Welcome to the Spring Fling Blog Hop hosted by Selena Blake, Reading Between the Wines, and Bitten by Paranormal Romance! To celebrate the spring release of DANCE WITH A MILLIONAIRE (Internationally). I’m giving away an ebook to a lucky commenter!
Southern belle Campbell Layne is the rising star of the Manhattan Ballet Theatre, providing she lands the upcoming principal role. The stage heats up, however, when Rod Carrington steps in and teaches her more than she ever expected.
Campbell is determined to stay focused on the audition that will push her into stardom, but the dazzling attorney she meets at a gala proves to be a major distraction especially when he ends up being her professor in a college class she’s taking in her spare time. Campbell humiliates herself on their first date, but that doesn’t stop Rod from whisking her off to Italy and turning her into quite the vixen. Too bad he also had to use his powerful influence to secure the lead for her. Now she’ll never know if her talent was real or “bought” by the man she thought was the love of her life.
In DANCE WITH A MILLIONAIRE, Campbell and Rod are foodies. They wine and dine at Jean Georges in New York City and two other fabulous places in Italy. Amongst other things, they have manicotti, tiramisu, wine, and lots more wine. So to go along with this Italian food theme, I’m offering up my favorite pasta recipe. Hope you enjoy it!
Penne Pasta with Chicken in a Sun-dried Tomato Cream Sauce
3 shallots, peeled and chopped
1 teaspoon vegetable oil
8 ounces chicken breast, cooked, deboned, julienned
4 ounces sun-dried tomatoes, sliced (I used diced – it makes a prettier & yummier sauce)
1/2 cup heavy cream
1 pound penne pasta, cooked
1 1/2 teaspoon butter OR 2 tablespoons vegetable oil
2 tablespoons Parmesan cheese, grated
1 teaspoon fresh basil, julienned
Saute shallots in oil for 2 minutes or until soft. Add chicken and tomatoes and cook over moderate heat for 5 minutes. Add cream and cook, stirring occasionally, for 5 minutes. Add remaining ingredients and toss to combine. Serve immediately.
To do my personal super quick and just as delicious but healthier version: While pasta is boiling, pour two cans (drained) of shredded chicken into a pan, add a jar of minced sun dried tomatoes (1/3 to ½ drained of the olive oil), pour in ¾ to 1 pint of FAT FREE ½ and ½, add a few shakes of dried basil and more than a few shakes of dried parsley, plus a little salt. Drain pasta. Add sauce. Fold in ¾ bag of grated parmesan. (I leave out the shallots and all the basil since I don’t really care for that, but that’s just me.)
Now if that doesn’t wet your appetite, maybe this MAINSTREAM EXCERPT will:
“Thank you for attending the performance and for your generous donation to MBT.” His dark eyebrows shot up a notch, highlighting a definite mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Why did they have to be the exact shade of turquoise as the Caribbean Ocean at sunset? Stunning.
“That’s well-rehearsed, Miss Layne. Tell me, though, do you turn on the Southern belle charm for all your fans or only the male ones?”
Her mouth fell open, but thank goodness she had the presence of mind to snap it shut. “How dare you? First of all, I’m from Alabama which makes the accent genuine, and secondly, that’s…that’s the rudest, most ungentlemanly thing to say.”
“I never said I was a gentleman and readily admit to be undeserving of your sweet façade. I’d much prefer the real you.”
She propped her hands on her hips. “And precisely what, may I ask, do you assume to be the real me, seeing as our acquaintance has a life span of what? Thirty seconds?”
Rod glanced at an expensive-looking gold watch. “Forty-five.” He stepped closer.
She did not see that coming and stumbled back only to become trapped between the wall and his body. The hard, cold stone competed against his warm, harder presence. Damn it, the latter won out. She ground her traitorous fingertips into her palms in an effort to prevent them from brushing away the stray curl that fell across his forehead.
The hem of his jacket brushed her hip as he moved in to splay his hand over her waist. The pressure built as he gathered her an inch closer. She caught a faint whiff of his cologne. The clean, fresh scent permeated the air and reminded her of the Southern pines back home, but this was not the time to reminisce.
