Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

Everything looked grey. The sky was a solid, ominous mass of deep slate, currently spewing the heavy sleet that seemed to be unique to the Cumbrian fells in summer. The stone buildings and silvery slabs of the pavement melded together, all sheen dampened by the miserable lack of light. Henry Jones shook himself like a large, shaggy dog, scattering water in all directions.

"Thank God for Gore-Tex! Christ, Cal, you're going to need waterproof underwear in this godforsaken place. Are you absolutely sure you don't want to come back to London with me?"

"I like the rain, Henry."

Cal spoke through the barrier of his scarf, which was wrapped protectively around his face. He chuckled and got a mouthful of fluffiness for his trouble.

All six feet five inches of Henry's broad frame managed to exude a comical air of bemusement. He peeled off a glove, wrung the water from it and held out a large hand. "Well, good luck, my friend. I need to run if I'm going to get the next train back to civilisation."

With his slimmer hand, Cal grasped the huge paw, then pulled its owner into a soggy hug.

"Thanks for everything, Henry. I really appreciate it, especially you driving the car all the way up here. Give my love to Elena and the bump."

Cal knew from the goofy grin that crossed Henry's broad face that he was thinking of his heavily pregnant wife. He was really going to miss his best friend. With a baby on the way, the two hundred-odd miles between them might as well be a thousand. Henry returned the hug with the affection of a protective grizzly bear, then headed off towards the small station with one last glance over his shoulder and a wave.

For a moment Cal felt a wave of sadness wash over him, but it was soon gone. This was a new beginning for him and he was determined to stay positive. The drunk driver who had managed to decimate his family for the price of a bottle of whisky had been jailed. Months of legal red tape had finally been unravelled and Cal had inherited as the sole beneficiary of both his parents' and his great-aunt's estates. Even after death duties, at twenty-two he was a relatively wealthy young man. Of course, he would have given up every single penny to rewind time and bring them all back.

His Great-Aunt Ruby had spent Christmas at his family home as she had every year, and he could still see her, parked contentedly in the corner of the lounge with a bottle of sherry and a tub of salted nuts that must have played havoc with her false teeth. His parents had decided to drive her back to Cumbria and spend a few days touring the Lake District. If only he had offered to make the trip instead, they wouldn't have been in the wrong place at the wrong time. The head-on collision, which had killed them all instantly, might never have happened. Images of the car, crushed beyond recognition, filled his head.

Cal felt the familiar burn of guilt, like acid in the pit of his stomach. His brain tried to convince him that it wasn't his fault, but his heart disagreed. It would be some time before he could reconcile the two. He swallowed back the intense emotion that still threatened to overwhelm him at times and focused on his surroundings.

Though the buildings around him were familiar, Cal suddenly felt completely lost. He was at the end of the winding High Street, water dripping uncomfortably down the back of his neck. He needed to buy some supplies then get back to the house to start unpacking — his entire life was currently wrapped in cardboard and wriggly polystyrene worms. There was so much whirring around in his brain that he didn't know what to do first. In the end he dived into the mini-mart and scooped random items off the shelves. Looking over his basket when he got to the checkout, he had no recollection of having picked up pickled onions or marshmallows. Eggs, bread, tea bags and milk had made it, so he wouldn't starve, but it was going to be a close thing.

He stood outside the door, clutching his plastic carrier bag of shopping. Up ahead was a large outdoor equipment store. It was different from all the others he had passed so far in that there were no gimmicky signs in the window, no tourist tat lurking in the displays. Cal wasted a few seconds wondering about the number of people who actually bought stuffed sheep in the Lake District, or wandered around in walking gear whilst never actually venturing outside of the towns and villages. The place in front of him was called Mountains and had a café on the third floor — coffee and a respite from the rain would be welcome while he attempted to order his scattered thoughts.

He pushed open the heavy glass door and stood on the mat for a moment, while the worst of the drips from his clothing created a small puddle around him. The floor was slate flagged and eminently practical for dealing with mud, water and anything else that might be dragged inside by heavy boots. He pulled off his hat and scrubbed a cold hand through his shaggy blond hair, glancing around to locate the stairs.

If he had been more focused on what he was doing and less distracted by a driving need for coffee, he might have avoided the metal bar that was lying across the aisle, directly in his path. As it was, he caught his foot under it and took an impressive dive towards the very hard floor, instinctively putting his hands out to break his fall. He felt, rather than heard, the tearing in his left wrist, which was closely followed by agonising pain that gradually dulled to a sickening throb. Cal rolled over and sat up, completely disoriented and not really understanding what had happened. The pain was making him feel a bit nauseous and he decided to err on the side of caution and remain sitting in a wet heap for a while. He had already sacrificed his dignity — he didn't want to exacerbate his misery any further by throwing up all over the floor.

"You fucking idiot! Why didn't you look where you were going?"

