The Harlequin’s Lover: a long time coming…

I have a very large, soft spot in my heart for lesbian fiction… in case you hadn’t noticed 🙂

Fully embracing the fun of writing erotic romance with both arms, I dove into a new story. A journalist is captivated by an aerialist. Sensual encounters ensue. Read on and maybe even pick it up!

Now Available in the Amazon Kindle Bookstore!

Here, have a snippet. And if you enjoy it, leave a review, would you?

Thanks lovelies,

~Ava

The Harlequin’s Lover

Vanessa Alexander is tasked with writing a review of a new performance showing at The North Star Theater, an off broadway company showcasing a night of aerial acrobatics. She is captivated by a mysterious performer known only as The Harlequin. Unable to forget the woman she saw on the stage, Vanessa goes back to the theater in search of her. But when they finally meet will Vanessa discover The Harlequin’s secrets, or will she merely give up her own? Vanessa is under the woman’s spell. But she must decide what she is willing to sacrifice in order to become The Harlequin’s Lover.

***

As I sat in the small theater, I realized that it was the third time I had seen that show. That week. Although the theater was small, it was decorated with a grace and elegance that lent an old world feel to the entire atmosphere. Deep red velvet curtains draped from the sides of the stage looking delicate despite their natural heaviness. Gold filigree curled and swirled around the edges of the stage and framed the stage in a perfect pattern of classic european style. I’d loved the design from the moment I stepped foot inside the space. Once I saw the act, I knew the decor was perfect for it.

It was the perfect blend of modernity and antiquity. There was a feeling of bringing back culture that had been lost that grabbed me as I made myself comfortable, the seat squeaking beneath me. My heart-rate picked up. I glanced around the theater, but it was mostly empty. It was a Wednesday evening after all. There weren’t many people, art lovers or not, who would go out in the middle of the week to see an obscure show playing in a little black box theater off Broadway. I was the exception. If I was being honest, it wasn’t just the interior of the theater that had me excited.

The first time I came to see the show, my boss apologized for having to send me.

“I know we usually send you to the bigger shows, but Angie is out this week and really, I want this show to succeed. I hear its phenomenal, they just can’t seem to get their marketing together. Do you forgive me, Ness?” I wrinkled my nose at the awful nickname but my editor took it differently. “Don’t make me grovel. I’ll do it. Don’t challenge me, woman.” Richard Lynch was tall, handsome, successful and an absolute fantasy for every woman in the office. Had he said those words to anyone else, (his secretary in particular) he would have had them eating from the palm of his hand. I could only sigh wearily.

“You know I hate it when you call me Ness. Makes me sound like—“

“The Loch Ness Monster, yes I know. Please, forgive me sweet, darling, angelic Vanessa, writer goddess of  The Muse.” Richard dropped to his knees, clasped his hands together in prayer and placed them in my lap. I jumped, taken aback by his close proximity. He flashed a wide smile, showing all thirty-two teeth, complete with a deep set dimple in each cheek.. My facade finally cracked and I graced him with a small smile. Flattery would get that man everywhere. And I was almost sure he knew it. I wasn’t quite as upset as he thought with the assignment, but I still rolled my eyes and gave another suffering sigh. I Had to make the man work for something, after all.

“Fine, I’ll go. But save your groveling. You know you’re wasting your time. You owe me though.” I cut him a sideways glance and he nodded sagely before he stood to his full height.

“Of course I know my charms are entirely wasted on you my sapphic, freedom fighting, art loving princess. That’s why I do it. Anyway, consider it done. I absolutely owe you. Just make sure you write me the best review anyone has ever written.” Richard placed a press packet on my desk. I narrowed my eyes at him.

“What, is your sister in this or something?” I was suddenly suspicious of why he was so interested in a little, unknown show that, to my knowledge, he had never seen. He arched a brow haughtily in my direction as the indignation on his face grew at my insinuation before he cleared his throat and finally answered.

“My cousin’s daughter.” He whispered before he turned on his heel and strode out of my office pausing once to glance over his shoulder at me with a mischievous smile and a wink before he closed the office door behind him. I chuckled and shook my head. My editor was undoubtedly one of the biggest goofballs I knew, but he made up for it with a serious mind for business and an even bigger heart, the combination of which launched The Muse into almost overnight success. Working with the arts publication was a dream and Richard often spared no expense to get the best articles he could out of his writers.

No one knew of his dedication to The Story more than I did as I sat in the North Star Theater for the third night in a row, in my front row seats courtesy of Mr. Richard Lynch and waited for the show to begin. The show was supposed to showcase aerial acts as an art form. Richard’s, cousin’s daughter was the first to perform. She was definitely skilled and she had the audience warmed up and ready for the coming numbers in both of the previous shows I attended.

The entire performance had three artists who showcased their talents in a series of numbers, but they saved the best for last. The end performer was an indefatigable young woman, simply called: The Harlequin. Secretly, she was the reason I was here this third night in a row. The exquisite reason I made the trek off broadway this random Wednesday, to the virtually unknown theater with a half-full house of stuffy old art patrons and probably donors to the theater company that produced the show. Because of the sparse crowd, the noise level was muted. I checked my watch and saw, to my disappointment, that the show still had several minutes before it began.

I sat up straighter in my seat when I saw a few younger viewers in the audience, but the closer I looked, I saw them pull out notebooks and loose papers and knew that they must have been here on some school assignment. Perhaps I was the only one that was actually here for the love of the show. Or rather, for the love of The Harlequin.

The thought made me slightly self conscious but I barely had time to process it. The lights were dimming and the hidden orchestra was trilling their opening notes. I used the edge of my pleated skirt to dry my palms which seemed to be clammy and cold already, and took a deep breath, settling in for the show that I knew, almost by heart, now.

***

Here’s that Link again!

Thanks for reading ❤