Cami Dalton - Pleasure To The Max!

According to her aunt, all Cassie had to do was write her sexual fantasies in a diary and lock it inside the lover’s box for the Gypsy magic to work its charm.

Cassie snatched up the pen and started to write. She wanted a man to crave her as he’d never craved another woman. She wanted him to be so filled with lust that whenever he saw her he went hard. And he definitely had to be well-endowed….

Finishing up her wish list with “A physique similar to a Calvin Klein underwear model’s,” Cassie tucked her diary into the box with a lascivious smile. There was no way the box would really make her fantasies come to life, she knew, but it beat spending another night feeling sorry for herself.

Then the unmistakable sound of breaking glass came from the shop below. Cassie groaned and padded downstairs to strangle her aunt’s wayward cat. But reaching the bottom step she found a whole different kind of intruder.

Cassie stared mutely at the very embodiment of her fantasy, wondering if she should scream in terror or knock him out before he could escape.

Because the lover’s box really worked….

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Dear Reader,

I have a magnet on my refrigerator that says, “It’s Better To Have Loved & Lost Than To Live With The Psycho The Rest Of Your Life.” It cracks me up every time I read it. So I decided to write a story about a woman who feels the same way….

We all know that sometimes it’s hard to overcome past pain and risk being hurt again. My heroine needed a little help, and is enticed back into love by an antique relic and a dash of Gypsy magic that promises to make her wildest sexual desires come true. However, she gets more than she imagined when the man of her dreams suddenly shows up and starts fulfilling her fantasies, one by one.

I hope you enjoy my first book for the Harlequin Blaze line. I’d love to know what you think. You can send your e-mails to camidalton@earthlink.net or visit my Web site at www.camidalton.com.

Happy (and satisfying) reading!

Cami Dalton

Cami Dalton lives in a small beachside town on the east coast of Florida with her two amazingly cute sons and one English bulldog. She read her first romance—a Harlequin Books title, of course—more than twenty years ago and has been addicted to the genre ever since. However, her career in fiction began in the second grade when she spent hours in her bedroom making up wonderful tales full of passion and love starring herself and her imaginary boyfriend, Andy Gibb. Now she does this for a living.

HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

972—HER PRIVATE DANCER

To my brother, Shelly, and my niece, Emily.

Your generosity with retired laptops has literally

made my writing possible.

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Epilogue

Russian countryside, 1920

THE KING OF THE GYPSIES, Rajko Sanderzej, stared up at his bound hands and cursed under his breath as a drop of sweat dripped down the center of his naked chest. Of course, his entire body was naked. Naked and aroused. Give a female the ability to fulfill her every sexual fantasy and this was what happened…pure erotic torture.

“You look good like that,” Stasi said, her voice with an undertone that made the muscles in his stomach pull tight.

Rajko smirked, afraid that if he spoke he’d give away just how affected he was by her shocking new game. His wrists were secured by a length of rope that had been looped over one of the thick wooden beams that ran above his head, just below the ceiling of the abandoned cottage. He didn’t bother struggling to get loose. There was no point. There were powers at work far stronger than the tether that held him. Not to mention that he was too busy suffering through the most painful erection of his life.

He’d never been more excited. Either Rajko had a secret submissive streak, which he highly doubted, or the thought of his once shy and wounded lover turned bold tigress of domination had him twitching with lust.

Frankly, he should be annoyed rather than fighting not to spill his seed on the scuffed wooden floor before she even touched him. He was the recognized Rom Baro of the Gypsies, the leader of his band of people. He was the only Romani male ever to have been born with the gift of second sight and the ability to cast and quicken charms.

He’d kept his clan safe and fed through a world war, then led them across Russia in the midst of a revolution. His skill with a knife was unparalleled, and both his looks and prowess brought him any woman he wanted whether Gypsy or gadje.

Yet here he stood, twisting like a convict from the gallows, all at the whim of a mere slip of a girl who’d wound her way around his heart and whom he loved above all others. Or, rather, more like a sex slave bound and ready to perform his mistress’s bidding. Oh, yes, with her newfound inner vixen, his Stasi would definitely prefer the latter comparison.

The little hellion trailed her hand over his hip and down his flank as she circled behind him then around to the front. Rajko rocked forward on the balls of his feet, his cock thrust brutally in the air. He swallowed, clenching his hands into fists. While he scrambled for an ounce of control, he could do no more than stare; Stasi’s entire form was backlit by the fire. She’d started a blaze in the hearth to take off the early spring chill, and the flames crackled invitingly.

Her brown hair tumbled loosely down her back, and she was as bare as he except for the black silk scarf knotted sideways at her hip. The scrap hid nothing, merely accentuating her curving buttocks and the ruffle of curls at the meeting of her thighs. The tiny gold key that she wore around her neck glittered tauntingly. Just thinking about the kind of power she held, and what the key symbolized, made his blood pump in dark, thick pulses. She was only a step away. The small distance was killing him.

His breath slipped out. “You are so beautiful, my Krasili.”

She placed her fingers against his lips, then jerked her head to look at the window over her shoulder, apparently to make sure the shutters were closed tight. They were, along with the only door.

“You shouldn’t call me that,” she said in quiet urgency. “What if someone heard.”

Voice dry, he responded, “I’m standing here strung up like a gutted deer. I’m far more concerned about what someone could see rather than hear. Besides, in my eyes, you are a princess. My princess,” he said, referring to the Gypsy term he’d just spoken. He shrugged his shoulders as much as the rope would allow. “It’s just a word. Your reaction is what would trigger suspicion. Besides,” he soothed, “you are safe. No one can hurt you now, and I will keep your secrets hidden.”