Cal looked up nervously into a pair of the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen, violet blue with tiny silver flecks around the pupils. He expanded his vision to take in the surrounding face and it just got better. Lightly tanned skin, an aquiline nose, very kissable lips and a dusting of dark stubble over a firm jaw were topped off by glossy, dark brown hair that belonged in a shampoo commercial. It was soft and slightly wavy, just perfect for running his fingers through. Dark eyebrows and really thick lashes completed the package and Cal had to make a conscious effort to keep his mouth closed. The fact that the face looked really pissed off just made it all the more alluring.

"Sorry." Cal whispered his apology before he realised what he was doing. It was hardly his fault that he had pitched headlong across the floor and ended up in an ungainly heap — in fact, he was the one who should be spitting blood.

The handsome face peering down at him looked a little startled, then vaguely amused. The man extended a hand and Cal took it tentatively. He was hauled to his feet without any visible effort, and found himself eye to beautiful eye with six feet of gorgeousness wearing a tight Mountains T-shirt. Unfortunately, he felt so sick that all he could think about was controlling the urge to throw up. He felt hot, then cold. "I think I might have broken my ..."

He staggered a little and a strong arm circled his shoulders, preventing him from falling.

"Fuck! I've seen ghosts with more colour than you. Come and sit down. I suppose you're going to sue the arse off me now?"

The mention of his arse was more than Cal could handle, and he sat down on the stairs with his head between his knees, taking a few deep breaths. His very brief impression of this prickly individual had been of strength, fierce impatience and masculinity. The kind of man that he would never dare to talk to, let alone admit to lusting after, and no doubt depressingly straight.

He managed to summon up some indignation. "Do you always attempt to kill your customers as soon as they get through the door?"

"Just the cute, wet ones."

Cal raised his spinning head but decided that he had heard what he wanted to hear rather than what had actually been said, which was probably something significantly more sarcastic.

"Angela, get over here!"

A young woman with short, spiky hair wandered over from where she had been restocking some shelves.

"Charming as always, boss. Now what do you want? I'm busy. Oh ..."

She looked at Cal and her eyes widened. "What have you done? He looks like he's about to keel over!" She held a cool hand to Cal's forehead and scowled.

"Why do you always assume that I've done something?" Dark eyebrows drew together in a frown.

Angela shrugged. "You usually have."

"Mr Clumsy here had a fall. Can you take him up to the staff room and find a couple of painkillers? I'll be up in a minute."

"Did you leave that racking across the floor, you idiot? Typical man! No fucking consideration ..."

She carried on ranting even as she put an arm under Cal's and helped him towards the stairs.

"Now don't throw up, will you? It'll be me who has to clear it up."

* * *

The staffroom was up four flights of narrow stairs and by the time they had got there, Cal was starting to feel a bit better. He collapsed into one of the ancient armchairs that furnished the room, cradling his damaged wrist with his good hand.

Angie scowled. "No, no, no ... up! Get all that wet gear off, then Ford can take a look at your wrist."

"Ford?"

"My idiot boss, the one who just tried to maim you. Ford Collister — owner of this great establishment."

Angie obviously spotted the look of panic on Cal's face. "Don't worry. He's a trained paramedic with the mountain rescue team — he does actually know what he's talking about when it comes to sprains and fractures. He's not much use for anything else, unless it involves outdoor sports. And you've already witnessed his utter incompetence when it comes to DIY."

She grinned infectiously. "I'm Angie. What's your name?"

"Cal Somers. Pleased to meet you."

Cal eased out of his jacket, trying not to wince, then allowed Angie to pull down his sopping waterproofs. Not really waterproof at all, he groused to himself as the large damp patches on his trousers became evident. She was kneeling in front of him, rolling the fabric down, when Ford banged the door open and stomped in.

"For fuck's sake, Angie, you've only known him five minutes!"

Angie turned around with a glare that could cut steel. "That's it! He's all yours. You deal with him."

She winked at Cal before bouncing out in a huff, leaving him with his over-trousers hobbling his ankles.

Ford's expression seemed calculating and Cal felt suddenly nervous.

"If you think I'm continuing where she left off, you've got another think coming."

Cal flushed and looked away from the smirk that followed. When he turned back he wished he hadn't, as Ford was taking his time with a thorough, unashamed examination. Cal froze and tried not to blush any more — he wasn't in any condition to be making a good impression. His shaggy blond hair probably looked darker than it was because it was wet. He didn't think Ford wasclose enough to be able to pick out his eye colour, which was on the greener end of hazel. Cal knew he was pretty rather than handsome — if he grew his hair long he'd look quite feminine. He was slim and about Ford's height, maybe a fraction shorter. Cal held himself very straight, despite the pain he was in, not wanting to show weakness, though he knew his skin was probably two shades lighter than it should be.

Ford was rubbing his own light stubble and smiling, almost to himself. Cal wondered what the effect would be if that prickly chin rubbed against his soft, smooth skin. How much pressure could he resist before parting his lips to admit Ford's tongue?

Cal shifted uncomfortably. He could feel a tingling at his groin that he hadn't experienced for some time — it was very rare that he felt such an instant attraction to someone. He cursed silently. He had given up on ever finding the kind of man he could trust, heart and soul. Regardless, Angie probably already had her claws into Ford. Shit, why did he have to be so beautiful? Even the stern glances and the snarling twist of those soft lips were a turn on.

