Deanna will be awarding a $25 Amazon or B&N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.
Juggling two jobs to keep her belly dance studio afloat keeps Abby
Anderson’s mind off her shattered love life—until a reawakened pain sends her
into the arms of an anonymous stranger she plucks from the audience of her
tribal belly dance show. No names, no strings, no romance. She tells herself
it’s a harmless hookup.
Until he turns up at her day job . . .
Derek Collier, the sexy heir to the Collier media dynasty, just
landed everything he’s always wanted: the publisher’s seat at the Orange County
Herald. Except his first order of business is to sell the newspaper. Reeling
from his family’s betrayal, his only comfort is the memory of that mysterious
belly dancer and the perfect night they spent together.
He won’t rest until he finds her again.
She’ll lose everything if he does.
By the time Abby took her place on the small stage,
the lights were low, and a slow, snaky melody had filled the restaurant’s main
room. She was only a silhouette to the roomful of diners, holding her pose like
a living statue. She usually closed her eyes during this prelude and focused on
the energy of the music and the audience.
Not tonight.
In the darkness, her gaze roamed. She wanted a good
view before the stage lights came up to brighten her, and blind her.
Nearly every seat was filled. A good draw for a
Thursday night. Mostly couples, some groups. But it was the single men she
searched for. The ones who sat on the fringe to watch.
Would it be the college jock tipping back beer in a
bottle? The shy guy in the Oxford shirt fidgeting with his soda straw? Maybe
the older . . .
A Suit at the bar caught her eye. One hand wrapped
around a highball glass, the other tugging at his tie. Calm. Confident. And
sexy as hell. The way his gaze locked on her made her tingle in all the right
places.
He was the one.
Derek Collier sipped his Macallan 18 and watched
the restaurant’s belly dancer come alive to the hypnotic rhythm pulsing through
the dining room. When he’d seen the words “belly dancing” glowing in blue neon
beneath the Sultan’s Tent sign, he’d expected the kind of flashy beads and
sequins dancer he’d seen a hundred times before.
He didn’t expect this.
The poster at the front called her Zenina, a tribal
fusion belly dancer. Whatever that was. From his vantage point at the bar, she
looked like nothing he’d ever seen—part bohemian waif, part harem fantasy, part
. . . Damn, the way she swayed and writhed up there was making it impossible to
think.
DeAnna
Cameron writes novels featuring feisty heroines transformed by true love and
belly dance—the oldest and most exciting dance form in the world. Her novels
have been translated into Japanese, Polish, and Serbian, and her work has been
praised for its “deft prose, energetic characters and . . . colorful images” by
RT Book Reviews and called “most entertaining” by the Historical Novel Review.
Before turning to fiction, DeAnna worked as a journalist, writing and editing
for several Southern California newspapers and magazines. She’s a member of
Romance Writers of America, as well as its Orange County chapter. When she
isn’t working on her next novel, she can usually be found at her jeweler’s
bench, creating new wire-wrap, bead, and multimedia designs. She lives in
Orange County, Calif., with her family. 
Thanks for hosting!
ReplyDeleteThanks for featuring SHIMMY FOR ME today! It’s been a blast sharing my fascination with belly dancers with others. I think they’re just about the sexiest, most adventurous and interesting people I know. It’s still early here in California and I’m just getting going. Need coffee!!! I’ll check back later to answer any question, if anyone has some. :)
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