Reviews ...
"A fantastic romance, with
a fast paced plot, well-written, sexually explicit while giving
us the intense emotional aspects of each character. I loved this
book and read it in one sitting…readers are sure to delight
in this story offering glimpses into Cuban culture and the art
world of Chicago. If you only read one Blaze this late summer,
be sure and get this one. I guarantee you won't be disappointed."
4.5 Plugs.
-Jeri Neal, The
Romance Readers Connection.com
"My, my my, Her Body of Work
is a deliciously sensual and highly charged romance…the
sparks fly between these stimulating protagonists and create a
red-hot experience for the reader. The vibrant emotions of its
leading characters make for a steamy read. Every woman should
have a taste of ecstasy now and then." 9 of 10.
-Teresa Sanders, Suspense
Romance Writers/Romance Designs.com
"Her Body of Work
is bursting at the seams. The passion between Marco and Rey shimmers0".
3 Stars.
-Page Traynor, Romantic
Times Bookclub
"Ms. Donovan has written one
hot book with Her Body of Work. A little danger, a little suspense,
and a lot of sensuality make this a very enjoyable book."
4 Blue Ribbons.
-Laurie, Romance Junkies.com
"Marie Donovan has written
a real winner with Her Body of Work. The passion is hot enough
to scorch the pages. Readers will either fan themselves through
the steamy sections or hang on through the action sequences. Enjoy
the ride!" 4.5 Roses.
-Paula, A Romance Review.com
"I enjoyed this book from
the very beginning…a flawless read. I'll definitely be
reading more of Marie Donovan's books." 4 Stars.
-Audria L., The Erotic
Reader/We Write Romance.com
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Dutch Edition
December 2006
NAAKT ONDER HAAR HANDEN
(NAKED UNDER HER HANDS) |
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UK edition
April 2007 |
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Greek edition
March 2007
GYMNO MODELO
(NAKED MODEL) |
Excerpt
...
Marco craned his
neck to double-check the address on the loft building in Chicago’s
North Side Bucktown neighborhood. Dios mío, it was cold.
The icy wind blew a crushed paper cup along the salt-crusted sidewalk.
He pulled up his collar in case anyone was following him.
Francisco owed him big for this one. His younger
brother had also left his fancy down coat at the cleaners and
it wouldn’t be ready until Monday, so Marco was stuck with
his own thin leather coat. As he pressed the buzzer, blobs of
dirty snow slid off the overhang and slipped down his neck. A
string of curses burst from his lips.
The wide steel door slid open. ¡Caray! Although
Marco definitely wasn’t familiar with Nordic mythology,
the tall blonde in front of him had to be the reincarnation of
some winter goddess. Her long pale hair curved on her shoulders,
framing a pink-and-white complexion. Ice-blue eyes sparkled from
between light brown lashes.
“You must be Francisco. Come in and get warm.”
She reached out a paint-stained hand and tugged him inside. Her
full breasts bounced gently under her light blue sweater.
She had called him Francisco. There was no way he
wanted to hear his brother’s name come out of her sexy mouth.
“Actually, I go by Marco.”
“Oh, I probably misheard your agent. My name
is Rey Martinson.”
Rey? The blonde goddess was the artist? She hustled
him inside the foyer to a large loft space full of canvases, drop
cloths and what looked like chisels and hammers. Gloomy afternoon
light filtered in through the floor-to-ceiling windows lining
a long red brick wall. He craned his neck and saw a rumpled bed
in the far corner of the loft.
“I’ll hang up your coat so you can go
change in the dressing room.” She pointed to a small curtained
cubicle next to a platform.
“Change?”
“So I can see if you’d be a good fit
for my new project.” She hustled off to adjust a camera
tripod.
Francisco had told him this wasn’t a fashion
modeling audition. He stood still for a second and decided to
go along with whatever Rey wanted. He shut himself inside the
drafty cubicle and shucked off his ice-crusted black jeans, cold
fingers fumbling the buttons on his short-sleeved black shirt.
He looked for the outfit he was supposed to model but the only
clothing was a ratty-looking bathrobe.
“Your agent said you’ve done life modeling
before?” she asked.
“Sure, I’ve done it before,” he
answered. Life modeling? He’d briefly dated a chain-smoking
artist who painted what she called still lifes, big ugly bowls
of rotting fruit that were supposed to say something deep about
the futility of existence or some garbage like that. Maybe Rey
wanted him to hold a fruit bowl while she painted his picture.
“Oh, great. I always find experienced life
models easier to work with,” her cheerful voice floated
over the wall. Her English was very precise, with a slight lilt
on the vowels as if she’d grown up speaking two languages
like he had.
“Um, what do you want me to wear?” he
finally had to ask.
“You are so funny.” Her giggle made
him smile, but he had no idea what the joke was. “Just put
on the bathrobe.”
The clothes must be hanging outside. He left on
his black bikini briefs and tugged the well-worn black terrycloth
around him. It gaped across his chest and skimmed the tops of
his thighs.
Pulling at the robe one more time, he stepped out
and almost bumped into her. She had stripped off her blue sweater
and wore a tight white tank top. She was as smooth and pale as
a marble statue.
She looked up from the digital camera in front of
her. “Come stand on the platform and take off the robe.”
What? Marco tried to examine her expression for
some clue, but she had returned to fiddling with that damn camera.
Remembering his younger brother’s excitement to audition
in L.A., he loosened the belt and dropped the robe. She circled
him, appraising his pecs and abs, circling him slowly. Francisco
actually got paid for this?
“Would you be willing to shave?”
He fingered the stubble on his jaw. Not wanting
to get the job, he hadn’t bothered to shave that day. “I
thought the unkempt look was in now.”
“Not your face, your chest. Most models actually
wax their chests.”
His stubbled chin nearly hit the floor. “Wax
my chest?” He’d have to have a serious talk with his
younger brother about what was and what was not acceptable for
Cuban men to do.
She shrugged. “Or not. Your chest hair isn’t
so thick that I can’t see your muscles underneath.”
“Okay.” He didn’t know whether
to be relieved or insulted. He jumped as her finger stroked his
back. “You have quite a few scars. You must live an interesting
life.”
“I haven’t always been a model.”
Hell, he’d only been one for about thirty seconds.
“You’re a welcome change. Most male
models are cookie-cutter pretty boys. But you, you have quite
a unique look.” He fought to stare straight ahead as her
warm breath tickled the nape of his neck.
“I hope that’s a good thing,”
Marco managed, as he tried to control his hardening penis. Even
though Francisco could be a pain, he didn’t deserve to have
his modeling career wrecked because his brother got a hard-on
in front of the boss.
“It’s a very good thing,” she
reassured him. “Seeing you has given me some great ideas
for my newest commission.”
“What kind of artwork do you do?” He
hadn’t seen any fruit bowls, so he might be spared from
still lifes.
“All sorts—painting, photography and
sculpture. My body of work has a definite unifying theme.”
She gestured to the expansive loft.
He looked around and saw something he hadn’t
noticed before. All the paintings and sculptures in Rey’s
studio were of men.
Naked men.
He muttered another Spanish curse that would have
earned him a smack from his mamá. What had his brother
gotten him into?
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