Hello and welcome to the 2nd stop in Sensuous Promos Book Blog Tour for Whitley Gray’s, Shooting For The Gold - Going For The Gold Anthology. Throughout this blog hop – which runs September 30th through October 26th – there will be 5 stops. At the end of which all commentators (from all the blog stops) will be eligible to win a $10 Amazon eGift Card. The winner will be announced on October 27th in the evening and posted in the comments sections of all the stops. Please remember to leave your email address so we can contact the winner and get you your prize!
Once upon a misspent youth, Whitley read and wrote stories under the covers at night. At some point, real life intervened, bringing with it responsibilities and a career in the medical field. After years of technical writing, Whitley became enamored of romance and took on the challenge of giving it a try. Inventing characters and putting them through paces in interesting ways turned out to be addictive, and along the way, Whitley discovered that two heroes is twice as nice. A pot of coffee, quiet, and a storyline featuring a couple of guys makes for a perfect day. Stop by www.whitleygray.com and feed your fix for heat between the sheets with erotica and M/M romance.
Matt Justice has worked for years toward his goal of winning Olympic gold. Three decades ago, his father won an Olympic shooting competition; he was Matt’s biggest supporter until he said two little words: “I’m gay.” If he can emulate the feat his father accomplished in the past, maybe Matt can mend their fractured relationship.
Physician Levi Wolf and his partner Brett had looked forward to attending the London Olympic Games, until the car accident that left Levi unscathed but killed the love of his life. It’s been three years, and Levi has kept his heart under wraps. He’s attending the Olympics alone—as a physician instead of as a tourist. The last thing he wants to consider is letting go of Brett’s memory.
When Matt has an accident that threatens his ability to compete, Levi uses his skill at acupuncture to treat the blinding headaches. As the competition comes down to the wire, Levi discovers that sometimes the prize is right in front of you.
Matt squinted at the map. God, he hoped he’d taken the right direction to find the shuttle to the shooting venue at the Royal Artillery Barracks. For the last month, he’d anticipated seeing the unique decorations for the Olympic use of the buildings. The equipment should’ve arrived, and until he saw with his own eyes that the firearms had made it, he wouldn’t be able to rest. The campus made no sense. Where the devil was the exit to this place? The Olympic Village might as well be a labyrinth. Matt turned the chart to the side. North? Which way was —
Pain exploded in his forehead and nose. Matt staggered sideways onto the grass, lost his fight with gravity, and fell. The vision in his right eye blurred, and the inside of his head reverberated with pain. “Fuck.”
“Okay, mate?” The voice came from above, concern wrapped in a Cockney accent.
Matt clapped a hand over his eye, which made the pain worse, and pulled his fingers away smeared with red. Blood? No fucking way. What’d he hit? He turned his head, and hissed as pain thumped his skull. Bad idea. “What hit me?”
“Ye ’it the scaffold.” Feet clanged on metal, clopped on concrete, and muted on the grass. “Yer bleedin’. Shite.”
Through bleary eyes, Matt squinted at the workman who squatted next to him. The man’s wooly eyebrows knit in concern. He fumbled in his pocket and held out a handkerchief. Matt watched himself take the cloth. A wave of nausea twisted his gut, and he flipped on his side and retched, head pounding. Jesus Christ.
Kidding, right? Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, Matt rolled to his back and opened his eyes. Overcast sky, smell of grass, and ringing in the ears. Just dandy.
More footsteps rustled across the grass, and a blond man came into view. Lips tight, he frowned and knelt beside Matt. “Hey there. Looks like a nasty cut. Can you open your right eye?” Midwestern American accent. A fellow athlete?
“It is open. Isn’t it?”
“No.” The hanky was pulled out of Matt’s hand, and Blond Guy dabbed at the cut. “Better get you to the clinic.”
Aw, shit on a biscuit. Clinic? Doctors and X-rays and needles? He’d never live it down. Matt groaned. “It’s not that bad. A little clean up and an ice pack and I’ll be fine.”
Blond Guy’s frown deepened, twin creases forming between his eyebrows. He leaned in. Nice eyes, blue like the steel of a shotgun. “That’s not going to do it. Too deep. Looks like you rang your bell when you connected with the post. You might have a concussion.”
Matt struggled to sit up, and the scenery took a drunken swirl. Nausea burbled in his throat. “I don’t have a concussion.” He clamped his teeth together and took a couple of deep breaths through his nose. Don’t vomit. Sit for a minute, reassure the Good Samaritan, and go check on the guns. “I need to go.”
A warm hand landed on his shoulder. “A quick look. I promise I’ll make it brief —”
“Wait a minute. You’ll take a look?” Probably some former military medic, like Norm.
A brilliant smile broke across Blond Guy’s face and he extended a hand. “Levi Wolf, M.D., at your service. Call me Levi.”
A doctor? Here in the Village? On autopilot, he shook. “Matt Justice.”
“Staff or competitor?” asked Levi.
“Clinic’s right over there.” Levi nodded toward glass double doors on the opposite side of the courtyard. “Can you walk?”
Target estimated at twenty meters. That he could do. Matt grunted an assent.
“I kin help,” the workman volunteered, glancing from Levi to Matt.
Well, it couldn’t get much more humiliating. Might as well go to the clinic. “Let’s go.”
It did get more humiliating. Levi and the workman — who introduced himself as Gideon — each took one of Matt’s arms and wrapped an arm around his waist. The two carried more than walked him across the grass, through the doors, and into a cubicle.
While he waited for Levi to return, Matt contemplated the gray and white stripes of the curtain, one eye at a time. Left eye clear, right eye blurry. Must not have gotten the blood cleaned up well enough. That had to be it. Perfect vision in his right eye was crucial for shooting. What if he couldn’t compete?
MLR Press: MLR Press