Tantalizing You: a Young Designer Instalove Romance: Falling For You

By Simona Taylor

So I hired an "exotic dancer" for a baby shower. Just a little fun for us girls, okay? But when a silver Hummer skates up the driveway and this big, long-haired fireman stomps out, it's my body that starts heating up.

It's an eventful night. I try to drown him (accidentally), kiss him (deliberately), and have to cut him out of his leather thong (long story).

When my favorite male model gets run over by a Pamplona bull, I find myself in need of a stunning bit of man-candy to come with me to Nice, France, to model my designs.

He's not crazy about the idea, because there's someone in Nice he'd like to avoid. Let's just say I talk him into it.

But when he's on stage, will he remember he's a model, not a stripper, or will he start tossing my designs to a bunch of screaming women?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Simona Taylor
• Release date: Feb 3, 2024
• ISBN: 9789768333285

Simona Taylor

Roslyn Carrington, Simona Taylor's alter ego, has been a freelance writer, editor and proofreader for over 15 years. She is also a former public relations practitioner with 13 years of experience in the energy industry. Aside from her self-publishing successes, she has published 15 novels with major US publishers such as Harlequin, BET Arabesque and Kensington, and has ghost-written several memoirs and non-kction worPs. She writes and edits for a variety of publications and corporate clients. She lives and worPs in Trinidad and Tobago. @lease contact her at SimonaTaylorRomance

Book preview

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Tantalizing You is a mildly saucy instalove romance by Simona Taylor. From the small town setting in the southern United States to the dazzling glitter and old world charm of Nice, France, this full length interracial romantic novel brings you the story of a young designer setting out on her own, and the hunky male stripper turned model who dances his way into her heart.

This novel was initially released under the title The Tantalizing Mr. Templar.

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Copyright © 2022 by Roslyn Carrington.

Falling For You Series: Tantalizing You by Simona Taylor

ISBNS

KINDLE: 978-976-8333-29-2

PAPERBACK: 978-976-8333-27-8

EPUB: 978-976-8333-28-5

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book may not be reproduced in any form, in whole or in part (beyond the copying permitted by US Copyright Law, Section 107, fair use in teaching or research, Section 108, certain library copying, or in published media by reviewers in limited excerpts), without written permission from the author.

Contents

1.Fire, Fire!

2.Splish, Splash

3.Crab Hunting in the Dark

4.Stomped on by a Bull

5.What the Gargoyle Saw

6.The Bottom of the Barrel

7.No Longer Seventeen

8.Burnin’ Down da House

9.Where There’s Smoke

10.Warriors Square Off

11.Blame It on the Rain

12.How to Feed an American Mink

13.The Serpent in the Garden

14.Ultimatum

15.Azul

16.Talk of the Town

17.Everywhere I Look, There He Is

18.Messing with the Beatles

19.Gregoire Gives His Blessing

Happylogue

Enjoy a taste of Irresistible You

Enjoy a taste of Kissable You

Dear Reader,

About the Author

Fire, Fire!

Frankie

Amale stripper at a baby shower? Who does that?

Well, me for one.

Over the top? Maybe. But hear me out.

The cake was sinfully good. I’d ordered a tiramisu shaped like a teddy bear, and despite its innocent appearance, it was soaked in alcohol and floating on a cloud of cream.

My brother Ben and his wife Callie were leaving for Haiti in a few days to bring home a five-month-old orphan, and we were all celebrating. Callie wasn’t yet thirty, but she and Ben couldn’t have kids.

I’d volunteered to plan the shower, and Ben had actually said yes. He shoulda known better.

Although they were bringing home a girl, I didn’t use any cheesy baby pink decorations for the party. Instead, I chose a deep, rich fuchsia contrasted with bright white. I used sparkling lights, flowers, cascades of satin ribbons, and clouds of balloons to transform our pool patio into a wonderland.

So far, I was batting two for two. The cake was amazing. The décor was perfect. But the third ball? Well, I hit that one right out of the park. Because the stripper, oh, he was divine.

Well, yeah, I guess hiring some random hot guy to shake what his daddy gave him was pushing it. But it wasn’t as if the baby was around yet.

Ben and a few of his friends were off night-fishing, leaving just us girls to get into trouble on our own. The baby shower posse comprised of me, Callie, a bunch of her girlfriends, and a couple of girls who, like me, had small businesses at the popular downtown mall called Palmetto Plaza. I spent most of my days there in my clothing design workshop. I was only just starting out, but I had hopes and dreams, and when you’ve got those, you’ve got everything.

Shelby Moser, who helped her dad in their family plumbing business, was passing out Jell-o shots. Another friend of ours, Myla Summerhill, owned a bakery. She was the one who had magicked up the cake. God bless her.

It was a typical early summer evening in Abyssinia, the small town where Ben and I lived. Light breezes swept down from the nearby mountains and picked up their warmth from the scraggly vegetation that surrounded us.

