Prancing of a PapillonAfter you’ve sold your soul to the devil, can you renegotiate with a dog?
Prancing of a Papillon
Prancing of a Papillon is a pretending to be macho, near death at a dog show, the billionaire and the kindergarten teacher, who knew dog shows could be so dangerous?, suspenseful, laugh-out-loud funny, sex in a stairwell, MM romance—with Papillon.
Pretending to be dangerous—is.
At six-five and packed with muscle, Jericho looks like an alpha top when he’s actually a gentle bottom who teaches first grade and lives with his hypochondriac mother.
Just try to find a boyfriend in that position.
To get away from his disappointing social life, Jericho agrees to become the dog show handler for his friends’ champion Papillon, Batshit.
And that’s where he meets wealthy dog owner, Brees, who makes Jericho want to be a more macho man
Brees is being followed by scary persons unknown, so Jericho steps up to flex his muscles and exert his imaginary courage.
But pretend gets way out of control, and suddenly the only thing between Brees and possible death is a smart dog with big ears and gentle wimp, Jericho Jones.
Available in Paperback and Kindle Format
Release Date: July 7, 2020
Tara Lain Books
Other Books in the Fuzzy Love Series
Follow Batshit, the intrepid Papillon dog, as she tracks down and defeats bad guys, plays Cupid, and guides her heroes on the rocky road to love.
What People Are Saying
This was such a fun story, and full of unexpected twists. Bat is still the sweet pooch we fell in love with in the previous book, and just as smart as ever. I liked Jericho and Brees’ characters and personalities. They were relatable and likable. The ladies we met in this book were great sidekicks! Nobody had a clue their day was gonna wind up like this.
Like with book one, the writing was just easy flowing and made it hard to stop reading. I had to find out what happened, so I wasn’t about to put the book down!
No one does quirky, funny stories with unexpected heroes better than Tara Lain. This is another great addition to her library and with the greatest dog name in history- Batshit. Yes, really, the cutest dog in history is called Batshit. Brilliant.
Now I am finished thinking back on the whole story , it’s really a very good book written extremely well, the mystery , love , the dogs and the awakening of a mum was wonderful. A book I can easily recommend.
Hugely enjoyable with a perfect mix of excitement, passion, and a totally genius papillon called Batshit
This is sweet, entertaining fun. The mystery is interesting, there’s a great secondary cast, and Jericho and Brees are the cutest pair of opposites that I’ve read in a long time. Plus there are dogs!!! What more could you ask for in a great story?
For a fun romp, dogs you’ll wish you could pet, a touch of psychological perceptiveness, the excitement of competition and yummy tension, Prancing of a Papillon has it all. Tara Lain proves that light and easy novels can still be well-rounded.
Excerpt from Prancing of a Papillon
Jericho Jones slid a big hand down the back of each of the two dogs that occupied his lap. Technically, according to some silly restaurant law, they were supposed to be on the ground, but Café Z was lenient on the patio. Hell, half the people in Corona del Mar had meals with their dogs, so Z would have lost most of their customers if they weren’t flexible.
Jericho whispered, “It’s okay, boys and girls. I’m nervous too.”
“Yip. Yip!” Killer, Jericho’s twelve-pound cairn terrier, leaped up and licked Jericho’s face.
Jericho giggled and wiped the slobber, but from Jericho’s other leg, Killer got a look of total disdain from Batshit, the eight-pound Papillon with ears the size of Nevada and an attitude far larger. Her withering expression said, Barbarian.
Jericho had borrowed Batshit from his friends, Finn and Em, for his blind date because she had impeccable taste. Jericho figured if the guy he was meeting for lunch passed the inspection of Batshit, he must be okay. Killer didn’t like much of anybody, so he wasn’t a good judge of character. Mostly, though, Jericho had just wanted the two dogs for moral support. He was crap at blind dates. Hell, he was crap at all dates, and if this one didn’t work, he’d pretty much decided to call it on social life.
Jericho looked down at Bat who was staring toward the entrance to the restaurant patio. Deliberately, he raised his head. Standing inside the gate from the sidewalk stood a medium-tall, slim, fair-haired man who looked like Draco Malfoy grown up. He wore skin-tight gray jeans and a form-fitting white sweater that might be silk—or maybe nylon. Could he possibly be for me? The photo his blind date had posted online was from a distance, which was usually bad news, and all Jericho had really seen was pale hair. But this guy was tres cute.
Jericho put the dogs on the slate of the patio—amazingly, they let him—and rose. If the man turned out to be somebody else’s date, and that was likely, Jericho could pretend he’d been looking down the street. The guy glanced toward him and Jericho felt his hand raise on its own. A slow smile spread over’s the man’s face and he started toward Jericho. Be still my foolish heart.
He stopped on the other side of the table and said, “Jericho?”
“That’s me.” He flashed white teeth and pressed a hand to his chest. “Man, how did I get so lucky?”
Right off, that worried Jericho, but he said, “I, uh, was just thinking the same thing.” He couldn’t quite stifle his giggle. He only giggled when he was nervous. “Please sit down.” He waved a hand toward the chair next to him.
The slight crease that popped between Malcolm’s nearly invisible eyebrows then vanished almost elicited a sigh from Jericho. Right, why couldn’t he learn to move his hands like a regular person—no, make that regular man—instead of some flaming ballet dancer? Don’t give up yet. Jericho sat and, of course, Batshit leaped immediately onto his lap. Killer had found a twig and was determinedly chewing on it, so he left the date interview to Bat.
Malcolm startled back in his chair, “Oh! What in the hell is that?”
Jericho smiled and resisted the urge to respond with Duh. “A dog. Actually, a Papillon, the princess of all dogs.”
“Oh.” Malcolm looked at her suspiciously and Batshit stared right back. He flipped his gaze up to Jericho. “So tell me, how tall are you?” He put a hand under his chin.
Oh dear. “I’m six foot five.”
Jericho wanted to move his lips with Malcolm’s next question he’d heard it so many times. “I’ll bet you played football in college.”
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