Showmance

by L.H. Cosway

  Damon flushed bright red, and I laughed so hard my stomach hurt. I loved how he could appear so big and dark and manly, yet get as bashful as a schoolboy sometimes.

  “Piss off,” he said, scowling at Julian, but I could tell he was trying not to smile. It made my heart sing to see the fondness in his eyes for my best friend, because I knew it had been difficult for him to accept Julian due to his past.

  Julian rose from the bed. “Oh, wipe that blush off your face. You’re family now. You’d better get used to my ways.”

  With that he took his tablet and left the room. I smiled so widely at Damon my jaw ached. I couldn’t remember a time when I’d felt so happy, so content. He gave me contentment, and I loved him for it. There was emotion in his eyes. He was touched by what Julian had said.

  “Family?” he asked, his voice catching a little. Since his grandmother died he’d felt alone, so I knew being accepted into my and Julian’s odd little clan of two meant a lot to him.

  I came and wrapped my arms around him, kissing him once lightly on the lips. “Yes, Damon. Family. Always.”

  Epilogue.

  *Damon*

  6 Months Later…

  “I’m not wearing that. It’s…it’s yellow,” I told the stylist as I stood in wardrobe, arguing over my costume. This was a tribute. It didn’t have to be one-hundred-percent identical. There was room for artistic licence, for some modernisation.

  “Canary yellow to be exact,” the cranky faced woman corrected me, a stressed out slant to her features. “And Gene wore one just like this. The whole point of the scene is that it mirrors the original,”

  “I’ll wear a waistcoat, just not that one. Have you got it in black? Navy, even?”

  She pursed her lips in annoyance but didn’t say anything. I could tell I was getting on her last nerve.

  Normally, I just took the clothes I was given and put them on. I wasn’t an argumentative bloke. But I just couldn’t get down with that waistcoat. It was going to make me look like a bloody banana.

  “He’s right,” said Julian, coming to my rescue. “Shit like that flew in the 1950s, not so much in the 2010s.”

  I was relieved he’d decided to come visit us on set today. If it weren’t for him backing me up, I feared the woman might have torn off my shirt and forced me into the blasted thing.

  Someone had heard the radio interview I’d given, where I’d joked about remaking Singin’ in the Rain. I’d only said it to get a rise out of Rose, but unfortunately, word had trickled down the proverbial grapevine. A producer responsible for heading a film celebrating Gene Kelly’s work during the twentieth anniversary of his death had caught wind. It was just after we’d completed the three-month Moulin Rouge stint that I got a phone call asking if I’d like to be involved. And, funnily enough, the scene they’d wanted me to re-enact was one with the dancer Rose had told me about, Cyd Charisse. Only in this scene she wore a green dress instead of white.

  At first I’d declined. I’d just spent several months dancing, and I wasn’t in much of a mood for more. But when Rose discovered the offer, she insisted I do it. I couldn’t say no to that woman, so in the end I caved…with one catch.

  I told the producer I’d do the tribute, so long as I could pick the dancer who starred alongside me. He agreed.

  I picked Rose.

  Let’s just say, the night I told her she was going to re-enact Gene Kelly and Cyd Charisse’s sensual dance with me was one I’ll never forget.

  After weeks performing in London, her stage fright was long defeated. She was over the moon at the chance to perform again, this time in front of a camera. The documentary and tribute was to be aired on the E! channel over in the States, but they’d made a special arrangement to come film our part in London. Our set was a trendy nightclub they’d rented out specially.

  “Call me crazy, but I just had an inspired idea,” Julian went on. The stylist folded her arms, eyeing him sceptically. “How about no waistcoat at all? What’s the point of guns like yours if you can’t show them off every now and again, eh, Atwood?”

  The stylist’s scepticism transformed into a giant grin, while my face morphed into a frown that said, Not in a million years. Unfortunately, I was outnumbered, and Julian was determined once he got an idea into his head. That was how I found myself walking out onto the set in a pair of dress slacks, tap shoes, suspenders, a porkpie hat, and little else.

  When I’d thought of modernisation, this wasn’t exactly what I’d had in mind.

  It wasn’t too different from what I’d been wearing in Moulin Rouge, except for the little matter of being completely shirtless. Julian grinned over at me from where he stood by the stylist, thoroughly enjoying my discomfort. The thing was, his grin had this way of making others want to grin, too, and it didn’t take me long to see the funny side.

  I shot him a look that said I’d get him back one of these days.

  His returning glance said, Challenge accepted.

  It had been a long time since I’d been in front of a camera, but it was all coming back to me, the lights, the booms, the director’ chair over in the corner, cables running back and forth over the floor.

  It felt like getting reacquainted with an old friend.

