin to speak any language she fancied and gamely suggested they commence with Latin. Faces wreathed in grins, he and Hadrian shifted to the side to make room.
Daisy flung her slender arms out to the side and announced to the audience, “I think our handsome friend must be shy. Are you shy, sweetheart?” Gaze locked on Gavin’s, she leaned over the table, sending cleavage spilling out the top of her gown, and ran her tongue along the seam of her lips, a slow, deliberate slide that had the heat pooling in his groin. Straightening, she called out to the other tables, “Come on fellows, this fine young gentleman wants for encouragement. Let’s give it to him, shall we?”
A wave of boos and hisses rolled over the room. From the back, someone called out “Pisser” and another more benign voice added, “Lucky bloke,” but for the most part Gavin was too caught up in his beautiful tormentor to pay them much heed.
Wrenching his gaze away from her, he pleaded with his friends. “You go, Patrick. You fancy being front and center more than I.”
“Not a chance.” Rourke reached across and slapped him on the back. “It’s your night. It won’t kill you to have a bit of fun for once.”
Mortified, Gavin swung around to Hadrian. “Harry?”
Hadrian shook his head and then gave him a thumbs-up. “Can’t, mate. Callie would have my cock on a platter if she ever found out and even if she didn’t, I’ve had more than my share of show girls in my bachelor days. Pretend you’re in court before the judge and jury if that helps you. Whatever it takes, go to!”
Gavin started to answer he didn’t care to “go to,” but instead found himself swallowing a mouthful of feathers. Standing behind his chair, Delilah ran practiced palms over his shoulders and down his shirtfront, stopping barely above the waistband of his trousers. Fingers pointed downward, she brought her mouth over his ear. “Either be a sport and come on stage with me or have me finish out my act here. What’s it to be, chéri?”
The threat levered Gavin to his feet. Face burning, he submitted to her winding the boa about his neck and then using its tail as a leash to lead him onstage. He mounted the platform amidst raucous applause just as two burly stagehands set down a gilded chair sideways in the spotlight.
“Take a load off, love,” she said, shoving both hands against his chest. Falling back into the seat he caught a whiff of the cool, clean scent of peppermint on her breath, her favorite sweet from all those years ago.
Like Delilah seducing Samson or Salome dancing for Herod, she circled him, her swaying movements matching the tempo of the music, her every teasing gesture designed to arouse. Standing in front of him, she slowly peeled off her elbow high opera gloves finger-by-finger; the left hand with her teeth, a slow, seductive striptease. Gavin sucked in his breath, hoping his erection wasn’t visible to the audience as it must be to her.
She bent over him, grabbing the back of his chair with both hands. Her breasts were a hairsbreadth from his mouth, her green foxfire gaze a burn he felt like a brand on his flesh. In the subdued lighting, her skin, very white and slightly damp, glowed like pearls.
Turning her face to the side, she called out, “I think he likes it, gents. What about you?”
The crowd roared its approval and Gavin more than suspected his wasn’t the only hard-on in the room. Coins fell upon the stage floor like hail, one striking Gavin in the outer thigh. Delilah smoothed her hand over the smarting spot and cooed, “Poor baby,” loud enough for the audience to hear. The next thing he knew she was in his lap, or rather straddling it, a leg on either side of his chair. Hands braced atop his shoulders, she wiggled her bottom, her sultry smile telling him she was feeling every brick hard inch of him.
All at once, her eyes flashed open and her jaw dropped, taking her smile with it. “Gavin?”
He nodded. His mouth felt too dry for speaking but he managed to mouth the words, “Yes. Yes, it’s me.”
In that moment, he forgot he was on stage, forgot he was a respected barrister in a compromising, some might say humiliating position, a collar of feathers about his neck and a boner tenting his trousers. Feeling as though his blood had turned to molten lava, he threw back his head and fitted his hands to her hips and let her dance in his lap in time to the music.
She pulled back, and he fancied the sudden hitch to her breathing and the trembling of her thighs wasn’t part of the act. That now that she saw him for who he was, she was feeling it too, something so bold and powerful and altogether erotic that surely simple lust must pale in comparison.
The music built to crescendo. Her eyes found his. Looking apologetic if not precisely shame-faced, she whispered, “It’s the finale. I’m…I’m sorry.”
Before he could ask what she was sorry for, she arched back, and he found himself on eye-level with her splayed thighs, a sliver of moist pink flesh peeking out of her the slit in her silky black drawers. Suddenly she flipped over, somehow managing to execute the somersault without kicking him in the face. Bounding to her feet, she turned to the audience. In one smooth motion, she reached down and pulled the drawstring of her bloomers. The garment felt away in two halves, revealing the scanty black lace thong beneath.
To a man, the crowd surged to its feet. More money fell upon the stage, crumbled pound notes this time amidst catcalls and wolf whistles and thunderous applause. Playing to the applause, she strutted up and down the stage, stopping periodically to bend over and pick up the money, a devise to show off her exquisitely tight milk white bottom.
Hands full, she pranced back to the piano and dropped the heap of collected coins atop. “Our volunteer has been a proper sport. He deserves something sweet, doesn’t he, Ralphie?”
The pianist obliged with a violent nod. “Aye, Miss Du Lac, seems he ought to get somethin’ for ‘is trouble.”
Daisy winked, a broad gesture meant to be seen all the way to the back of the room and strolled back over to Gavin, still seated in the chair. She settled a hand atop each of his shoulders and looked long and deep into his eyes. “Fancy a sweet, love?”
Gav, have you brought me your sweets again this time?
Gavin opened his mouth to answer that no reward was required but before he could, she grabbed him by the shirt collar and crushed her mouth to his. Drowning in a sea of peppermint and applause, Gavin shot up from the chair, wrapped his arms about her slender waist, and lifted her off the ground.
Off into the distance, a male voice yelled out, “That’s the way, mate. Give her a good rogering.”
The crude remark returned Gavin to reality. He wrenched his mouth away from Daisy’s and looked over her slender past her to a sea of salivating faces. All at once he remembered where he was and, more importantly, who he was.
“Enough!” He stripped off his evening jacket and threw it about Daisy’s shoulders. Staring into her startled eyes, he said, “This is for your own good,” and swung her up into his arms.
