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eBook Category: Erotica/Romance
eBook Description: Nick O'Mallley is an agent for the Nevada Gaming Commission. He's also a Goth with a hearse he's restoring, and an ex lover he's only just getting over. Brandon Carr is a cop with the Riverside PD. Lucky for him, he's in Vice where his tattoos and biker boy looks serve him well. The two meet at a Goth convention in San Diego and the sparks fly immediately. So much so that a weekend fling turns into more and Brandon spends his four day weekend visiting Nick. Things aren't all sparks and roses though: the two do live a nine hour drive apart, and Brandon's not out. Add to that a murder right in front of them, a company trying to cheat the system and the Mexican Mafia, and Brandon and Nick's relationship will need to overcome a whole slew of obstacles in order to work. Despite everything, can Brandon and Nick make a go of it? Taken a chance on these two and find out.

eBook Publisher: Torquere Press/Screwdriver, Published: http://www.torquerepress.com, 2008
Fictionwise Release Date: May 2008

60 Reader Ratings: Great Good OK Poor

Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [832 KB], eReader (PDB) [279 KB], Palm Doc (PDB) [278 KB], Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [245 KB], Microsoft Reader (LIT) [320 KB] - PocketPC 1.0+ Compatible, Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [288 KB], hiebook (KML) [600 KB], Sony Reader (LRF) [323 KB], iSilo (PDB) [231 KB], Mobipocket (PRC) [287 KB], Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [346 KB], OEBFF Format (IMP) [375 KB]
Words: 84380
Reading time: 241-337 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud DISABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED
ISBN: 1-60370-303-9

Mychael Black, popular Torquere author, writes: Brandon Carr is firmly in the closet. Very firmly. Safely hidden where no one else can see that he has a penchant for men. As a cop for Riverside Police, he knows how to keep his needs and desires tucked away. And up until now, he's managed just fine. Then Nevada Gaming Commission Agent, Nick O'Malley, waltzes into his life and turns Brandon's world upside down in a heartbeat. Nick is out and perfectly at home in his skin. He knows what he wants and Brandon fits the bill perfectly. They play hard and despite Brandon's avoidance of anything remotely resembling love, Nick already knows how he feels about the closeted detective. Unfortunately, fate has other ideas. When Nick's job lands him into a nasty mess, it'll be up to Brandon to get him out. Hot cops. Hot sex. Tons of action. What's not to love?? From the first words on the page, it's impossible NOT to become entangled in this story. Brandon and Nicky are both insanely hot. Together, they leave you speechless. The tension is strong, in and out of their relationship. The sex? Dear God. The rope bondage scenes are intense and you feel as if you're right there, feeling the slide of rope over your skin as Brandon does. If you've never read anything from Buchanan, this is a perfect time (and book) to start. It sets the tone for Buchanan's work: gritty, real, and hot as hell.

Leather and velvet and PVC and brocade graced the patrons as they swirled through the cavernous building. People ebbed and flowed from sidewalk to bar to dance floor. Security guards swiped IDs through high-tech gadgets that flashed a person's age for all to see. Every color known to chemistry was dyed into at least one person's hair. Monitors repeated image after image of the grinning skull with its black tri-corn and tattered flag backdrop suspended above the dance floor. Promoters were already out stumping for votes on next year's city: Tampa, New Orleans or Vancouver.

Night two of Convergence 11 and Nicholas was dressed the only way he knew how: over the top. Slim-line trousers were almost painted on his legs. His long, black hair broke across the shoulders of his deep-purple, velvet frock coat. It was a little unusual; priest's cassocks seemed to be the rage this year. Otherwise, utili-kilts and black paramilitary DUs pervaded the venue for guys. And pirate hats were everywhere, what with this year's Convergence theme being pirates. Underneath the coat, a white silk shirt was constrained by a black brocade cincher. For some reason only the boiz who didn't need anything cinched in around the middle ever wore cinchers. Maybe it was because anything extra got pushed out the top. A few extra pounds and you'd look like the girls with their overflowing tits. The requisite knee-high Doc Martens completed his outfit.

He was depressed, and not the I'm-too-cool-to-be-happy affected depressed, but really depressed. Two months before Convergence, his long-time relationship had imploded. Besides emotional fallout, it had left him stuck with a non-refundable, non-transferable, sixty-five dollar ticket and no chance of getting a roommate to split the costs of the room. If dressing for clubs wasn't such an ingrained habit, he probably would have stuck with black jeans and t-shirts all weekend. Nick almost hadn't come, but shit, he wasn't going to let the breakup ruin this. Still, he'd bailed on the first night's event, and most of the afternoon's as well, and caught hell for that. Most of these people he only physically saw once a year. They were an extended, online family of sorts: offering career advice, mojo for hoped-for jobs, general banter, and good-natured sniping.

That said, here he was alone and listening to a really bad band. His crowd had gone off earlier in search of food. Eating just didn't sound like something he wanted to do. It would kill the buzz he currently had working. Drunk and depressed; if he had to be out, that was how he was going to be. He leaned against the rail separating the concert seating area from the dance pit and played with the brim of his top hat.

The music, if you could call it that, reverberated through the cavernous space. Shit, it was bad. Whiny and off key, all the crap that ordinary sheeple claimed Goth sounded like to them. What he wouldn't have given for a little Lycia or Die Form. The bleachers behind him echoed a tinny counterpoint to the off-tempo backbeat. A few people were making a half-hearted attempt to dance near the stage. The Los Angeles contingent swayed and caressed themselves like they were masturbating in their own bedrooms. Dancing for the local crowd consisted of feigned epileptic fits. Every level in between was represented in the thrashing throng. Most people, however, either stood between the dancers and the bleachers or sat off to the left in a darkened area crammed with mismatched couches.

Some chick in leather bondage pants and a black leather waist cincher was crawling around on the floor. Nick smirked. He looked better in his than she did in hers. A voice came from off to the right, near the bar, "Hey, did you lose a contact or something?" Its tone was low, but commanding, self-assured. The kind that was quiet because its owner never needed to yell. A warm baritone, it swam under the throb of the music and grabbed Nick's attention. "Can I help you find it?"