Hi Teaser Tuesday Peeps! Today’s first teaser comes from author Carolina Valdez, who happens to be my very great pal from the Orange County Chapter of the RWA.
Carolina Valdez lives in southern California with a husband–who was her college sweetheart–and a talking cat. Well, the cat is Siamese, and thinks he holds conversations with his owners. As a child Carolina entertained herself making up plays and stories. In third grade they showed up on paper; her first sale came when she was 23. Winning a contest with her first erotic romance sparked an interest in sizzling passion between a man and a woman. It was easy to make the leap to hot men loving hot men. Writing, she confesses, is an obsession that canât be repressed.
Find her books on Amazon, Kindle Us and UK, Barnes and Noble, All Romance eBooks, Sony, and Amber Allure.
***** was tending bar with ****** *******, whose long dreads were carefully tied back so as not to get in the drinks. This was *****’s first time doing a private gig in the fancy La Jolla digs. He was gay, ****** was gay, and he’d lay money that everyone here was. The testosterone was an almost palpable force in this all-male crowd.
****** leaned in to say in *****’s ear, “Don’t look now, but the dick-throb of this group just hit the door.”
***** was mixing California Surfer shots, but he’d noticed the faint lull in the chatter, despite the music blaring open throttle. Now periodic greetings filtered through to the bar.
“Where ya been?”
He finished the shots and slid them, with a small white napkin, to the waiter, who was young and bald, but whose washboard abs filled out his snug muscle shirt. His stretch shorts barely covered his junk and butt, so tight as to be on the verge of splitting if he bent over. His arms bore tattoos in vivid colors and his feet were covered by high top, laced up boots in black.
Figuring he must be pretty uncomfortable in shorts cutting into his crack, ***** didn’t envy him strutting his stuff in order to keep his job.
The waiter loaded the drinks on his tray and excused his way through the crowd.
Despite ******’s advice, ***** glanced at the tall newcomer as he wiped the bar down. Even viewing him from the rear, he could tell he oozed sex appeal without even trying. He was dressed all in black leather, his pants straining over what little showed of perfect glutes peeking from beneath his jacket. His thighs were wide, but he wasn’t flaunting it.
***** had to admit his crotch tingled. He drew in a couple of deep breaths and let them out slowly. Stop that, big guy. Keep your head down.
His gaze wandered down the newcomer’s body to his boots and stopped. He recognized them–black Bates 924 Series. Interesting… more than interesting. If the boots told anything true, it was that he was, or had been, military.
Once, so long ago it seemed like a trip back in a time machine, ***** had worn that boot, too. Now he wore Adidas black desert boots, and a brace on his lower right leg to stay upright and walking. Even in the heat of summer he wore long pants to cover scars that grossed people out.
This man worked the room with an easy stride, touching knuckles, bumping chests and pulling in some men for close, guy-style hugs lasting only seconds. At one point, someone tried to welcome him with a kiss on his mouth, but even though ***** still saw only leather’s back, he could tell he smoothly avoided it and moved on.
***** didn’t think the other guy was happy about the brush off. He got the feeling it didn’t bother the one who hadn’t responded to him.
In the beginning, he’d tagged the new man as a biker because of the leather, but then he’d noticed the boots and the way he held himself; the way others seemed in awe of him. Read his bearing, and you knew he was someone special.
There was a time when ***** had had that confidence, that walk of restrained swagger, too. He grinned to himself. Well, maybe it was outright swagger when with the other members of his team. Boots, bearing, and the way this man moved? It wasn’t biker it spelled out for ***** now, but Special Forces. Delta, maybe?
He’d had the pleasure of working on ops with some of the Army’s Delta Force men and–officers or enlisted–they were serious fellows. The only thing about their training that differed from his was that when they flew in the copters on a mission, they weren’t allowed to load their weapons until they’d taken fire.
Fuck that. How insane was it to have an enemy scope you in his sites and fire while you’re jamming ammo into your gun? The first time he’d flown with them in Afghanistan, the minute they were in the helo, ***** had said, “Lock and load, men. Lock and load.” He wasn’t Delta, but he outranked them, and despite their regs, they seemed relieved to comply with his order. Before liftoff, all guns were loaded and ready. Good thing, too, because they’d almost immediately drawn enemy fire as they’d approached the pickup area.
Their rescue mission successfully completed, they’d touched down at base camp with the helo intact and no injuries or loss of life. In appreciation for maybe having saved their asses, they’d tossed *****, fully clothed, in a cold shower and invited him to fly with them any time.
Yep. Deltas were seriously great fellows.
Judging from this guy now, if he was military, he was due for a regulation shave and haircut. If he was Delta, it wasn’t surprising these partiers were drawn to him. They were responding to a confidence and bearing that tagged him as a leader; a man’s man–the kind every man wanted to be, but too many were not. Since presence on any of the counter-terrorism teams was top secret, no one here except ***** would guess what he did for a living.
(Editor’s note. Okay. NOW I WANT TO READ THIS and I don’t know what it is. Help me out folks!)
Stay tuned for Tuesday Teaser part TWO, Kate MacMurray is next, and tonight, a special version of Sunday Brunch we’re going to be calling Taco Tuesday! Stick with me today, kiddie’s, I’m playing holiday catch up!
Teaser Tuesday - Part One! Carolina Valdez