Cal hopped from foot to foot to get rid of his over-trousers then sat down, ducking his head to avoid drowning in violet eyes. Ford dumped a first-aid box on the table and sat next to him.

"Okay. Let's have a look."

He was surprisingly gentle as he pushed Cal's sleeve up and felt carefully around the swollen wrist joint, applying some pressure and gauging the flexibility. Cal swallowed hard and ignored the fact that the downy golden hairs that covered the back of his arm were rising. Ford's fingers brushed Cal's palm and Cal trembled at the slight touch. Ford jerked away from him and Cal instantly regretted that he had caused him to move. He really wanted to know what it would be like to have other parts of his anatomy trembling beneath Ford's deft fingers.

"I don't think it's broken, but it is badly sprained and you may have torn ligaments. I'll strap it up for you but you should probably get it X-rayed as a precaution. You won't be able to use it much for at least five days — well, not unless you have sadomasochistic tendencies."

Ford bandaged and pinned with expert efficiency, then sat back to admire his work. Glancing up, Cal caught a quick glimpse of a look that could only be interpreted as desire on Ford's handsome face. His grin could only be described as feral. Cal ducked his head quickly. This was something he would have to think very carefully about.

* * *

Ten minutes later, his wrist immobile, Cal relocated to his original destination — the third floor café — with a free cup of coffee. Ford had yet to come anywhere close to an apology and Cal didn't expect to get one. In fact, the word 'sorry' was probably excluded from the man's vocabulary. The only surviving items in his shopping bag were, of course, the pickles and the marshmallows. He sipped his coffee and contemplated an evening of one-handed unpacking and severe indigestion.

Eventually, he had to think about moving. He wriggled into his damp gear and headed down to the lower shop floor. Angie waved hopefully as he passed, but before he could respond his path was blocked and he found himself taking a nervous step back from Ford.

"Can I give you a lift home?"

The question was delivered with little grace and on the surface the offer was not tempting in the least. However, Cal felt his throat tightening and small butterflies flapped around in his stomach. This was nothing more than guilt talking, though, wasn't it? His inner disappointment at that thought made him sound a little curt. "No. I can walk. Thanks."

He met Ford's eyes and had to look away. It felt as if he was being subjected to a silent interrogation and there were plenty of questions he was emotionally unprepared to answer.

"It's Cal, isn't it? Well, Cal, get in the fucking car or I may just have to twist your other arm."

Ford didn't wait for him to answer, just turned and stalked out to the pavement where a beaten-up Land Rover was idling by the kerb. He opened the passenger door and stood there waiting, tapping his foot impatiently, until Cal climbed in. Then he got into the driver's seat and turned to look at Cal, bristling with bad temper. "Angie said she'd refuse to work weekends if I didn't do this, so tell me where we're going so we can get it over with."

"Hillview on Forest Road. Do you know it?" Cal was almost afraid to ask, but Ford gave him an odd look.

"Hillview? Is Cal short for Callum? Are you Ruby Somers' nephew?"

"Umm. Yes, yes and yes. Do you, I mean did you, know my aunt?"

Ford just nodded, but didn't elaborate. He drove all the way to the house in silence and Cal was too shy to instigate any conversation. When they juddered to a halt outside the gates he was just about to mutter his thanks when Ford blurted out, "Angie wants to know if you're single."

"What? I ... Yes, actually I am."

"She's not exactly backward in coming forward." Ford gave a pained sigh. "I have to ask if she's your type. Sorry, but I'm being threatened here."

Cal tried not to laugh at the thought of Ford being browbeaten by the diminutive Angie, but he couldn't stop himself.

"For fuck's sake, Cal, have some mercy and just answer the question."

Between choking laughs, Cal managed to reply, "No, tell her sorry — I'm sure she's a lovely girl — but I'm not interested in dating anyone at the moment."

Cal thought he saw a look of relief flash across Ford's face but dismissed it as a figment of his imagination.

"Too small? Too skinny?"

Cal took a deep breath. "Too female."

He climbed out of the Land Rover before Ford could assault him with a cutting remark. "Thanks for the lift."

He pushed open the gate and disappeared up the drive.

Ford sat in the car tapping his fingers against the steering wheel in uncustomary agitation. He was angry with himself, at his apparent inability to control his feelings, but delighted that Cal had felt secure enough to let him know that he was gay. Maybe it was time he thought about getting close to someone again — his body certainly indicated that it was well overdue. He was twenty-five and it had been two years since he'd felt another man's skin next to his own. Cal's looked so smooth and inviting — damn, he was tempting! But Ford had no illusions. He liked his partners obedient and compliant. He wasn't ashamed of his need to dominate, but any boyfriend of his had to understand that a relationship with him was never going to be easy. He pictured Cal kneeling naked in front of him, warm mouth surrounding his shaft, and could almost feel the strands of blond hair twisted into his grip as Ford forced him to take him deep into his throat.

---

Excerpted from "Mountain Rescue"
by .
Copyright © 2013 L.M. Somerton.
Excerpted by permission of Totally Entwined Group Limited.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

---