The Noir Dera
Beacon of Sound
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Number of pages: 247
Word Count: 86,260
You can fight desire…
Marie DeLou doesn’t want to believe that her life is anything less than perfect. After all, how could it not be? She has a thriving mental health practice and a doting husband who loves her. Still, when a freight train of a man tears through her quiet existence, she has to wonder if things—and people—are not always what they seem to be.
…but there’s no stopping destiny
Prince Patrick Alvang of the Noir Dera has one job to do--to save the Beacon of Light, Marie DeLou, from the danger lurking within her walls. But between her smoking hot body and her equally fiery attitude, his task is a whole lot more difficult than he’d expected. Lucky for him, it looks like the only way to get to the finish line is to play dirty along the way…
A dance with the devil
Marie felt like throwing a party to commemorate the end of her crazy day. She had one client committed and had to stop another session early in order to get her last client to stop crying.
She changed quickly and was ready for the studio within 10 minutes of her last session. She put her new CD on and fought to get through the Brandon traffic.
Brandon, Florida had traffic at all hours of the day. It was as if the traffic Gods rejected the idea of a peaceful drive through the city.
Once she arrived at her studio, she bolted inside and locked the door. She pulled on her silky, beaded skirt and wrapped it snugly around her waist. She then tied a blue scarf to each wrist and began stretching. She turned on the stereo and let the magic begin. Marie started to relax as the sound of Anoushka Shankar’s sitar filled the small dance space.
She could feel the energy coursing through her body. The music threaded through the empty spaces in her spirit. She spun and danced to ISHQ and felt as if she was flying when “Dancing in Madness” floated out of the speakers.
She spared no expense when it came to her studio. It was a place where art came alive. Art and peace were flowing through her body when she saw someone standing outside the studio. Doctor Fallen Angel had come to pay her a visit.
Oh, this is surely the devil’s work.
She would not be decent to him. Refusing to pause the music, she released the deadbolt and let him in.
“Dr. Alvang, I want you to know that Marcel has sold you up the river. There is no way you’ll survive this.” She turned and walked to the center of the studio. She wound her hips to "Si No Puedo Verla" and waited for his response. “You will dance and not complain. You have invaded my peace and I will not give you anything until you’re broken by my music.”
Men hated to dance and she was prepared to mop the floor with the good doctor. Marcel was the only man that could keep pace.
Patrick didn’t hesitate. He walked up behind her and grabbed her by the waist. She relaxed into his hold for a split second. They danced like flames leaping to kiss the air.
It was flawless.
She became lost in the pain, pleasure, joy, and seduction of the sitar and the guitars. Patrick touched every inch of her and demanded that her body respond.
She backed away as her leg slid to his waist. He lifted Marie by the waist and positioned her closer. His palms were on the small of her back. The movement pressed their bodies close. There was no escaping.
It was as if he’d melted into her and bonded them together. The CD ended, and then, without warning, the song changed. Mark Rosas was singing "Higher" and Patrick continued dancing as if the shift in music was inconsequential.
She’d left that dance mix at home.
Why was it playing? The dubstep rhythm in the song gave him an opportunity to really show off. He lifted her into his arms again.
Patrick turned her toward one of the mirrors as he ground into her back. She wrapped her arms around his neck and felt his breath brushing against her ear. She was transfixed. Her eyes were glued to the mirror. Their bodies resembled an erotic oil painting.
Patrick pulled her in tighter and she melted into him. Their legs moved, but Marie was lost in the dance.
She heard Mark sing, “I just want to take you higher, com'n let me light your fire."
He spun her around and their eyes met. Patrick's were glowing cobalt beacons that held her gaze. His gaze remained locked on her as if mapping her every emotion. As the song came to an end, he slid her to the floor. And she came to rest in a kneeling position at his feet.
About the Author:
R.M. Garry lives with her three male children a.k.a the wolf pack and her husband of 12 years.
Writing allows her to maintain her sanity while juggling her world.
Her goal is to give readers a brief escape from the realities of their world.
When she isn’t writing, R.M. is reading and keeping up with her favorite authors.
For updates and book information readers can visit
Word Press Blog: http://authorrmgarry.wordpress.com/