I stood on the deck of my brother’s gorgeous Spanish-style villa and admired my handiwork. There were garlands of frangipani and oleander everywhere, and pink and white lilies floated in the pool, surrounded by tiny tea lights in glass bowls. Above us, stars glittered in the dark sky, stretching over the expanse of Ben’s estate.

He owned and managed a mid-sized property development company that frequently won large private and state contracts. Along with his partner, Christopher Kane (a terrible playboy, but that’s another story), Ben was also a significant shareholder in Palmetto Plaza. The company had originally belonged to our parents, but when I was eleven they’d gone in a week-long hiking trek in the Peruvian mountains and … disappeared. Rescue crews had searched for them for months while Ben, then barely in his twenties, took charge. He consoled me while we waited for news, any news. When the government finally gave up and declared them dead, it was my brother who’d stepped in to take over the business—and to take care of me.

Up to a few years ago, Ben had been all I had. Then he met Callie. Love had done a number on those two, and my little family had grown. In a few days, when they flew home from the Caribbean with a bundle in their arms, it would be larger still.

I was swelling inside with happiness.

Callie came over, glowing as if she actually had a bun in the oven. Her long brown hair was entwined with strands of the same pink and white flowers, and her tanned skin warm in the light of the lamps. She wore a dress of butternut yellow, Ben’s favorite color. Her light brown eyes glittered with excitement and mimosas. She was on her third; I guess there’s something to be said for having a baby shower when you aren’t pregnant.

She threw her arms around me and squeezed the last gasp of air from my lungs. Frankie, Frankie, Frankie! I love you!

If you really loved me, you wouldn’t mess up my outfit, girl. You have any idea how long it took me to make this?

She patted my butt, which was further proof that she and the wet bar had been on good terms all night. Don’t want to wrinkle your designer duds, she laughed.

I smoothed the hem on my barely-there skirt. These are Frankie Broussard originals, ya know, I boasted. I was two years out of design school and one year post-apprenticeship, so I might have been tooting my horn too loudly, but a girl’s got to have ambition.

I probably couldn’t afford them, she teased.

"You could squeak by now," I warned her, so get it while the going’s good. In a few years, when my clothes are all the talk of New York and Paris, you’re gonna have to walk with some serious cash if you want to get into one of these.

She wrapped her arm around my neck. No family discount?

If your order’s big enough. I relieved her of the mimosa, and downed it in one gulp. It coursed down my throat, joining the three or four others I’d already had. Which is probably why I was tempted to blame what happened over the next couple of hours on the champagne, rather than admitting it was my own damn fault.

A shriek pierced the night, slicing through the music. At first, I thought it was a woman’s scream. Had someone fallen into the pool? I ran there almost in a panic, but the flower-strewn surface of the water was placid and pink.

No, the sound came from outside the villa, near the gates, and it was getting louder. An emergency siren. The girls turned their heads toward the sound, chattering excitedly. Myla and Shelby clutched each other, their eyes wide.

A sliver Hummer skated on the pebbled driveway, a bright red light flashing on the roof. The door was thrown open. Before the dark shape inside could emerge, Ben’s purebred boxers, Ringo and Paul, were charging toward the car, more curious than challenging. The man exiting the car didn’t even hesitate, which shocked the hell out of me, since in my experience, the sight of 200 pounds of hurtling dogflesh should be enough to stop even the most determined interloper in his tracks.

What’s that commotion about? Callie asked, puzzled.

No idea, I said, although in fact I had a damn good idea. The dark, decidedly male shape advanced, and even from here I could tell that his legs were as long as all of summer.

A guy at a baby shower? Shelby mused, sidling up to us. I thought this was a penis-free zone.

Not if I can help it, I smirked to myself.

The dogs were still hot on the man’s tail, and in the semi-darkness I saw him hold out his hands to them, palms forward. They sniffed, moving from hands to crotch to heavy black boots—and then they wagged their tails. Traitors.

Assured that there’d be no mauling tonight, the man kept on moving, shifting from one pool of lamplight to the other. By now, women were gathering at the edge of the patio. Ice tinkled in their glasses, excited whispers traveling like lightning.

Then he was close enough for us to see he was a fireman in full gear. The reflective strips on his uniform flashed against the dark fabric as he stepped into the light. His expression was serious, his gait purposeful.

And he blew me away.

His brows were ridiculously thick, but neat, as if he groomed them. Vain bastard, I thought. Skin smooth and coffee-creamy, his dark irises so intense they made the whites glow. His mouth was a straight line, somber, all business, but it was full enough that I could tell a smile would change it as surely as the sun coming out could change a gray, miserable day.

He stood on the threshold of the patio, flanked by those two traitor dogs. Mrs. Callie Broussard? he queried. His eyes searched the expectant crowd, sliding from face to face, as if he was trying to guess his target.

Callie detached herself from my side and took two steps forward. Yes? There was a quiver in her voice and a wrinkle on her forehead. The arrival of a lone fireman on one’s doorstep was hardly an encouraging event. For ten seconds I felt sorry for inflicting even a moment’s anxiety upon her. I could hear her worry: Was Ben okay?

Mrs. Broussard? he confirmed, walking toward her. His uniform was pressed and new, buttons glinting.

