Falling for a Movie Star E-Book

Annemarie Nikolaus

• Herausgeber: Publisher s15153
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

Tanja Walters seems hopelessly in love with her longtime square dance partner Micky Hasloff. The truth is Micky hides his feelings behind banter and war of words.
Then the square dancers are hired for a Western. The Spanish actor Manolo Rioja plays the leading role; the star was Tanja’s teenage idol. Now she’s making eyes at him, certain she is as attractive as the groupies he usually surrounds himself with.
Micky Hasloff watches with growing anger how she throws herself at Rioja. Eventually he sabotages the shooting. If he gets Tanja away from Rioja this way, he doesn't care that the movie contract could be canceled.
Then Micky meets Rioja's heavily pregnant wife and learns that the girls at his side are just paid models. Now he understands the star, for his part, is not interested in Tanja at all.
But does that help him? Can Micky overcome his fear of rejection and reveal his feelings to Tanja?

Love story in the series “Quick, quick, slow – Lietzensee Dance Club”.
Each novel in the series can be read as a stand-alone.

Leseprobe

Contents

Title

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

Dance Novels

About the author

Tanja Walters’ secret love is her square dance partner Micky Hasloff. But when the dancers are hired for a Western, she flirts with the star of the movie, Manolo Rioja. Out of jealousy Micky sabotages the shooting. Only a meeting with Rioja and his wife convinces him that not the star stands in his way, but his own fear. Now does Micky dare to reveal his love to Tanja?

Annemarie Nikolaus

Falling for a Movie Star

Quick, quick, slow – Lietzensee Dance Club

Copyright © 2019 Annemarie Nikolaus

License Notes

1

With her freaky bicycle bell Tanja Walters startled with two magpies, which were bickering over a glittering shred of tinfoil paper on the bike path. The paper got left behind as the two of them fled into the chestnut tree in front of the fairground at Berlin-Zehlendorf’s Hüttenweg.

Tanja got off and locked her bike to a streetlamp. Then she bent down for the tinfoil and threw it in the next trashcan. Served them right!

Each merry-go-round had a different music playing; the operators apparently tried to drown out one another. Did they think who was loudest attracted the most people?

The seductive scent of grilled food was wafting towards her. Fairground visitors crowded into an alleyway lined with barbecue stalls with corn, grill ribs, steaks and American beer. She just came from lunch, but she still would have bought at least one rib, if the lines in front of the food stalls hadn’t been that long.

For her as a square dancer, the German-American Folk Festival was a must. And she loved it. The real America she could afford at the earliest, when she was done with her architecture studies.

At the Ferris wheel she met the first one from the Lietzensee Dance Club: Norbert Kaminski was just getting out of a gondola with his twelve-year-old son Oliver.

“Tanja, Tanja!” Oliver hopped towards her. “ Will you ride the ghost train with me?”

“Why me?” She grinned at Norbert. “Is your father afraid?”

Oliver pulled the corners of his mouth down. “No. That’s why it’s no fun with Dad. He’s just pretending.”

“Then you’ll have to come back when your mother’s around. I’m not scared either.”

“I can’t do that.” Suddenly Oliver looked like he was about to burst into tears.

Norbert raised his eyebrows warningly. Apparently she’d put her foot in her mouth. And she thought Norbert’s divorce had been consensual.

She put her arm around Oliver’s shoulders. “Then we’ll make Chris do it. Come on, let’s go find him.”

They had arranged to meet the others from their square dance group on “Main Street”. Here the owners of the stalls had agreed on country music. Very sensible! It was a little quieter, too. Tanja sang along with what she knew as they looked for the dancers.

Chris Rinehart, the group’s American caller, stood next to Tanja’s partner Micky Hassloff at a shooting gallery. Chris was dressed in plain clothes, while Micky looked like a cowboy from his Stetson to the high-heeled boots. A very authentic-looking cowboy: muscular and tanned, as if he were actually herding cattle all year round. Even the sand blond hair looked like being bleached by too much sun. In reality, he sat day and night at the University of Technology in front of some stupid computers.

Chris was instructing him in the use of an air gun and the shooting gallery’s owner followed their actions with obvious displeasure. But then he got distracted by an older man wearing a sombrero and a fringed trapper shirt and turned away from them.

She approached and then pointed to the owner. “I guess he’s afraid Micky’s gonna clear out his stall.”