  I stood talking with the director, a short, dark-haired man in his late fifties, when my attention caught on something shiny. Rose walked into the room, looking a little hesitant but still eager. My mouth fell open. She wore an emerald green dress with lots of shiny bits…what were those things called? Tassels? All I knew was the dress was exquisite, and it moulded to every generous, luscious curve of her body. Her hair was up off her neck, fashioned in a way that made it look much shorter than it actually was. Her eyes were what caught me most though, such vibrant blue outlined by dark makeup.

  She was like every wet dream I’d ever had come to life.

  “Mr Atwood? Did you hear what I just said?” the director asked, dragging my attention away from Rose.

  “Pardon?”

  He huffed and repeated himself. I nodded along, still barely listening. Rose’s dress was indecently short, her shapely legs displayed in all their glory. I want to fucking bite her right then, she was so sexy, especially in those shoes. I wasn’t a man who knew much about fashion, but Rose wore some sexy-as-fuck shoes at times. Several set workers surrounded her, one woman dusting powder on her cheeks while another fussed with her hair.

  Rose looked up then, perhaps sensing my attention, and a blush coloured her cheeks. We’d been together long enough for her to know what my looks meant. This one said, I’m going to fuck you six ways from Sunday as soon as I get you alone. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I even saw her tremble slightly.

  My cock stirred, but I told it to stand down. We had a scene to shoot.

  A few minutes later, it was action time. The dance began, and I performed the tap routine Rose had spent countless hours teaching me, the cameras following my every move. Before I knew it, I was bending down and kneeling before her as she held her foot in midair, displaying the entire length of her leg sheathed in provocative lace stockings. The hat I’d been wearing hung on the end of her shoe. It didn’t take much acting on my part to look enthralled. Fuck, it didn’t take any acting at all, especially when I saw the seductive gleam in her eyes.

  I took the hat, flicked it onto my head, and then it was all her. I was no longer the focal point of the scene — I was a simple worshipper on the altar of her talent. I could tell by the slant of her mouth that she was amused by my attire, or lack thereof, but obviously she couldn’t comment on it right then.

  It was when I tugged her body close to mine, swaying her with me as our dance continued, that she managed to whisper, “Not that I’m complaining, but what’s with the Magic Mike getup?”

  I twirled her, letting her body slide sensuously down mine before pulling her back up again. “Julian’s idea,” I whisper-grumbled back.

  The mirth in her eyes was almost worth the discomfort of showing off my bare skin.
I hadn’t failed to notice a few female members of the crew eyeing me up and down, which I found odd but not unpleasant. Anyway, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like they could do anything about it. I belonged to Rose now, only Rose.

  The scene was almost at an end. I held her close, intimating a near kiss before she pulled away teasingly. When the director shouted “cut,” I caught her hand and swung her back to me, kissing her full on the mouth. Her little gasp of surprise made me grin into the kiss.

  I couldn’t wait for our planned trip back to Skye next weekend. We hadn’t returned since our brief visit all those months ago, and I was eager to have her back in my home again. I knew our lives as they were couldn’t exist in one place, and I’d grown to accept that. As we each followed our individual paths, we’d move around, but I had every intention of doing all that was in my power to ensure that where Rose went, I would follow.

  Yes, I missed Skye, missed the quiet and peace of the island. It would always be my home, and Rose loved it just as much. We’d agreed that as often as we could, we’d go and spend as much time there as possible. But it didn’t matter, because I’d changed. Home wasn’t a geographical location on the map anymore, it wasn’t a place set by four walls and a roof. Home now was a much more intangible, yet solid thing.

  She was my home.

  My beautiful, sweet, and forever enchanting Rose.

  Some time later…

  A Poem for Rose

  I could write a hundred sonnets but barely breathe a word

  I could sing to you ‘til my lungs were sore but be silent when it ends

  I could tell you a thousand things with a look but nothing with my voice

  I could mould our story with my hands on your skin, but Christ, my useless mouth

  I was closed

  You were open

  I was still

  You moved

  You opened me, you moved me

  I saw you and there wasn’t a choice

  Your kindness gripped me, killed me, woke me

  I acted, you didn’t

  I learned I didn’t have to

  Now there’s comfort where my skin used to itch

  You live

  I love you

  You breathe

  I live

  You dance

  I breathe

  I sing

  You love me

  Home isn’t a place in the sky but deep inside your heart

  Surrounding by thick walls made of flesh and blood and soul

  Say that you’ll marry me

  And you can live in mine

  Forever yours,

  Damon.

  END.

  Thank you for reading Showmance. Please consider supporting an indie author and leaving a review <3

  P.S. Look out for Julian’s story, coming in 2017!

