Overture (Lyrical Interludes Book 2) Contemporary Romance by Claire Davon ➱ New Release Tour with Giveaway

  

Overture

Lyrical Interludes Book 2

by Claire Davon

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Ally Wilson should have been a slam dunk for VP until transplanted marketing executive Dirk Roberts takes what's rightfully hers. A dubious reputation dogs Dirk, and her boss wants her to keep an eye on him. One look from Dirk's searing sensual gaze and her world shifts.

Dirk never intended to be in Los Angeles, but a shattered reputation forced him to take desperate measures. He wants to repair his name and get out of the sprawling city. Ally's haunting curves and undeniable appeal won't change that, much as he yearns for her.

Their coming together is inevitable, as is the waiting disaster if their relationship becomes known. Can two damaged souls find happiness—or will their pasts destroy them?

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**Don't miss the first standalone book in the series!**

Reprise

Lyrical Interludes Book 1

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Excerpt #1

Roscoe’s House of Chicken N’ Waffles was a restaurant on Gower Street in the heart of Hollywood, just north of Sunset. The needle on top of the Capitol Records building could be glimpsed through buildings in the distance. The Sunset Gower studios with their art deco lettering were just down the street. The Hollywood Hills loomed behind them, if a person faced north.

The restaurant itself had a simple, brown-painted front and a sign with a picture of a dancing chicken overhead. Haphazard graffiti marred some of the storefronts, and trash bounced along the edges of the street. Muted winter sunshine cast a golden glow across the streets and buildings.

Roscoe’s boasted down-home Southern fare, consisting of fried chicken with sides such as grits, macaroni and cheese, as well as their famous waffles. The restaurant was crowded at lunchtime with an eclectic mix of clientele, from tourists to local businesspeople.

The restaurant was a study in two separate parts. One was the original side, and one was a larger addition. The older side was cozy with a raised step after they entered. Plain brown tables and wooden chairs with curving open backs were wedged close.

The table that Dirk and Ally sat at was next to a wall with slanted, dark wood paneling. Artwork and photos were strewn across the walls.

Dirk had to adjust his legs so they were splayed out on either side of Ally when they were seated. He was like an adult on a kid-sized bike.

The smell of fried chicken mixed with less identifiable odors permeated the air. “It’s probably not authentic,” she said, “but I hope you like it.” It shouldn’t matter, yet it did. Damn it.

He rewarded her with a smile that sent a bolt of sensation through her spine.

“I am sure I will. Thank you. Fried chicken and grits are just what a Southern boy needs to feel at home.”

He opened his mouth to say something to her, then went so still he could have been carved of stone. Following his gaze, she saw a man a few years older than Dirk, with the same slightly weathered skin of outdoor living. A brown Stetson was on his head, with jeans and a denim shirt completing the outfit. The glare he was giving Dirk was so malevolent she shivered. He was standing with a group by a curio cabinet studded with Roscoe’s souvenirs at the front of the restaurant. One of the people she recognized as Ryder Bingham, an artist whose album had recently been certified platinum.

She turned back to Dirk. His lips had flattened to a thin line, and harsh grooves cut next to his eyes and down his face before they disappeared under the goatee.

“Heard you landed at Shatter Sound,” the shorter man said, his arms folded and his face in profile to Ally. He was a short man, maybe her height at best, with thick brown hair shot with gray and a close-cropped beard. He also had a drawl that was different somehow than Dirk’s but clearly Southern. “Should have done the smart thing and stayed away.” The dim light from the window touched his shoulders, matching the sliver that landed across Dirk’s chest.

“You should know, Marlon,” Dirk said, his voice cold, body rigid, his hands clasping and unclasping on the table. “I never did learn my lessons easy.” He focused on her. “Marlon works at Earthy Cry Records. Marlon, Alanna Wilson.”

“Ma’am.” Marlon lifted his hat. “You’re at his new the label. Watch this boy like a hawk, or he’ll take you too.”

