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Saturday, July 23, 2016

Dancing with Air By Uvi Poznansky


Serving on the European front, Lenny longs for Natasha, the girl who captured his heart back home. At first, he enjoys fulfilling his military task, which is to write bogus reports, designed to fall into the hands of Nazi Intelligence and divert their attention from the upcoming invasion of Normandy. To fool the enemy, these reports are disguised as love letters to another woman. His task must remain confidential, even at the risk of Natasha becoming suspicious of him.

Once she arrives in London, Lenny takes her for a ride on his Harley throughout England, from the White Cliffs of Dover to a village near an underground ammunition depot in Staffordshire. When he is wounded in a horrific explosion, Natasha brings him back to safety, only to discover the other woman’s letter to him. He wonders, will she trust him again, even though as a soldier, he must keep his mission a secret? Will their love survive the test of war?

In the past Natasha wrote, with girlish infatuation, “He will be running his fingers down, all the way down to the small of my back, touching his lips to my ear, breathing his name, breathing mine. Here I am, dancing with air.” In years to come, she will begin to lose her memory, which will make Lenny see her as delicate. “I gather her gently into my arms, holding her like a breath.” But right now, during the months leading up to D-Day, she is at her peak. With solid resolve, she is ready to take charge of the course of their story.

Dancing with Air is a standalone WWII historical fiction novel, as well as the fourth volume of a family saga series titled Still Life with Memories, one of family sagas best sellers of all time. If you like family saga romance, wounded warrior romance books, military romantic suspense, or strong female lead romance, you will find that this love story is a unique melding of them all.

About Author
Uvi Poznansky is a bestseller, award-winning author, poet and artist. Her boxed set, A TOUCH OF PASSION, has just become the 2016 WINNER of The Romance Reviews Readers' Choice Awards. “I paint with my pen,” she says, “and write with my paintbrush.” She received a Fellowship grant and a Teaching Assistantship from the Architecture department at Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute, where she earned her M.A. in Architecture. Then, taking a sharp turn in her education, she earned her M.S. degree in Computer Science from the University of Michigan.

Uvi writes across a variety of genres: Apart From Love, My Own Voice, and The White Piano (literary fiction), The Music of Us and Dancing with Air (romance), Rise to Power, A Peek at Bathsheba, and The Edge of Revolt (historical fiction), A Favorite Son (biblical fiction), Home (poetry), Twisted (horror), and Now I Am Paper and Jess and Wiggle (children’s books.)

We found ourselves steeped in this strange, magical feeling. Happiness.
   Despite the fact that it was wartime, we could not help the temptation to swim in the English Channel, because we were young and bold, or else because we were foolish. 
We managed, somehow, to find an opening in the coils of wire, which were meant to keep people away from the beaches, for fear that the Germans would invade or send spies by boat.
I was told, by a fellow soldier who crossed our path along the shoreline, that the water here was too cold for sharks. With that in mind we took a dip, only to spot a jellyfish swirling in the water some distance off. I splashed a big wave at it, which made it recede and disappear into the fluid sparkle. Swimming just ahead of Natasha I watched the beautiful, smooth motion of her arms and legs, and noticed her looking at me, as I matched my stroke to hers.
At last we turned ashore. From time to time I pushed off a plank of wood, covered in a bit of seaweed, which came floating our way. That, for me, was just part of the adventure. Crossing the line of spray, where the breakers came to meet the shore, I felt sorry that it was almost over, that it was time to say goodbye to this place, where we found ourselves steeped in this strange, magical feeling. 

On our way up, Natasha asked, “What gave you the idea to come here?” 
And I said, “A song.”
“A song?”
“Yes,” I said. “I heard it just one time, on the radio, but the feel of it stuck with me.”
Over my humming it, she said, “Oh! I think I know it!”
She pressed her hands to her temples, perhaps trying to recall the words, and when they would not   come, she improvised, coming up with words of her own, which truly amazed me:

There’ll be seagulls over
The White Cliffs of Dover
When war’s just a memory of the past

I stopped her right there, simply to suggest the right word. “Bluebirds,” I said, holding out my hand for Natasha, because the climb was becoming hard.
Refusing my hand, she said, “What?”
“Bluebirds,” I said. “Not seagulls.”
“I like seagulls better,” she said, a bit stubbornly. “So please, don’t correct me.”

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