Break Loose: Coogan's Break Series, #8

By Hope Malone

She's a lawyer who is questioning the toll her career is taking. He's already faced the consequences of an all-consuming profession. Will these two learn that love beats work any day?

ANGIE
I'm being eaten alive by a career that's consumed me for years, when I suddenly find myself on administrative leave. Unless I rediscover my killer instincts in the courtroom, I'm out of there.

When asked to house-sit by a fellow lawyer, I don't give it a second's thought. So what if I don't have a clue where Coogan's Break is? Anything is better than staring at the walls of my apartment.

On my second visit to Dynamic Five Dance, any thoughts of my job back in the city flee. The last time I saw Drew Morton-Huxley was at his final performance with Manhattan Modern Dance.

His dancing was the hottest thing I'd ever seen, leaving me squirming in my seat. The way he's looking at me now and I wonder if I'm about to discover if he's as good in the flesh as he had been on stage.

DREW
It has taken years, but I've finally accepted my life as a dancer is over. If I was a racehorse, they would have shot me that night.

I haven't left that world behind completely, deciding that if I can no longer dance, I should pay my dues by helping those who still can, or at least want to.

While my dance school pays the bills, it doesn't light my fire as performing used to. All that changes the second I spot Angela Bennington out in reception.

Womanly curves coupled with a body that moves like silk and I'm burning to dance with her. I'll need to move fast though, if I'm to beat Juan Alcaraz, my teacher of Latin American, to it.

If you're short on time but long for romance, you'll love this series of steamy, curvy girl, opposites attract romances. They can be read in any order you choose, there's a guaranteed HEA with no cheating, and no cliffhangers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bad Birds
• Release date: Aug 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215276532

Book preview

ONE

DREW

I'm not sure what has me glancing up and through the one-way-glass to reception, but I'm glad I have.

She's back, and just as gorgeous as I remember. While not the type I'd usually find attractive, my body reacts as it had when she was in yesterday grabbing brochures.

It had also reacted last night when she'd invaded my dreams. Thinking back on it, she'd more than invaded them. She'd taken them over; seducing me as surely as if we'd actually shared my bed.

As I continue watching her, the state of my cock tells me last night's response wasn't a one off. Her luscious curves and tumble of auburn curls have me as hard now as I'd been on waking this morning.

Strange when you consider I've been more used to dating professional dancers, women with bodies like those of Olympic athletes. They hadn't exactly brought me happiness though, with none interested in me these days. I'm no longer famous enough to stroke their egos, or more likely, to help their careers.

Despite the woman out front not having a dancer's body, she moves like one. More than that, she moves like silk. Nothing catches, nothing jars. Her every curve is perfection.

I don't realize I've grabbed my coffee until I feel the top of the takeaway cup against my lips. I take a sip before putting it back down and flicking the switch on the intercom. Despite being connected to Natalie, my receptionist, I don't speak. I simply listen without moving.

With the intercom open, it's all too easy for my receptionist to hear what I'm up to, and therefore the woman she's speaking to. I even take up shallow breathing as I listen to what our visitor has to say.

I'm here to book a few one-on-one sessions. Is that possible?

She then holds up of one of our Latin American dance leaflets, and my heart drops. The thought of this luscious creature being alone with Juan Alcaraz doesn't sit well with me.

The guy's a predator with one hell of a reputation for bedding his mature students. I'd tried reprimanding him about it, but as Juan took pride in pointing out, none of his señoras were complaining.

Anything but, with his schedule and bed, never empty.

I'd replace him if it was possible; unfortunately he's the only teacher of Latin dance in town. Unless I take the classes myself, I'm stuck with him.

Of course, I doubt the woman in reception knows any of this. Or perhaps she does, and she's after Juan's bed as much as his self-proclaimed mastery on the dance floor.

Not until Natalie books the first session, do I break my silence.

Hold off Natalie, I'll be out in a second.

That she doesn't react tells me she's known I was listening in. However, our visitor's mouth is a wide 'O' as she looks around, trying to work out where the voice has come from.

Despite promising myself I'd never interfere with any of the teachers' bookings, I'm about to go there, and then some.

I've not taken more than a couple of steps into reception when I see that the woman has recognized me. And yet she's a stranger and not from around here. Her air of sophistication firmly marks her as being from the city, although which one, I'm not sure.

Rather than give her time to gush about my career, I extend my hand. Drew Morton. I'm the owner. As subtly as I can, I tip my head in Natalie's direction.

I haven't used Andrew Morton-Huxley since that horrific night in New York, the night my Achilles gave out on me in spectacular fashion. I've built a new life for myself here. The last thing I want or need is my old life gatecrashing.

There are some arts reporters who'd take great delight in blogging my spectacular fall from fame. It wouldn't matter that they'd only done so to boost the clicks rate on their blogs. The reminder of what I'd lost would have the wounds as fresh as the day I collapsed on stage.

The woman quirks a meticulously groomed eyebrow, telling me she won't use my stage name, even if she's not sure why. After this I'm at a loss. How do I go about finding out if she's truly here to book one-on-one dance sessions, or if she's after Juan's other services?

Damn it, I hate that he's got me pimping him out. Perhaps it's down to these thoughts muddying my brain that my, I'm afraid we don't have any availability, comes out louder than I've meant.

A quick glance at Natalie and I can see I've taken her unawares. Her mouth hangs open in response to my blatant lie. Of interest is that our visitor appears as surprised.

But your receptionist said you had plenty of availability. She scans reception, as if to emphasize that it's empty but for the three of us. She then stares at me. You can't have filled spaces that quickly. You don't even have an online booking system.

I'm really sorry we misinformed you. Another peek at Natalie and I know I owe her chocolates or a bottle of wine for this. We really don't have any spaces left. You could try back next month.

I fall silent. It's only then I become aware there's now someone behind me. The merest flare of my nostrils tells me exactly who it is. The only man around here who douses himself in Pour Homme to that extent is Juan Alcaraz.

ANGIE

What on earth is Andrew Morton-Huxley up to? Or should I call him plain old Drew Morton as he's introduced himself? While I'd seen the name on the signs and promotional