Excerpt #2

The scent of coffee nudged Dirk awake. A sense of peace filled him, something he hadn’t experienced for a long time.

Then he started, coming to his senses in a room that was familiar to him but not his bedroom.

Fire.

Cartoons.

Alanna.

He was in Alanna’s living room. On her couch. A blanket was tucked around him, and his cap was resting toward him on the coffee table.

A hint of morning light slanted across her blinds.

Stretching, he tried to guess the time. Eight or so, he hazarded. He focused on the DVD player in front of him in the entertainment unit. 8:17.

The morning hours were used to get chores done before the day began. Except he had no chores to do in an efficiency apartment.

Soft singing came from the kitchen.

He had fallen asleep on Alanna. He should have been embarrassed but instead felt alive.

Smoothing his hair into place, he settled the cap over his head. With quiet movements, he padded toward the kitchen.

Clad in burgundy-colored, cotton drawstring pants and a white tank, Ally had her back to him as she washed dishes in the sink. Her hair had been brushed but was still kinked in that way sleep did. The top outlined her body, curving around her shoulders and down to her tapered waist. The pants were loose and, as with many of her clothes, designed to conceal rather than reveal. The outline of her strong thighs was still visible under the cloth. Wow. He liked nice, high, round butts, and hers fit the bill to a T.

Straining to figure out what song she was singing to herself, he pegged it as “What a Fool Believes” by the Doobie Brothers. A slow grin played over his face.

Arms crossed, he leaned on the doorframe to the kitchen. “Don’t you ever wear shoes?” he asked with an amused drawl.

She spun, sponge in her hand. The force of her spin made water spray across her shirt and onto the floor. The water began seeping in across the side of one of her breasts.

Then those glorious lips parted over a smile. One that made it to her eyes. “You could teach a cat about stealth. Good morning to you too.” Setting the sponge down, she rinsed off her hands, then removed a dishtowel from a hook that had a smiling, dancing pig on it. The theme carried through to additional towels draped in the stove handle.

“Not if I can help it,” she continued, placing the towel back in a nearby ring. “Hate the things. Kick them off first chance I get. Even in winter, unless my feet are blocks of ice, shoes don’t exist when I’m home.” She retrieved two plain coffee cups from a nearby cabinet from it. “The siren lure of my couch has claimed an additional victim. Sleep well?”

“Your couch famous for its soporific qualities?”

If she was startled at his use of the four-syllable word, she gave no sign of it. Grinning at him, she moved past to the coffee maker in the dining room. He pressed himself back against the door opening to try and give her room, but the swell of her large breast grazed his chest anyway. The wetness of her tank top riveted his attention, and he could make out a plain white bra underneath the shirt. The desire to bend down and taste those breasts with his tongue overwhelmed him for a minute. He swore under his breath, counting backward from a hundred to bring his body back under control.

“Big time. I’ve fallen asleep on it more times than I can count. How do you take your coffee?” she asked.

“Black.”

“Me too.” She poured the coffee and handed the mug to him.

“For real?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, why?”

He’d stepped in it somehow but couldn’t figure out what had happened. “Dunno. You just seem more like the type to enjoy the sweet things in life.”

The sudden bleakness came and went, but he noted it before she shut down, presenting him with a bland countenance.

“Not like that, Alanna.” Her mulish appearance told him all that had done was make her shut down further. He shouldn’t care. He should change the subject. Instead, he waited for her to answer, trying to ignore the shaft of pain that lanced through him that he’d caused her hurt.

Excerpt #3

She let her shoulder graze his arm, gazing up at the man standing next to her. She hoped her attraction didn’t show but doubted that. It must be blindingly obvious to anyone in their vicinity. She had to stop this. That near kiss… Had he desired it as much as she had?

