I’m glad to be part of Romancing The Blog’s celebration of Contemporary Fiction. There are 22 of us in different contemp genres, so be sure to go look around!
I’ll choose a winner from the comments here to win a copy of Pier Lights as a thank you for coming to play. Either leave an email address or check back on Tuesday to see who won.
Here’s my debut novel, Pier Lights. It is first of a series of dancers in lighthouse locations.
Caroline was a relevé away from becoming prima ballerina when, partly due to her own actions, she was damaged enough to never be allowed en Pointe again. Returning to her hometown area, she finds a grittier dancing job and determines to land on top this time.
Dio hides away on his farm near Charleston, South Carolina, and ventures out only when he can be in disguise. He uses his swordsman skills to work out aggression and connect with others while he maintains distance.
When the two collide on the beach in the glow of the lights from the pier, their personal scars push them away, and pull them in, just as the ebb and flow of the Atlantic.
A sparkle in the water caught her eyes and she paused, then wandered closer, slowly. He was there. Out farther in the water and harder to see. But he was there. Caroline got as close as she could and spread her towel on the sand. Lowering, again slowly, so as not to catch his eye the way he’d caught hers, she crossed her left leg in front of her, the right leg out straight, and gazed out at his motion, his elegance, his skill. His dance.
He was a Man of La Mancha dancer except with more focus on the sword movements than on the dance techniques. Caroline frowned. Maybe that wasn’t true. The dance technique for him was the sword movement. The sword was an extension of him. His skill was every bit as trained as her own, his body every bit as controlled and precise. He would be a good dance partner.
And if his big sword, the shiny hard long extension of his body, was any clue as to the rest of him, he might be good at other things, also. She was tempted to swim over to his boat and find out.
Then again, he could be as much putty and bluster as nearly every other man she’d met. Better to admire him from a distance and make believe he would be worth sleeping beside, worth her energy and patience and skill.
Not that she was terribly skilled in that way. She had other skills she cared more about and skill in that department wasn’t terribly necessary, that she’d found. As long as she complimented her mate, she came off as skilled enough. They cared more about their own skill, real or not, than hers. She just had to be there.
Putty and bluster.
Maybe Mr. Big Sword wouldn’t be either. But some things were better left unknown.
She needed to leave. A yawn told her she’d reached her limit for the day’s energy. Rising slowly, still watching the man she could barely see, she froze when he stopped. He set the tip of his sword down, again between his slightly spread thighs, or just in front of them. And he stood still, faced her direction.