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Posts Tagged ‘Sleeping with Danger’

I’ve just published a new work, SLEEPING WITH DANGER, in which the native Nevadan Alex Dominguez finally goes back to the mountains…the famed Highlands of his new home.

danger a in mts

The novel is fraught with danger. Both Alex and Rory almost lose their lives a few times. But no adventure in the series up to this point is as life-threatening as their headlong plummet down the double-hairpin called Devil’s Elbow, now bypassed, but a scourge to travelers in the Cairngorms for more than 200 years.

What follows is told from the point of view of Rory Drummond, the bigger-than-life Scot who would challenge the horns, the tail and the very prick of the Devil himself for the sake of his lover.

His head hit something hard…or was it the other way around? A gawdawful roar filled his ears. He opened his eyes and saw nothing at all.

Foog!

Something like mud caked his lashes, sealing his eyes, and he tried to grind it away with the knuckle of his right hand, but his hand was pinned under…something. The left hand would not respond to his brain’s command. He asked Alex where in bloody hell they were going, but he couldn’t hear his own words.

When he tried to move his head, a white-hot pain shot from the base of his neck to hisforehead. His stomach lurched. Vomitus filled his mouth.

And then he heard a beloved voice.

“Gang warily. I love you.”

jeep crash!pizap.com15342829133281

An eternity passed while he thought about his rare good fortune. Finding a mate who thrived on danger. Fucking a man who loved his touch. Loving a bloody sodding fool who thought he could drive to hell and screw the devil.

In spite of his intense resolve to sit up and take the wheel, for some reason he decided to take a short nap. He’d do it later, when he could see and feel and…and think…

When sleep came, he welcomed it.

Someone was slapping his face. He lunged, bellowing like a wounded grizzly.

“Rory… Rory! Calm down, for fuck’s sake. I need you.”

“Al-Alex?”

His cheeks were being gentled by strong hands, and he stopped struggling. “Alex. I think I died a little while ago.”

“We both did. But wings grow back, corazón. Mi ángel. Let’s get out of here. We need to help Dandie.”

He felt Alex wiping the mud from his eyes, his fingers tender, loaded with something wet. Spit and tears. When he could make his eyelids open, he saw—what? A broken windshield, a steering wheel sitting in an odd place…or was that the outside world at a right angle to the Jeep?

Those who follow my writing know that my series novels all enjoy their own Kindle series page on Amazon. Here’s the link  for the NEVADA HIGHLANDER series:

SWD Zon 2

https://tinyurl.com/y89ca2p9  

 

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Let me start by introducing Alex Dominguez and Rory Drummond by way of a couple of images. They’ll form in your imagination soon enough, I hope, as you read the opening words of Sleeping with Danger (all new, Nevada Highlander 4).

