It's release day for Lynn Kelling's
Song Of The Lonesome Cowboy
and we're delighted to have Lynn join us today
with info about the book and an excerpt!!
with info about the book and an excerpt!!
Tucker Reynolds is a humble singer/songwriter both blessed and burdened by his success in the country music industry. Stalked by a predator from his past and struggling with guilt over his secret lust for his childhood best friend and guitarist, Magnusson ‘Mags’ Palmer, Tucker’s carefully crafted lies are his main means of self-defense, but they slowly begin to unravel. Kinky sex with prostitutes hastens a downward spiral that he searches to escape from. At the end of a successful tour, before heading home to Nashville, Tucker seeks solitude in order to come to terms with the guilt over things he has done to which he has never confessed. Only Tucker’s devoted, less-assuming band mate, Jess Grayville, suspects the truth about the nightmare Tucker is privately battling. Jess attempts to protect Tucker from those who would do him harm, even when the pers on putting him in the most danger isn’t reckless Mags, but Tucker, himself. Realizing that the best way out of the dark of his past and into the light of forgiveness is by finally admitting to the truth, Tucker strives to listen to his heart and write a song that he knows could save him.
Sitting in the middle of the bathroom floor on the cold, white tile, I drew my knees up to my chest, held my head in both hands and tried to calm the hell down. Soon, I’d be faced with someone looking to cut right to the evening’s down and dirty goal. There wouldn’t be a slow lead-up; I’d just be thrown right in. It was something I was used to, and had experienced many times before, but somehow it was never easy. I had to get myself ready for it, mentally.
Mr. Briant wasn’t there. I kept reminding myself of that. He wasn’t coming. Someone else was. Someone kinder.
I wouldn’t let him ruin this for me. He’d already ruined too much.
The memories were trying to come back, though. I shook my head to pry them loose, squeezed my eyes shut and forced my thoughts somewhere else.
It had always been that way. If sex was involved and Mags wasn’t around, if it was just me, waiting on a stranger, my thoughts went to the worst places. It took real effort to get myself back on track, whether there had been a creepy gift left for me by my personal devil or not.
I made myself get to my feet and get out of the damned bathroom. That helped. The room was free of contamination now. My terror eased.
That’s when the other sort of panic set in. It always hit when I knew I was about to be alone and having sex with another man. Then, I wasn’t someone with a modest degree of fame or success, or an adult who’d survived some awful things and come out the other side mostly intact. I wasn’t a man at all, but a weakling, a coward, and a damned liar not fit to lick the boots of my scheduled guest.
He got there right on time, nine p.m.
I opened the door and tried to form words, but my tongue was thick and dry in my mouth. My thoughts were clouded by fear. My stomach was in knots. My skin felt too tight—both too hot and too cool. Glad for the leather strip that secured my hair back, and how it helped me feel more controlled, I continued to fidget while taking a good look at the stranger waiting to be let in.
He was real damn cute, which was, of course, both a good and bad thing.
“Hey. You’re Ken? I mean, you look like a Ken. It, uh, suits you. Anyway. Come in. Sorry.”
“Nervous?” Ken smiled, with pearly white teeth. He was adorable, with light brown hair that was blond on the ends of each tight curl, cut fairly close to his head. Tan, toned and sporting an All-American vibe with his coral-colored polo shirt and tailored gray pants, he looked like a living, breathing Ken doll.
I was about to fuck a Ken doll.
A hysterical laugh chased up my throat. Bottling that up as tightly as I could, I stepped aside. Ken walked in. He was an inch or so shorter than me.
“Yeah, you could say that. I’m Tucker. Pleased to meet you. Welcome to my, uh, hotel room. Can I get you a drink?”
“No thanks, Tucker,” Ken said. There was a friendly look to him. It was pretty dimly lit in that small room, with only a single bedside lamp on and the curtains closed. Ken walked right up to me, standing too close, and slipped a hand around one side of my waist like there was no such thing as personal space.
My knees almost gave out. My legs felt weak, the muscles tingling uncomfortably. He was so close; I could smell his aftershave and the mint he must have eaten on his way to the hotel.
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About the author:
Lynn Kelling began writing in order to tell stories that aren’t afraid of the dark, don’t hold anything back and always strive to be memorable, forging lasting attachments between character and reader. Her inspiration comes from taking a closer look at behaviors and ideas lurking at the fringes of life—basically anything that people may hesitate to speak of in mixed company, but everyone wonders about anyway. Her work is driven by the taboo in order to expose the humanity within it. Lynn is an artist, designer and lover of any form of creative self-expression that comes from a place of honesty and emotion, whether it's body art or opera. She has had multiple novels published, has written over seventy works of erotic fiction of varying lengths, and always has several novels in progress.
Promotional post. Materials provided by the author.