Micky turned around. The blue of his eyes became more intense as he looked at her. Dark as a lake she could sink into. What a silly thought! She’d drown; she couldn’t even swim.

She leaned with an elbow on the counter next to him hoping she looked cool.

“Tanja, what can I shoot you?”

“For me? Well... Not a stuffed animal, anyway. I already have a hundred of them. At least.” She looked from the running belt with the numbers rolling past to the prizes on display and back to the running belt. “Can you even know beforehand what you’re gonna score?”

Chris laughed. “Well, somehow he’ll hit something.”

“Something...” It was all bells and whistles that was lined up. “Can’t they let you win something useful?” Maybe she had better tell Micky right away that she wasn’t interested in any of this stuff. But he must have already paid for his shots. And he shouldn’t think she didn’t want anything from him.

“This here is the German-American Folk Festival!” Micky swung the air gun. “This is not a matter of utility, but of peace of nations. Or something like that.”

“Peace of nations? Micky, you fell out of time: The German Democratic Republic no longer exists.” As always, when he could not come up with an answer, he got red ears. It was so easy to rag him.

“You mean our way of life.” Chris pointed with a similarly pompous gesture as Micky to the alley with the barbecues.

“Your way of life? Pah!” She grinned cheekily. “You just copied our quadrille.”

“But you have to admit, our square dance is much funnier than your quadrille. That’s why it’s long gone out of fashion.” Chris put one hand on Micky’s back. “The longer you hesitate, the more insecure you’ll become.”

Micky’s gaze went from the running belt back to Tanja. “That can’t be! More insecure is impossible.” Especially when she was so close to him that her perfume was fogging him. As if just the sight of her wasn’t enough to take his breath away. Her dark blond hair had just grown back to half length and it stroked her face with every gust of wind. There, on her cheek, he’d like to have his own fingers. But there was probably nothing he could do about it. They had been dancing together for over three years now, but Tanja didn’t even come to him when she couldn’t get along with her computer.

With an eye pinched, he put the rifle against his shoulder, decided on a target and shot. Missed. What did he let Chris sweet-talk him into it! He reloaded and shot a second time without aiming for long. This time he scored. He straightened and wiped his clammy fingers on his pants. “Coincidence.” At least now he didn’t look like a complete idiot.

But he still had two shots left to embarrass himself. He leveled the gun again; both times he hit a number on the running belt. Grinning with relief, he put the gun on the counter and looked at the owner expectantly. “Now I’m curious.” Judging by the owner’s sinister face, he had just shot a few decent wins.

Tanja grabbed his arm and pulled him around. “Hit three out of four times. Micky, you’re a natural.”

Thereupon he didn’t know anything to say. Self-conscious, he turned his gaze back to the owner of the stall.

But Chris added another one. “I told you so in the first place. You accomplish what you’re setting out to do.”

His neck became hot; he must be blushing now. He kept a stubborn gaze on the owner, who was arranging winnings back and forth. “He doesn’t seem to know what to give me.” And louder. “Young man, may I choose something, or how does that work now?”

“Just a moment,” came the grumpy answer. All of a sudden the man no longer had an American accent, but a tonality that sounded very Hessian.

“Despite the hat and the clothes: That’s not an American.” Tanja smirked openly. “Americans are much more generous.

Chris laughed and patted her on the back. “I’m honored, ma’am.”

The owner of the shooting gallery finally settled on handing over the prizes. Of course one of them was an oversized stuffed animal – a pink version of Bugs Bunny.

Micky tried to saddle Oliver with it, but he refused outraged. “Pink is for girls!”

Chris finally took the rabbit from him: Madeline could make her grandmother happy with it. The second prize was soap bubbles; Oliver accepted them graciously. The third prize, on the other hand, had a certain merit: a steam iron. But how could he give such a thing to Tanja?

She unpacked it and looked at it from all sides. “For my mother!”

“Do you think she’ll iron my shirts to thank me?”

“My mother never irons!” Arrogantly she raised her chin.

He stared at her. Did she really think he was serious about his question?

Laughter lines crinkled around her eyes as she swiveled the iron. “Maybe she’ll start now.” She pulled his leg! And he had once again fallen for it. How did she always do that?

“Let the man check if it works,” Chris warned.

“I didn’t know you could be so finicky.” Madeline Lagrange’s voice suddenly sounded behind them.

Chris turned around, pulled her close and kissed her persistently.

“You obviously want me to want us to finish the tour! Before I even started?” Madeline laughed, half out of breath from the long kiss.