Callie’s hand rose to her throat. Is everything …? She couldn’t finish the question.

The man read her thoughts, and, though his voice was still military-sober, a warm baritone rumble, there was a kinder edge to it. Relax, ma’am, nobody’s been hurt.

There was a collective sigh of relief, but it did little to comfort Callie. She didn’t even seem to notice that the man’s accent was clipped and British, which surprised even me.

Is there a problem? Callie asked. Has there been … a fire?

"I’m afraid there is a fire, madam."

I wanted to step forward and hold Callie up; she looked about to faint.

Where? she managed to ask.

And with one big, strong hand, our dark fireman ripped open the front of his crisp uniform and tapped two fingers over his left nipple. Here, he told her. He grabbed her to him, one arm around her waist, and planted a long, hard kiss on her mouth.

Even from three feet away, I could hear Callie gasp.

It took several seconds for the crowd to realize what was going on. But when they did, a squeal went up, an excited cheer. The fireman reached down to the iPhone clipped to his belt, and it immediately synced to the Bluetooth player overhead, as I’d planned. Out boomed the hard-thumping sound of Common’s Sex 4 Sugar.

Callie staggered back, dazed, bracing herself against the patio rail. Our fireman’s jacket was open, and his sleek chest rippled as he pursued her. She had nowhere to go. He leaned forward, his lips brushing her ear as he sang along, his voice a husky rasp that even Common would be proud of.

Electricity is definitely there,

I got shocked when I touched your hair ….

Callie gave me an appalled look. You did this? she squeaked as hunka-hunka swept her up in his arms again and strode with her to the middle of the patio, where he set her down in a chair like she was a doll. And standing in front of her—no, gyrating in front of her—he wriggled out of his jacket like a boa constrictor shifting out of its skin.

‘Fraid so, I yelled, clapping in time to the music.

Now that the shock had passed, all misgivings gone, the other girls threw themselves into it, ogling without shame. Firefighter snatched the hard hat off his head, and a gasp went around when we saw the thick black ponytail uncoil itself. Another thrilled sound of delight left our mouths as he reached up with one hand and yanked the elastic from it, and that shiny, jet hair fell around his shoulders. Hair in his eyes, clinging to his lips, getting caught in his mouth as he sang, dancing for Callie.

Dancing for us.

Sex 4 sugar,

Sugar 4 sex ….

Four mimosas and the sweet night air made me giddy.

He gleamed. I ached. Pecs, biceps, everything bunched and moved. The jacket was on the floor. He kicked it away. Then came the boots. He was generous enough to allow Callie to remove the first one. By now, she’d given up all pretense of being outraged, and was into it, laughing. Myla happily removed the second boot, and took her own sweet time, I might add.

He placed the iPhone on the table, and the voice of Common, as rough and as charged as that of a man seconds from orgasm, continued to pour over us. Fireman yanked his belt from its loops and flicked it like a whip, used it like a lasso to hold Callie to her chair long enough for a second kiss. He looked around for another victim … and his eyes clicked with mine. His mouth—that mouth!—curved. There was a flash of white teeth. He strolled over to me, strutting his stuff. Proud of all the good Lord hath given him.

His belt-lasso was in his hands. With control worthy of Indiana Jones, he flicked it, and I was his prisoner. He yanked me against him, eyes locked with mine. Got any sugar? he whispered above the din.

Don’t need any, I countered. I’m sweet enough.

Common was done with his sex-for-sugar trade, and Fireman went even more old-school. Salt-N-Pepa were pushing it, and I was thinking naughty thoughts.

Frankie, he guessed.

That’s me. His fireman’s pants were rough against my bare legs. His belly taut against mine.

Client gets a free dance, he informed me. That oddly reserved British accent did a number on my blood pressure.

Foxtrot? Bunny hop? I challenged.

Lap, he shot back. And next thing I knew my feet were off the ground and he was balancing my butt on the porch railing. It wasn’t more than about four feet from the ground, but the idea of falling made me dizzy. I clung to his hard, bare arm.

Don’t worry, he soothed mockingly. I got you.

You sure do, I gasped. His arm didn’t leave my waist as he began to move. In some countries, the way he danced would get him arrested.

You’re supposed to be stripping, I reminded him.

My arms are full. You’ll have to help. With his other hand, he guided my fingers to the button on his waistband. Pops right open, he notified me.

I could feel the sweat on his belly, his damp hairs, as I pulled the button loose. I was barely aware of the cheer that went up around us. It was a button fly, dammit, no zipper to send skating down. I had another button to deal with, and another. My fingers were near the dragon’s lair, and the heat rising from there melted the polish off my nails.

There, I gasped. You’re open.

He was enjoying the knowledge that he’d shaken me up. He lifted the leg that was wrapped around mine and eased off, his weight rising. Something inside me wanted to grab him around his sweaty waist and make him stay. I slid down off the patio railing, boneless.

And Fireman returned to the waiting circle of breathless women. Perfect ass, like a rock under those pants, but I was miffed. He’d turned his back on me, after dancing like that