alex promo correx

rory promo SWD correx

~~~Chapter 1~~~
In the Arms of the North Sea

Montrose Promontory
Angus, Scotland
Friday, April 5, 2014

Alex slowed his mountain bike to a wobbly roll and finally braked to a complete stop. The worn leather seat jutted from his groin like a tired but still serviceable cock. He grinned down at it, thinking about this morning with Rory, and shifted his gaze to the shimmer and blur of blue where the waters of Montrose Harbor met the vast canopy of sky.

“Suck my balls, Alejo.”

He’d awakened to the musky smell and velvet fist of his lover’s sac thrust in his face. Still full of sleep, abruptly aroused, he’d groped for Rory’s ass cheeks and opened his mouth, letting the testicles invade the inside of his cheeks. Slobbering and spitting, he let them slide out, then sucked them inside again while his fingers found his lover’s asshole.

“Rory…let mmph…”

“Quiet, lad. Now the cock.”

A week ago, Spring had hit Scotland’s east coast in a rush of temperate days and cloudless skies. From what Alex read on the net and heard in the conversations around him, the only place in Scotland still ass-numbing cold was the only place he’d rather be—in the Highlands. In the highest and probably most beautiful spot in his adopted country. In the Cairngorms.

Almost six months ago, following Rory, he’d left his beloved Snake Range in Nevada’s high desert. Not that he’d spent a lot of time there since he was a kid. But those stark glacial peaks had a grip on his psyche that he now recognized. Only now, after leaving them far behind.

Using the pedal as a fulcrum, he jumped from the bike and flicked the kickstand, letting it sit like a good dog on the side of the narrow path while he ambled to the steep roadside and lost himself, as usual, in a flood of raw beauty.

hp-more solitudepizap.com14192189184881

These are actual pictures of Montrose Promontory with its iconic lighthouse, built back in the 1800s and saving ships from the arms of the North Sea ever since.

Montrose promontory lay before him like a thumb jutting into the North Sea, its tip punctuated by the lighthouse. Using the rocks as footholds, he walked a ways down the bluff, closer to the sea. Now, at low tide, Alex turned his gaze from the land and looked down at the foaming tide pools left by retreating waves. His eyes followed the seabirds sweeping in for their prize, shellfish left every twelve hours by the ocean’s circadian promise.

He stood erect, letting the wind buffet him, thinking about the odd fact of a Nevada highlander embracing the Scurdie Ness headland on Scotland’s eastern shore, five thousand miles from home. Correction: what used to be his home.

His mind flicked over the past few weeks, how a tide pool like one of these had led to a killer and his own near demise. And Rory… He’d put his own fiancé in a dangerous trap then, and on other occasions too.

Por diós. My fault, for being a cop. Anything and everything’s a clue. Every face might hide a criminal.

He wondered for the millionth time whether he was doing the right thing. Two months ago he’d agreed to marry the man he adored. But would marriage put Rory in the crosshairs again…and again, and again? Would the tough Scot end up being another victim of his lover’s relentless cop-heart?

The Scurdie Ness Mess. That’s what the local online newspapers called it. He and Rory had escaped with no more than a few scars—Rory on his muscled chest, where he’d crawled like a snake for a kilometer. And Alex? There was still a dull ache in his fingers and on his kneecaps too, still swollen and stiff from—

“Yo! Alex, right?”

His thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice behind him. As much as he craved solitude, he liked the man who’d spoken his name, and he turned with a smile. The bony youngish man had taken the incline like a pro. Hell, Alex hadn’t even heard his approach. Or I’m getting old before my time…

“Good to see you, Peter James. Or James Peter. Were you named after two favorite uncles?” He stretched out his hand and let the other man pump it.

“Hilarious. The kids in school had a blast with ‘Peter,’ but I outgrew them, and Nebraska too. How’ve you been, Alex? I haven’t seen you since—”

“Since the mess. Um, the Scurdie Ness case. Did I ever thank you for your role in tracking down a killer, Peter? I owe you a big one.”

Peter shook his head, letting a hank of straight brown hair fall across his lively eyes. “Fuck that, Alex. All I did was show you my photo files.”

The tall, lanky midwesterner had an infectious grin, and an easy way about himself that Alex liked.

“That was huge. Your photos cracked the case.”

Peter, thumbing back the fugitive lock with a bony thumb, laughed out loud. “Yeah, because you looked past the crap into the facts.”

“Anyway, Peter, how come you’re away from the Reserve this morning?”

The photographer, not paid by the Montrose Basin Wildlife Reserve, was actually their best wildographer, a term he’d learned from Peter himself. Alex had seen his work. The man could make his feathered subjects fly off the page. 

yellow-browed warbler

This photo of a yellow-browed warbler was taken in Scotland, photographer unknown.

“Day off, kinda. I should be home sleeping in, or sucking up java, or working on my computer files. But the warm weather and all… I thought today would be a good time to shoot some stuff for myself.”

Alex had already noticed a compact leather case slung over his shoulder with a long strap and figured it was a digital camera. Peter lived in a dump, but his equipment was top-notch.

“What about you, Alex? Here on police business, or…?”

“I come out here maybe three days out of seven. Four at the most. No set days. A Special Constable is not so special, Peter. But at least they let me set my own schedule.”

“And pay you a little more than I get paid—bird shit.”

