Picturing Lysander by L.M. Somerton

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Picturing Lysander

L.M. Somerton

Photography, like love, should have no limits.

Lysander Brock is a talented photographer and capturing the perfect picture is his passion. His work takes him all over the world and he is famous for his willingness to take risks for the perfect image.

Kyle Dawson is tasked by his mysterious employer to obtain Brock’s services for a dangerous job and he’s prepared to use any method to ensure that the young photographer does as he’s told. Breaking and entering and blackmail are just tools of his trade.

Despite the circumstances, the spark of attraction between Brock and Kyle is strong. Brock’s addiction to adrenaline-fuelled adventure holds him captive, just as much as Kyle’s brooding dominant appeal. As a fragile trust builds between them, Kyle takes a gamble and tells Brock the truth about his mission. Can Brock accept the challenges ahead—as a photographer and as a man?

Reader Advisory: This book contains scenes of mild BDSM.

Excerpt:

 “You need your head read, young man. You treat photography like an extreme sport.”

“And your bedside manner needs some work, Doc.” Brock winced and gritted his teeth as another needle punctured his flesh.

“Would you rather I patted your head and gave you a sugar lump?”

“Is that what you did in the army?” Brock often thought that his doctor forgot he was now dealing with delicate civilians.

“Most squaddies would run away screaming at the sight of a needle if it didn’t mean disciplinary action. I often wish the same principles could be applied to my patients here.”

Brock squirmed. “I don’t remember vaccinations ever being this painful.”

The doctor grinned. “Probably because you never had to have six at the same time before. Okay, that was the last one. You can pull your trousers up.”

He peeled off his gloves and threw the used syringe into a special bin that his nurse held out for him.

“You may experience some flu-like symptoms over the next twenty-four hours, and you’ll probably get some bruising, but if you feel any worse than that, give me a call. When are you traveling?”

“Ten days time.” Brock smiled and got to his feet. “Then I’ll be out there for four weeks.”

“Well, good luck. Stay safe. Bring me back another picture for the wall in reception.”

Brock pulled the consulting room door closed behind him but still overheard the doctor as he said, “Colombia! I don’t know whether he’s brave, stupid or just too young to know any better!”

Brock waited for the nurse to respond, but nothing happened.

“Linda! Quit mooning over him and get the room ready for the next patient.”

“But he’s so gorgeous, Doc. I could definitely be tempted to get unprofessional with him!”

Brock winced. Not in this lifetime.

The doctor chuckled mischievously. “Forget it! He’s more likely to go for me than you.”

There was a groan. “Oh, for goodness sake, why are all the pretty ones either married or gay? That is a serious loss to womankind.”

Brock shook his head, stepped quietly away from the door and headed for the exit. Outside the surgery, the weather was doing its best impression of a tropical monsoon, though without the heat. The rain beat down onto pavements already awash after days of continuous downpours. In the distance, thunder rumbled ominously and the sky had a threatening purple hue that spoke of more rain to come.

Brock looked up just as lightning split the sky. The rain got even harder. Stoically he turned up the collar of his waterproof coat and grimaced at the trickle of cold water that immediately slid down his neck. In seconds, his hair was soaked and plastered to his head. Brock hunched his shoulders and lengthened his stride toward home. It wasn’t strictly his home. He was just house-sitting while his brother, sister-in-law and two young nephews spent their annual fortnight’s holiday on one of the Balearic Islands—he couldn’t remember which one.

Brock spent such a lot of time traveling on photographic assignments that he’d never bothered to get his own place. When he was in England, he spent the time with his brother’s family or returned to his mum and dad’s rambling old place in Northumberland. Their house was so big, and they were both so busy with various pet projects and charities, that he could probably have lived there full time without them even noticing his presence. Brock smiled to himself at the thought—he was very fond of his eccentric parents.

Brock soon arrived at the edge of the new estate where his brother’s house sat on a decent-sized plot, halfway down a tree-lined avenue. Despite the miserable weather, he felt uncomfortably warm and was glad to make it to the sanctuary of the front hall, where a small puddle gathered around his feet as he stripped off dripping outdoor clothes and boots. Feeling progressively worse, he met his own piercing blue eyes in the hall mirror and grimaced. His skin looked clammy and his hands shook a little.