Yellow Streak by Susan Laine

Author:Susan Laine [Laine, Susan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Gay Romance
ISBN: 9781634766456
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2015-11-11T08:00:00+00:00

IT TOOK over an hour before Curt Donovan was called onto the stage. By then I was on pins and needles and all but required mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Breathless, my vision blurred just as I needed it the most.

Both Reggie and Dylan were holding my hands as Curt stepped forward confidently. God, he looked good, like he belonged there, spotlights on him, the illumination cascading down his perfect figure like a caress….

Jesus, my nerves were so frayed nothing would soothe me except wild, domineering sex with the man I loved.

Reggie whispered something undoubtedly encouraging in my ear, but I couldn’t hear it with the blood roaring in my veins. I was completely and utterly focused on Curt.

He smiled at the judges, who sat behind their own table in the auditorium, in front of the first row, notebooks open before them and pens in hand. I could only see their backs from my limited perch, but I’d observed them scribbling away during each two-to-three-minute audition. I couldn’t even fathom what they’d think about Curt. I hoped for the best, of course.

With a slight bow to the judges, Curt scanned the audience. Somehow, even with all the dazzling lights, he spotted me. His smile shone like the sun. I felt privileged and in love.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Curt said, his voice gentle and low, but reaching us without difficulty. “This music is for my boyfriend. Love you, baby.” Curt blew me a kiss from the stage. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.

The song began. A piano paired with a softly crooning woman’s voice. It was “Lover Man” by Norah Jones. I loved her sensual voice—though I preferred her song “Lonestar.” But this was his homage to me, a sweet declaration of love, so I listened, rapt and unblinking.

The last few months, over the summer, he’d been distracted and withdrawn as his sole focus was on his dancing practice. An insecure part of me feared he would cast me out, that his love for me had faded. Now I had my answer. He was still mine, heart and soul.

Curt danced. He reigned over the stage with his elegant grace, each movement exact and controlled, but hinting at recklessness and passion ready to spill over the brim. As I watched, I saw that he had that special, indefinable quality, that elusive je ne sais quoi. Whatever his magnetism and allure, that magnificent star quality he possessed, he gave the dance his all, an eclectic mix of various styles, all of them showcasing his talent and natural gift.

My gaze remained riveted on his waving form, his limbs seemingly going where they willed, but always held at the knife’s edge between mastery and abandon, as though he were a mere conduit for divine skill. When he whirled on the balls of his feet, I swear I felt a breeze in my hair; when his arms spread wide, I felt the warmth of his embrace; when he gazed up at the ceiling, I felt the light of the heavens on my face.

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