Excerpt: Out Of The Blue by Josh Lanyon

[reviews_and_ramblings]

Out Of The Blue by Josh Lanyon
Release Date: 09/2009
Publisher: Liquid Silver Books
ISBN: 978-1-59578-578-7
Buy Link: http://www.king-cart.com/cgi-bin/cart.cgi?store=linda018&cart_id=8796769.72137&product_name=Out+Of+The+Blue&return_page=&user-id=&password=&exchange=&exact_match=exact

Blurb: France, 1916. The Great War. High above the carnage in the trenches, British and German aces joust like knights of old for control of the skies. The strain and tension of living every day on the edge of death leads to dangerous choices and wild risks. When British ace Bat Bryant's past catches up with him, he strikes out in panic and kills the man threatening him with exposure. But there's a witness: the big, handsome American pilot Cowboy Cooper. Cowboy, it seems, has his own ideas of rough justice.

Excerpt:

They walked down to the lodge in silence filled only by the crunch of their boots and the occasional song of a woodlark.

"You think the birds talk to each other in French?" Cowboy asked, and that bit of whimsy won a smile from Bat. The walk in the cool air had helped clear his head. He forgot his earlier annoyance.

"Possibly."

Cowboy was also smiling. His eyes slanted Bat's way, and Bat felt himself coloring though he wasn't sure why. He looked away hastily.

Luminous white mushrooms grew at the roots of the ancient trees forming the leafy tunnel overhead. Wild berries lined the road, glossy purple and scarlet in the gloom. It smelled richly of damp earth and moldering leaves--and the leather of Cowboy's jacket and the soap he used.

"It's a lot like home," Bat said. Or at least the home of his boyhood. "Like Kent. Feels different, though. Feels ... French." Gene had said you could see the Flemish influence in the village names and architecture. Gene would have been an architect if not for the interruption of war.

"Doesn't feel like America, that's for sure."

The red roof of the hunting lodge appeared before them, smoke drifting from the white stone fireplace. Cowboy touched Bat's arm, and they left the path and cut across the field to the gazebo where they could be assured no one would overhear their conversation.

"I shall have to think what to do about Digsby," Bat was saying as Cowboy pushed open the rickety door. "Gene's dog. I suppose Madame might keep him on--"

He broke off as startled doves took wing through the holes in the roof. The door slammed shut behind them, closing them in with the musty scent of decaying wood and dead leaves and bird nests. Cowboy's arms went around Bat.

Shocked into immobility, Bat recovered fast and shoved him away. Cowboy eyed him narrowly and then shoved back--harder--pushing Bat against the rough wall, big fists locked in Bat's tunic, one knee thrust between Bat's legs.

"Just settle down, Aubrey. We're going to do this," he muttered. His face was dark, filled with a ruthless intensity that started Bat's heart rabbiting.

"Like hell." His simmering resentment crackled into life, but beneath the anger was excitement. Part of him welcomed the idea of fighting Cowboy, part of him...

"N-no," he got out.

"Y-yes," Cowboy mocked--but there was a bewildering thread of gentleness, as though he were simply teasing, as though they were playing.

It was confusing. He told himself what Cowboy needed was a good thrashing, and what Bat needed was to deliver it, but ... as his eyes met that dark blue gaze, he felt strangely irresolute. A peculiar languor gripped his body. Cowboy's breath was warm against his face. His mouth tingled recalling the feel and taste of Cowboy's, and he wondered what would happen if he let Cowboy put his hands on him. Cowboy's groin ground against his own, Cowboy's muscular thigh pressed against Bat's genitals. Cowboy's big hands moved over Bat's chest, smoothing his uniform, feeling for the buttons.

The idea alarmed him--but not nearly as much as it should have. In fact, maybe he wasn't alarmed so much as ... stimulated. He put his hands on Cowboy's to stop him, but instead he was pressing those big hands closer, wanting to be fondled, caressed.

Cowboy pulled Bat close again, and Bat knew a kind of relief that he wasn't being given a choice, that this choice was being taken from him; all he had to do was not fight too hard.

He closed his eyes, raising his face, and Cowboy began to kiss him hotly, his mouth bruising, his teeth biting Bat's lips. Bat groaned into Cowboy's mouth as the other man's big hands ran over the long lines of Bat's body, tugging at his tunic, and Bat began to tug at his uniform, wanting the bulk of cloth removed from between his arching, trembling body and the warm weight of Cowboy's hands. His cock felt swollen, heavy, constricted within the confines of his clothing.

"Easy, easy," Cowboy murmured, like he was soothing a nervous colt, undoing the fastening at Bat's tunic collar, fingers warm against Bat's throat.

Bat swallowed hard as Cowboy suddenly pressed a soft kiss in the naked hollow of his throat. He opened his eyes and Cowboy's face was absorbed, grave. His lashes rose and he met Bat's gaze. He seemed to be waiting for something.

What?

Seemingly of their own volition, Bat's hands rose and he responded in kind, shoving aside Cowboy's heavy jacket, working the fastenings of Cowboy's tunic--careful of buttons, careful with His Majesty's property--they couldn't afford to explain untoward damage. Through the coarse wool of their uniforms, their groins ground urgently against each other, and then their hot mouths met again in frenzied hunger.

The night before Bat had been too startled to truly acknowledge what was happening, but now ... he was almost stunned by the intimacy of it, the silky rasp of Cowboy's jaw against his own, the pressure of two mouths, the mingling of breath and saliva, the unaccustomed taste of another man, the slick surprise of tongue--

He was gasping for air beneath the impact when Cowboy tore his mouth away, breathing equally hard. His hands slid down Bat's long, thinly muscled back, finding his way to Bat's waistband and fly. His hand slipped inside, rough but caressing, feeling Bat up with gentle but thorough expertise. Bat hissed but didn't speak, didn't say the words, even as Cowboy worked his way through layers of cloth to bare skin. He was longing for Cowboy to free him, to wrap his hand around Bat's rigid prick, but instead Cowboy's hard, unsteady fingers found the entrance to Bat's body.

Bat jumped. "No," he said hoarsely.

"Hell, yes," Cowboy retorted a little unevenly.

"No." And Bat started to fight him.