They both cracked up. It was true. Peter worked for the love of wildlife, the hope that someday his tagline on the web would attract more than fleeting praise. And Alex was a former Nevada State Trooper, new to Scotland, who’d pretty much lucked into this rent-a-cop gig on the promontory. The money he got was minuscule, barely enough to cover the non-rent on his non-home. The thought made his mouth twitch a little, and he turned his head, pretending to gaze out at the harbor.

“Not trying to be too personal Alex. But I was wondering if you and Rory, um, if you guys have set a date.”

He turned his head and allowed his eyes to smile along with his mouth. “Paperwork. We’re drowning in paperwork. Just because the Parliament said it was okay to have same-sex marriages, that doesn’t mean Scotland is ready for us. They seem to have their heads up their asses. We have to register, then wait. Then fill out more forms, and wait some more. Hell, Peter, we’ve gotten word that no marriages at all will be granted until the end of the year.”

“Ouch. Because they’re stalling? Or because they just don’t know how to handle the rush?”

He grinned. This guy was straight, but he was cool. 

They stood in silence for awhile, soaking up the rare morning sun, allowing the salt wind to lift their hair in cartwheels and somersaults.

“Alex? Everything okay?”

“Absolutely, my friend. I was just thinking… One of these nights, I’d like you  to come over to the—to Castle Drummond for dinner. You’ll like Rory’s parents. And I promise to keep Thistle from devouring your shirt tail. Or worse. How ’bout it?”

“Damn. I’d love that. It’ll be good to see Rory again. I liked your wolfhound too. She’s a beauty.”

Hoping he wasn’t being too obvious about the brush-off, he offered his hand again. “Then I’ll give you a call after I check with Rory. Howzat?”

“Can I bring my girlfriend? Well, kind of. She’s a girl, and we’re friends…”

“I’m looking forward to it, Peter.” He meant it. But he had a job to do right now, and stuff he needed to sort out in his head before Rory’s sexy taunts sent him into helpless laughter and his strong arms pulled him again into a frenzy of lust. 

Alex walked ten feet up the embankment and rescued his bike, which had managed to stand upright in the stiff wind. Turning to wave at Peter, he smiled back at the man’s open grin and wave of farewell. He mounted Old Paint—his fond nickname for the cheap refurbished bike—and pedaled up the promontory toward “his” lighthouse.

Damn right Scurdie Ness was his lighthouse, the iron nautilus where he’d managed to trap a determined killer. The famous beacon was part of his beat, actually, a destination for tourists and so a possible target for vandals as well as sight-seers. It loomed ahead of him as he rose and bent forward on the mountain bike, trying to keep the salty sting out of his eyes. 

It was not lost on Alex, that the places he responded to most deeply were high ones. His mountain, Mariah. His lighthouse, the Scurdie Ness. And his personal aerie, Hunter’s Point—not so much high as aloof. Secluded.  He was still amused that he’d thought of Rory as a highlander, when in fact he was a flatlander from Arbroath. The real highlander was Alex Dominguez.

Again he thought of the Cairngorms, Scotland’s answer to his old turf.  As much as he and  his lover had day-tripped in the Scot’s vehicle of the moment, they were holding off a trip to those mountains. Alex thought he needed a good three days just to take it all in—half a week, three whole days in a row that he reckoned his Special Constable job would not allow.

Rory had teased the shit out of him. “Alejo, they don’t even pay you. You have every right to tell Finley she can stick it in her wrinkled—um, she can afford to be without you for two or three days. Och, am I going to marry an old lady, or a real cop?”

But Alex had a work ethic, a dedication to duty he couldn’t seem to shrug off. Even if the “duty” of the moment was helping a poor fisherman prepare smokies, or keeping this road clear of possible trouble-makers…both for pennies a day…once he’d made a promise, it was fossilized in granite, an ancient bristlecone at the treeline of Mt. Mariah.

His smile bit into the wind, and he tried to concentrate on the present. The lighthouse, looming in front of him, and his marriage too…

bike butt

The “special” in Special Constable. No, not Alex’s duty uniform.

 

green thumbtackDon’t stop now! A bit from chapter 2 is on this blog, here: https://bit.ly/2MJfmGT

And eight first-draft chapters (roughly one-third of the novel) are printed starting here:

https://leblogcestmoi.wordpress.com/sleeping-with-danger-begins-here/

I almost forgot the cardinal rule of blogging: leave em with a link! Here’s the book that precedes this one, a promo I ran on Facebook today:

The brass balls have become more vulnerable as Rory’s association with Alex proves unsafe at any speed. This is the third NEVADA HIGHLANDER title.

 Sexy and explosive! HUNTER’S POINT: A Scot, a cop, and a killer…at a point of no return.

 As Scotland is about to pass a same-sex marriage bill, two headstrong men have their own problems to solve: a case of murder, a coming to terms with a troubled past, and a possible long-term commitment to each other, even in the face of a third man who apparently would love to end their torrid affair.

 Rory and Alex follow murder clues from the lighthouse complex on Montrose Promontory to one of Scotland’s most prestigious prep schools … while a killer, not content with one victim, waits in a place none would suspect.

hp cosmic promo

~ What? You haven’t started the Nevada Highlander series? 😉

#gay #erotic #romance #action- #adventure

NEVADA HIGHLANDER

THE KILT COMPLEX

HUNTER’S POINT

SLEEPING WITH DANGER—this one, now published!

All four novels on O’Quinn’s kindle series page:

http://amzn.to/2kZE8VU

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