  About the Author

  L.H. Cosway lives in Dublin, Ireland. Her inspiration to write comes from music. Her favourite things in life include writing stories, vintage clothing, dark cabaret music, food, musical comedy, and of course, books. She thinks that imperfect people are the most interesting kind. They tell the best stories.

  Find L.H. Cosway online!

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  Have you discovered L.H. Cosway’s HEARTS series yet?

  Praise for Six of Hearts (Book #1)

  "This book was sexy. Man was it hot! Cosway writes sexual tension so that it practically sizzles off the page." - A. Meredith Walters, New York Times & USA Today Bestselling Author.

  "Six of Hearts is a book that will absorb you with its electric and all-consuming atmosphere." - Lucia, Reading is my Breathing.

  "There is so much "swoonage" in these pages that romance readers will want to hold this book close and not let go." - Katie, Babbling About Books.

  Praise for Hearts of Fire (Book #2)

  "This story holds so much intensity and it's just blazing hot. It created an inferno of emotions inside me." - Patrycja, Smokin' Hot Book Blog.

  "I think this is my very favorite LH Cosway romance to date. Absolutely gorgeous." - Angela, Fiction Vixen.

  "Okay we just fell in love. Complete and utter beautiful book love. You know the kind of love where you just don't want a book to finish. You try and make it last; you want the world to pause as you read and you want the story to go on and on because you're not ready to let it go." - Jenny & Gitte, Totally Booked.

  Praise for King of Hearts (Book #3)

  "Addictive. Consuming. Witty. Heartbreaking. Brilliant--King of Hearts is one of my favourite reads of 2015!" - Samantha Young, New York Times, USA Today and Wall Street Journal bestselling author.

  "I was looking for a superb read, and somehow I stumbled across an epic one." - Natasha is a Book Junkie.

  "5+++++++ Breathtaking stars! Outstanding. Incredible. Epic. Overwhelmingly romantic and poignant. There's book love and in this case there's BOOK LOVE." - Jenny & Gitte, Totally Booked.

  Praise for Hearts of Blue (Book #4)

  "From its compelling characters, to the competent prose that holds us rapt cover to cover, this is a book I could not put down." - Natasha is a Book Junkie.

  "Devoured it in one sitting. Sexy, witty, and fresh. Their love was not meant to be, their love should never work, but Lee and Karla can't deny what burns so deep and strong in their hearts. Confidently a TRSoR recommendation and fave!" - The Rock Stars of Romance.

  "WOW!!! It's hard to find words right now, I don't think the word LOVE even makes justice or can even describe how much I adored this novel. Karla handcuffed my senses and Lee stole my heart." - Dee, Wrapped Up In Reading.

  If you enjoyed SHOWMANCE, you may also like ‘The Rhythm Series’ by Jane Harvey-Berrick. Check out Book One, Slave to the Rhythm, and the upcoming Book Two, LUKA, releasing on June 16th, 2016.

  Praise for Slave to the Rhythm

  "The perfect balance of dark suspense and heart-warming romance, this was a book that I could not put down, and loved in all its devastating, gritty, yet unreservedly romantic and compelling beauty." – NATASHA IS A BOOK JUNKIE.

  "If there's one thing we can say about Jane Harvey Berrick's writing, it's that she always manages to capture our imagination with the beauty and visionary of her stories!" – TOTALLY BOOKED.

  Available for purchase on Amazon US and Amazon UK.

  Blurb for LUKA

  I’m not a good man.

  I’m not a bad man.

  But I’ve made some bad mistakes, made the wrong choices.

  Who hasn’t? But the consequences are tearing us apart.

  I love two people.

  I love them differently.

  The world tells me I have to choose. Why? Why do I have to choose?

  Loving hurts. Dancing heals.

  Love makes you soar, makes you fly and sets you free—and then it lets you freefall until you’re smashed and bleeding on the ground. Ultimately, love is the worst thing that can happen to a human being.

  In my opinion.

  I love two people.

  I love them differently.

  One is a man.

  One is a woman.

  And they are brother and sister.

  Available for pre-order on Amazon US and Amazon UK.

  Books by L.H. Cosway

  Contemporary Romance

  Painted Faces

  Killer Queen

  The Nature of Cruelty

  Still Life with Strings

  Showmance

  The Hearts Series

  Six of Hearts (#1)

  Hearts of Fire (#2)

  King of Hearts (#3)

  Hearts of Blue (#4)

  The Rugby Series with Penny Reid

  The Hooker & the Hermit

  The Player & the Pixie

  Urban Fantasy

  Tegan's Blood (The Ultimate Power Series #1)

  Tegan's Return (The Ultimate Power Series #2)


  Tegan's Magic (The Ultimate Power Series #3)

  Tegan’s Power (The Ultimate Power Series #4)