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eBook by Justine Elyot
eBook Category: Erotica/Erotic Romance/Romance
eBook Description: It's her job to snare him, but this trap might be more complicated than she thought. When Tilly went into business as a private detective, she thought it would be all brilliant deductive reasoning and car chases. She was not prepared for the deluge of calls from suspicious lovers hiring her to entrap their love rat partners, but when times are hard, you take what's on offer - which is how, despite two left feet, she came to find herself learning the Argentine tango. But is the tango teaching lothario all he seems to be? And when he makes his hot Latin moves on her, will she really be able to stay professional and resist them? Tilly finds herself tangled up in the tango, hot on the tail of a mystery. She even manages to fit in a car chase, though the brilliant deductive reasoning doesn't work out so well. But where her brain might miss out, her body certainly doesn't. They don't call sex the horizontal tango for nothing, it seems.
eBook Publisher: Total-e-bound, Published: 2011
Fictionwise Release Date: August 2011
Tilly Turner was not sure wearing a wire was such a good look. The strip of duct tape securing it just beneath her left breast pulled uncomfortably every time she moved--and this evening, she was moving a lot. But if the mini-microphone was uncomfortable, the wretched three-inch sparkly heels were ten times worse. True, they gave her much-needed height and stature, and they made her booty sway inside its thin covering of glitzy nylon like animated peaches, but a peachy butt was not acceptable compensation for a broken ankle.
"Oh God, sorry," she muttered once more to the suave elderly gent guiding her around the sprung floor of the Colliton community centre.
"Take it easy," he said again. "Rome wasn't built in a day, you know. It takes time to master the tango."
He had that right. Who would believe that Tilly 'Two Left Feet' Turner would ever be spotted at an evening class devoted to the Argentine tango? Certainly not her old school friends, who couldn't even prevail upon her to do some freestyle flailing to the Arctic Monkeys at Indie Night in the local nightclub.
"I don't do dancing," she always told them. "Dancing is for people who sway. I lurch. Lurchers should never dance."
"Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow," dictated the teacher from the front of the hall, directing the crumpled hordes of would-be passionate lovers of all ages, sexes, heights, weights and social profiles. Tilly's gent was one of the more fragrant members of the group; her first partner had been a sweaty man in a soaked football shirt. It had come as a massive relief to find that partners were swapped every ten minutes or so, to give each dancer the opportunity to shimmy with an expert.