Giddy, dizzying sensations swept through her, and she fought to keep her expression neutral. “I’ll have Jess stay on top of the fan club. I think we’re ready for the conference next week. Travel to Austin is all set, and I have hotel confirmations for Jess and the band. No news about awards shows, but that’s a long shot anyway.”

“It’s not needed, but it sure would be nice. There’s time. Keep working on it. We’ve started tracking the charts,” Dirk said.

“Hey, Ally,” Gordon said. “Are you doing something different with your hair?”

Dirk glanced at her, then at the mass of honey blonde. Her hair now waved over the back of her neck, at least an inch past what it had been when he first met her.

She was growing it. She told herself the change was for any number of reasons, but that was nonsense. She did it because Dirk liked long hair.

This had to stop. She should not be trying to please a man. She knew firsthand how badly that went.

Don’t try to punch out of your class, darling. You don’t have the pedigree. The words of one of Connor’s Ivy League friends echoed within her. The woman had been there on a business trip and made it clear that Connor’s little middle-class girlfriend was annoying. She shouldn’t have been surprised that they wound up together. It had been inevitable.

“I got bored with the short hair,” she said, running her fingers through the lengthening strands. “Someone reminded me that I was pretty with long hair, so I thought I’d try it again.” Avoiding Dirk’s attention, she focused on the whiteboard. “What’s going on with the promo ad?”

“Promo ad is good. I’ll get the final version next week. We got seven thousand ‘Susan’ shirts ready to go to the hotel for goodie bags. I got ones for you and Jess. Will you wear it at the convention?”

“If you will wear one too,” she said. The image of him in a lemon-yellow T-shirt with a picture of a woman holding a wand saying Susan the Magician on it brought a smile to her face. She suppressed a chuckle at Dirk’s mock black glare from under his hat.

“Doesn’t go with the Stetson.” His drawl held the rounded tones that meant he was amused.

Ally turned to Gordon after flashing Dirk a mischievous grin. “I think Dirk wears too many primary colors, don’t you, Prez? A lemon-yellow T-shirt might jazz up his image, get him in touch with his feminine side. Doesn’t that Western store on Van Nuys Blvd. sell all sorts of colored Stetsons? We could get one to match.”

“I’ll give you feminine side,” he growled.

Dirk couldn’t control the twitching of his lips, a tic that told her he was enjoying being teased as much as she was relishing teasing him.

Gordon’s gaze darted between them. “You get Dirk into a yellow T-shirt, and I’ll make sure you get a bonus.”

She turned her attention to Dirk, tilting her neck up in a pleading pose.

He chuckled, shaking his head slowly. “Sorry, darlin’, not even begging would get me in one of those frilly, flippy colors.”

With a sigh, she relented. “Let’s get back to it. I’ve got a lot to do before the convention.” She should be happy for her win. The fact that she was going to the conference and not Dirk was a good thing. All she had to do was keep at it, and she would get what she was owed.

Even if it came at his expense.

“Too bad about the T-shirt. Catch you later.” She ducked out before Dirk could make a smart retort.

Claire can’t remember a time when writing wasn’t part of her life. Growing up, she used to write stories with her friends. As a teenager she started out reading fantasy and science fiction, but her diet quickly changed to romance and happily-ever-after’s. A native of Massachusetts and cold weather, she left all that behind to move to the sun and fun of California, but has always lived no more than twenty miles from the ocean.

In college she studied acting with a minor in creative writing. In hindsight she should have flipped course studies. Before she was published, she sold books on eBay and discovered some of her favorite authors by sampling the goods, which was the perfect solution. Claire has many book-irons in the fire, most notably her urban fantasy series, The Elementals’ Challenge series, but writes contemporary and shifter romances as well as.

While she’s not a movie mogul or actor, she does work in the film industry with her office firmly situated in the 90210 district of Hollywood. Prone to break out into song, she is quick on feet and just as quick with snappy dialogue. In addition to writing she does animal rescue, reads, and goes to movies. She loves to hear from fans, so feel free to drop her a line.

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