Release Blitz: Slow Dancing by Stylo Fantôme

Slow Dancing
by Stylo Fantôme
Release Date: February 21, 2020

About Slow Dancing
A rising pop star who can't let go of her emotional baggage, and a cocky dance partner who doesn't know what monogamy is.

She's inhibited.
He's free-spirited.

She doesn't want a relationship.
He doesn't believe in them.

She can't believe that anyone would love her.
He can't seem to stop himself from loving her.

When their differences collide and sparks start to fly, he's sure it's the start of something amazing.
And she's sure it's the end of her career.

Who will be right?




Read my five-plus-starred review of Slow Dancing.

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An Excerpt from Slow Dancing
This was it. Their one-night-stand was about to officially become an affair. Was Logan really ready for this? There would be no going back. It was all casual to him, but she knew from experience that when all was said and done, he would own a piece of her. Snatch it right away as he ran off to the next person.

“You're thinking something,” Woods whispered, lips brushing hers, and his hands moved up to her head, holding her close to him. “Something bad.”

She swallowed thickly.

“I want to know if you've slept with Jeremy again.”

“Seriously, Logan, as much as you talk about him when we're together, I'm beginning to think he's the one you should be fucking,” he chuckled. She shook her head.

“Okay, then, I want to know if you've slept with Lucas. Or Becca. Or the roadie with the cigarette.”

“The who?”

Woods.

“Do you want me to lie?”

Logan went still. Licked her lips and squeezed her eyes shut.

“No.”

No, I haven't slept with anybody since you,” he said, and she sighed as he started kissing down the side of her jaw. “But that doesn't mean I haven't wanted to.”

“Oh?”

“I haven't because I knew it would bother you,” Woods breathed, his tongue trailing down her neck. She let her head drop back.

“Very generous of you, sir.”

“I'm like the Santa Claus of sex.”

“Disgusting analogy, never use it again.”

Would it bother you if I did?” he asked. She opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling.

“I don't know,” she was honest. “Yes? I wish I was as sexually open and free and cool as you are, but I'm just … boring. I wouldn't stop you, though. I understand. Just … maybe not do anything in front of me, please.”

He shocked her then by bursting out laughing. He stepped back and draped his arms around her waist.

“Did you just politely ask me not to fuck around with other people in front of you?” Woods double checked. Logan felt her cheeks go up in flames.

“I'm just trying to be nice.”

“Fuck being nice,” he shook his head. “Be honest – with me, and yourself. If you want to cut my nuts off every time I hit on someone, tell me. If you want to watch while I fuck Lucas on the tour bus, definitely tell me. Why do you make everything about everyone else?”

That brought her up short.

“I … I don't,” she tried to argue, but he shook his head.

“That first night together, you were so concerned about Jeremy, about what people would think. Same thing when we talked the other day. And just now, it's like you don't give a shit about what you really want – so long as I'm comfortable. I mean, sure, it's nice of you. It's too nice. Who taught you that you shouldn't ask for the things you want?” he asked.

She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and bit down so hard, she whimpered. Woods noticed, his eyes dropping to her mouth. Then he leaned down to kiss the sting.

“I don't know,” she breathed. “I don't know what I want. I don't want to think about you sleeping with other people. But I don't want to stop you, I don't. I … it …” she searched for the words.

“Poor lost little Logan,” he whispered, pulling at the drawstring on her shorts. “But not really lost, are you? I think I get it. People are always treating you like this delicate little doll. Like you're breakable. But you're not.”

“I'm not,” she groaned, pressing her forehead to his and running her hands over his shoulders.

“People handle you like you're glass,” he kept going, and she started to shiver.

“They do,” she agreed.

“What do you want to be handled like?”

She took a deep breath.

Barbed wire.

His hands were suddenly clenching her biceps so hard, she cried out in pain. Pressed her palms against his chest as she stared up at him. His eyes blazed down at her, so full of desire and danger, finally taking on a mossy green hue.
They'd barely touched, and she was already panting.

“You better watch what you ask for. I'm not like all these other fucking guys in your life,” he growled. “I have no fucking problem with treating you as roughly as you can handle.”

“You think you can really do that?” she gasped, pushing him.




About Stylo Fantôme

Crazy woman from a remote location in Alaska (where the need for a creative mind is a necessity!), I have been writing since...forever? Yeah, that sounds about right. I have been told that I remind people of Lucille Ball—I also see shades of Jennifer Saunders, and Denis Leary. So basically, I laugh a lot, I'm clumsy a lot, and I say the F-word A LOT.

I like dogs more than I like most people, and I don't trust anyone who doesn't drink. No, I do not live in an igloo, and no, the sun does not set for six months out of the year, there's your Alaska lesson for the day. I have mermaid hair—both a curse and a blessing—and most of the time I talk so fast, even I can't understand me.

Yeah. I think that about sums me up.

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