Saturday, July 5, 2014

C.V.Madison Joins the #RockingSummerRomance with The Layover @DeAubreyDigest

Let's start with 5 quickie questions -
Ice Tea or Lemonade?

Both! I fell in love with Arnold Palmer half and half when we started carrying them at the coffeehouse I worked at. I've been hooked ever since!

Lake or ocean? 

Ocean. If I'm swimming with fish, I want the water to be clean. I've never been in a blue water lake.

Sandals or Flip flops?

Flip flops. I can drop my feet in them and go. Sandals take too long to lace up and I always break the straps.

Sit in the shadow of a tree or on the front/back porch?

We have a sun porch and I like to sit out there when the weather's nice.

Ball cap or floppy hat?

I have always wanted to be one of those floppy hat wearers. A big straw hat that covers my face in the sun. My problem is, I always look ridiculous. I'm more familiar with ball caps so I can pull all my hair up off the back of my neck.

BlurbSecurity expert and avowed city boy Reno Locke drops into a local bar to find a little loving to fill his off hours. Country boy Wilder Henderson swings in to blow off a little steam after winning a rodeo competition. Locke works up the nerve to hit on Wilder and takes him back to his room. He finds out this urban cowboy is just what he was looking for during The Layover.

The bar's newest arrival scanned the tar-darkened decor for a prime seat. Tall and lanky and topped by a black western hat, he was a good head and a half taller than the seated crowd. The wide-brimmed felted hat was the first of his dress to be removed. Sandy blond hair stuck out in wild tufts, resisting the quick comb of his tapered fingers.
Smiling, he made a flirty pass toward a woman perched atop a tall chair. He gave a teasing beg of forgiveness for wetting her dress with snow before making his way into the heart of the room.
A set of aged spurs fixed to the heel of his black boots jangled as they struck against the scarred wood floor, their tone contrasting the smooth jazz melody.
A bolo lay close against the top button of his shirt, the silver Concho sunburst a simple contrast to the bold plaid print of the once-upon-a-time pressed western shirt. Slipping out of a weather-stained insulated workman's coat, he knocked himself clean of melting snowflakes. No longer hidden, a pair of worn jeans hung comfortably on his hips, secured with a wide silver-buckled belt, a piece he spent a good minute fussing over before finally ordering something to drink.
Damn. Hello, tall, tan and handsome. Maybe his prospects weren't dead in the water. Locke found a niche for his tongue between his back molars while he watched the newcomer toe up to the bar. The sexy cowboy’s five o'clock shadow scraped the faded collar of his shirt. His shirt pulled tight over his back as he leaned in to speak in the bartender’s ear. Well-defined muscle rolled under the taut cloth running the full length of his spine to the cover of denim over his backside. Aged by use, his jeans clung in near perfection to the curvature of work-refined buttocks.
“Holy fuck, that ass...” He wasn't sure he'd said that out loud, but if he had, no one appeared to notice. Although he'd always thought the phrase “ride a cowboy” stupid, he'd just reconsidered in thirty seconds of seriousness.
The waitress delivered Locke’s drink as he ogled the new man draped over the bar. Two drinks arrived for the cowboy. The smaller serving was quickly dropped into the larger, letting him down both with a practiced ease. Coming up for breath the blond panted, looking around to those nearby with a come-easy grin.
“If that ain't enough to keep the blood going, then best throw me out in the snow now!” He let another whoop go then did a quick follow-up of beer to chase his Boilermaker.
The newcomer laughed quietly, maybe about the attention he'd drawn with his coarse demeanor. His drawl was thick, a genuine mark of a kid born and raised in the South. Everything about his composure suggested he’d rubbed elbows with well-to-do’s before and cared not one lick to shadow their rules.
Hazel eyes met Locke’s. The modern cowboy took a half step from his claim at the bar and thrust his hand forward. “You come here often?”

BioC.V. Madison is a licensed massage therapist, author and gamer full of shadenfreude pie and Mountain Dew. She pens urban fantasy, horror and steampunk with a side of heavy romance. Her characters are straight, LGBTQIA and some shades not on the spectrum. She has been published in both fiction and non-fiction anthologies. Through the month of November, she can be found in local coffee houses, over caffeinated and armed with her trusty laptop as she strives to bang out 50,000 words in 30 days for National Novel Writer’s Month. She serves as a Municipal Liaison for Columbus, Ohio.
Twitter: @DeAubreyDigest

Thanks C.V. , for sharing and have a great summer,


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