Elvis Summers and his writing partner Holt have scored a fantastic gig—spending two months in romantic Buenos Aires while researching their old TV idol, Guy Williams, famous for playing Zorro and the futuristic, perfect father in Lost in Space.
What made Williams fall so deeply in love with Argentina that he gave up his acting career to move there in the mid 70s?
For years, the actor remained an icon as Zorro in Argentina, even though he died alone and under mysterious circumstances in his apartment in the lush neighborhood of Recoleta. As Elvis and Holt retrace the actor's footsteps, history and gothic romance seep into their souls. Elvis meets a hot local named Joaquin, a man with his own secrets and apparent fears. Elvis falls hard and fast for the sexy porteño, but after scorching nights of passion, Joaquin inexplicably vanishes.
Elvis desperately searches for him even as Holt tries to convince him that Joaquin was obviously not interested, and that residents of Joaquin's apartment building claim no such man exists.
Feeling the ghost of Guy Williams accompanying him on his sometimes-frightening search, Elvis is determined to find the man he came to adore. Or will he, like TV's Zorro, find himself shattered by fate?
Genres: Gay/Gothic/Mystery/Detective/The Arts/BDSM (Light)/Interracial/Multicultural
Heat Level: 3Length: Extended Novella (39k words)
Read a short excerpt...
...The building looked bedraggled. No question about that.
Not exactly the romantic spot of one’s dreams, but then it depended on what you were looking for. Joaquin seduced me with his heavy Argentine accent yet very good English. His dark eyes and wide smile made him look like a little kid at times. He seemed sweet one moment, intense the next.
Then he had this way of running his forefinger against my arm or chin, a look of such concentration in his eyes it took my breath away. It was as though he had to touch me. He kept asking questions. At first, he’d asked Holt who’d responded, but I was used to that. Holt was a lot more outgoing than I. We’d been college friends, the only two closeted gay men on campus. We’d discussed the idea of hooking up so many times it soon lost its allure and we became friends.
Now, at the age of thirty, we were both still single but had scored the job opportunity of a lifetime.
I could get used to this stuff. The Fernet made me feel giddy, brilliant, beautiful. I wasn’t bad looking. Some might have said handsome with dark hair, a preppy look and a propensity to wear out a smile, especially when large crowds petrified me.
Holt was blond, blue-eyed and handsome. I always told people he looked like Robert Redford minus the bad skin. I had the kind of hair hairdressers like to call mouse brown and big brown eyes that made me look and feel like a sad puppy dog.
Or, a mouse dog.
Holt shook his head as he caught my eye. “Big day tomorrow,” he said. “We need to hit the sack.”
I wasn’t ready to turn my back on the best bit of action I’d had in months. He’d struck out with two guys who’d gone off to maul each other in the Dark Room. They’d invited him but he’d declined with the chilling words, “No, thanks, I like all my body parts exactly where they are.”
They’d stared at him.
I’d stared at him.
We knew Buenos Aires had its dangerous spots but I didn’t think that a make-out room in a gay dance club would be the location of choice for involuntary, live organ harvesting.
He nursed his vodka shot and fumed.
“Let’s dance,” Joaquin said and licked my ear. Holy cat!
Ugh. Dancing wasn’t my thing. I tried to ignore the little voice in my brain from my teenage years that said, “how a man dances is an indication of what he’s like in the sack.”
However, I was feeling pretty relaxed and gave my walk a bit of a swagger as we pushed ourselves away from the bar. My cock did the Macarena in my pants as I walked, not quite straight, into his arms on the only available square inch of dance floor.
I felt a strong flash of guilt as I gazed across the room at Holt. He ran a hand through his hair, then I saw a dark-haired guy sidle up to him. They began to talk. I was certain I saw a smile there. Maybe his mood would improve.
Joaquin’s mouth swooped over mine, surprising me. Man, he was a damned good kisser. My whole body reacted to his passionate embrace. He commanded all my attention and seemed to come alive as our lips and tongues met. Joaquin sighed into my mouth, closing his eyes. His hands roamed over my body.
Though the beat of the music was fast, he kept me in his arms. He rocked me, his ass moving sensuously yet in time to the music. I was getting harder, my body alive with desire, but also, astonishingly, some actual style.
People gave us envious looks. This wasn’t dirty dancing. It was fucking filthy dancing. I panted as he dipped me, then brought me back up again. I didn’t know how, but we danced like we’d been doing it for years. He barely took his hands off me and, emboldened, I put mine on his gorgeous ass and felt his cock stiffen against mine.
We traded deep gazes.
God, I wanted him...
No comments:
Post a Comment