FREE TO DANCE

Amaryllis Series #7

by Tracey Jerald

Cover & Excerpt Reveal

Release Date: May 10, 2021

Cover Design: Amy Q @ QDesigns

Genre: Contemporary Romance
Trope: Age-gap, angsty

Just dance

Marco Houde’s world revolves around the impossibly alluring nightclub built on the outskirts of Manhattan. Even as the wealthy and elite line up night after night for entry, there’s a part of him few manage to touch.

Then he watched her saunter into Redemption. Fireworks went off inside him.

Brilliant financier Lynne Bradbury is determined to give her best friend the bachelorette party of her dreams. Along with the rambunctious Freeman clan, she ends up moving and shaking in the VIP section. But it isn’t long before she accuses him of being a bad liar for treating her differently than he does the others.

She just doesn’t understand why.

As the music plays, Lynne can’t quite shake off the feeling there’s more to Marco than meets the eye, especially after he whirls her around the dance floor.



Because that one dance between them changes everything.

Corinna scoffs at me. “Right. The enticing and mysterious Marco Houde greets a woman—any woman—with reserved politeness in Redemption. Tell me, does this mean the next time I come here, will the club be under renovation to become a Regency-era tearoom?”

I shudder at the very thought. “Please. You’re imagining things.”

“That isn’t something you need to concern yourself about, Ms. Bradbury,” Corinna mimics me.

I flush hotly. “The only way you know that is if she told you.”

“Call it concern when I saw a discontent friend amid what should have been a joyous occasion. Lynne’s smart. She recognizes there’s something you don’t like about her. Unfortunately, she’s associated your behavior with her past.” With that, Corinna moves away.

Embarrassment cascades over me. Quickly, I do my job and keep an eye on the restroom in the VIP section for Lynne to come out. I need to make amends, and quickly.

That’s when I hear Jenna shout. “Damn! How do we get down to the dance floor? I want to see my bestie shake it like that up close!”

The dance floor? That can’t be right. But I slip a small pair of binoculars I keep in my pocket out and see just what Jenna does from the front of the VIP section—Lynne’s shapely limbs moving sensuously to the pulsating beat.

No. Fucking. Way. There’s no protection down there. That delectable woman will be fair game.

Tossing the binoculars on the counter, I pull out my cell and order Louie to the VIP section immediately. After he confirms he’s on his way, I slip out the back. I sneer when I do because the guard I engaged to protect the hidden entrance is talking to one of the patrons instead. With an audible growl, I hurry past. I’ll deal with that later. I have to get down to the dance floor first. I’m riding the edge of a feeling I’ve never experienced.

To stake a claim.

As I careen down the stairs, I send a text to the DJ in the booth. I push my way through the crowd just as a Sia song begins to play.

And I witness why dance is poetry in motion.

Lynne’s lost in the music, her eyes closed as her hands chase the air before touching skin that’s so translucent I wonder if it will bruise when I take her in my arms for the rest of the dance. Moving forward, I place my hands on my hips and wait for the perfect moment to intersect our bodies.

When I do, a gasp of air releases from her lips. I want to drink it in. Instead, I drop my head until my lips are right next to her ear. “Let’s see how you dance with a partner, mon étoile.” My star. Because watching her on the dance floor, that’s what she reminds me of—something I’ll be burned by if I touch, but I can’t help reaching for.

I feel the shudder that racks through her. Her impudence amuses me when she declares, “I can partner just fine. What about you?” 

Instead of responding, I just spin her out and then pull her back against my body until we’re pressed together face-to-face from shoulder to thigh.

Holding on to one of her hands, my other drops to her hip as I begin to salsa with her. It’s such a wicked dance, even in its most basic form. “You dance remarkably well, Ms. Bradbury.” I formalize her name just to see what she does.

I’m shocked when she stills and begins to pull away. “Non, Lynne.”

Her eyes narrow. “You don’t get to tell me what to do, Mr. Houde.”

“Fine. Then be angry with me, but never walk away from the dance floor.” I squat down in front of her and slide my hands up the back of her legs, sending her trembling. “Do you want to walk away now?” I challenge her.

“I want to murder you right now,” she hisses.

“Why?”

“Because this damn dress doesn’t allow for panties, and that little move…” Suddenly she’s flushing while I absorb the impact of her words.

“Let’s just finish this so we can go back and pretend to be nice for our friends. Especially since they’re all watching.”

“What?” But as Lynne jerks her chin up, I follow the direction and find every member of the VIP section has spilled out to the balcony to witness my fumbling with Lynne. Instead of finding Lynne embarrassed, I find her dancing in her own world.

As Lynne executes a bend, raising the hemline of her dress dangerously high, I get behind her and wrap my arms around her waist. Sliding my hand up between her plump breasts and around her jaw, I twist it until she faces mine as I bring her to a standing position.

“One thing you’ll learn about me, mon étoile, is that you’ll never fake anything.”

The black of her pupils almost eclipse the blue before her lashes lower. “Sorry, Marco. I’m the kind of woman that requires proof.”

I bend my knees and bring us both down into a squat, swaying. Her hands grab my outer thighs for balance. “I’d much rather you grab onto my ass, darling.”

“I’m not your darling,” she argues as we regain our standing position.

I trail my lips from her shoulder to her ear before whispering, “Not yet. But that’s for later. Right now, just dance.”

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