“In fact, I’d like to get to know every inch of you.” Another sharp tug had her chest pressed against his rock solid form.
Her blood boiled in a delicious rhythm. Obviously, the vibrator thing was getting old if this jerk was turning her on. She made a mental note to ask her best friend, Heidi, to set her up on a date. Any man would do—as long as it was not Rod.
She flexed her fingers and pushed against his shoulders. “Let go of me, you arrogant pig.” A lion, cougar, leopard—anything powerful—seemed a more apt description though.
Rod chuckled and loosened his hold. A fraction. Enough to insert his finger between them. It followed the line of fabric at her shoulder slowly, very slowly, across her chest. As he glided over her cleavage, he said, “But, my dear, you’re mistaken. It’s confidence I possess.”
“More like cockiness.” Even as she said it, Bella couldn’t take her gaze off his finger or steer her attention from the intense hunger sweeping through her. She instinctively arched her back, lifting her breasts to silently beg for more.
“Either way, but I always get what I want, and in case you need me to spell it out”—he slid his finger up her throat to tilt her chin, forcing her to look at him—“I. Want. You.”
He uttered the words with such conviction, her breath hitched. No, stopped. She literally thought she might pass out. Swoon, like one of those Regency ladies she’d thought of a moment ago, only she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
Feigning haughty sophistication was not in her repertoire, but there was a first time for everything. She raised a brow and allowed her gaze to wander his body as he’d done to her. The black tux cut a dashing figure, making her mouth water for a taste of what lay beneath. She imagined herself undoing each of the black buttons on his starched, white shirt. His bowtie was a little askew. She reached to straighten it, brushing against his neck. She heard his breathing deepen, sensed, rather than saw, the quickening of his jaw. She inwardly smiled and wiggled her toes in a victory dance, but those stupid, treacherous fingers battled back, wanting to still the muscle with a gentle caress. She balled her fists in reprimand, uncaring that her short nails dug into her palms.
When she reintroduced her eyes to his, she shot him what she hoped was a contemptuous glare. “Take your hand off me,” she said slowly and deliberately. She made a dramatic showing of enclosing her fingers, one at a time, around his wrist and tugged his finger away from her boobs.
Nothing happened. Well, almost nothing. He managed to do that trick when one eyebrow lifts higher than the other.
She sighed loudly and exceedingly unladylike. Then she pulled. Hard.
Finally, he broke contact by approximately six inches when twelve would have been much closer to the acceptable personal space limit. Too late to hide her puckered nipples, she still folded her arms across her chest and tapped her foot in perfect tempo with her index finger. “An apology would be appropriate at this time.”
“Ah, but then I’d have to, in fact, be sorry.”
He said that? Seriously? She just stood there, gaping. It would’ve been so nice to find the words, any words to speak, but nope. A boa constrictor squeezed her throat.
“What? No response? I assume that negates the possibility of you actually wanting an apology.”
Again, robbed of speech. She felt like a fool, but her mind remained as blank as the sky on a cloudy night. So much for feigning haughty sophistication.
“Um…” Jackpot! At last. Okay, it wasn’t a three-point goal in the final seconds of the game, but her voice hit a few decibels nevertheless.
Rod’s deep chuckle reverberated throughout the alcove as he captured both of her shoulders. He laughed at her. Worse, he was going to kiss her. She knew it. Right here, right now. In front of everyone. A complete stranger. Well, not completely, she knew his name at least. Knowing the first name made it all right, didn’t it?
Lord, what am I thinking? She did not go around kissing strangers. Hell, she didn’t go around kissing people she knew. What would her mama think? She’d die of shame, that’s what.
But heaven knew she wanted to taste those beautiful, full lips. She purely ached to run her fingers through his wavy, chestnut hair and slide her hands inside his coat to see if his abs were as hard as she imagined they would be. She closed her eyes and barely swallowed the lump stuck in her throat before licking her lips, preparing for the inevitable.
What’s your favorite Italian dish? I’d love to hear about it! Don’t worry if your post doesn’t appear. For some reason comments have been been going to spam this week, but I’m getting them and approving them so they will appear, and hopefully my webmaster will get my website back in shape soon.
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