Take me away – to the Snowy Mountains

By Desiree Holt

People dream about places they want to go, places they want to see. Things they’d like to do. Experiences they want to have. For my books I have daydreamed and researched myself into the jungles of Peru and Mexico, Caribbean islands, the countries of Europe and the Middle East. I have imagined myself in the strong arms of my heroes being rescued…or as in the case of Jungle Inferno, doing the rescuing.

Hold on, Mark. We’re here. We’re here.

As the man in grey slacks approached the helicopter at a dead run, Faith heard the whistling sound of what she later learned was a rocket propelled grenade and the ’copter exploded in a bright fireball. The man in grey fell back, pushed to the ground by the force of the explosion.

“Oh my God,” Faith screamed, forgetting the order for silence in the shock of the explosion.

“La senora!”

She heard the voice from below her and looked down to see a man raising his rifle toward her. She reacted automatically, barely taking time to think, all those hours on the range paying off. Before the man could fire she aimed the Glock at him and emptied the clip into him. He fell back, his face and chest covered in blood, his finger tightening on the trigger one last time in death, the rifle spraying bullets into the air.

Her heart was racing so fast she was sure it would explode any minute.

Think of him as a paper target. Don’t think of him as a person.

But she suddenly remembered her promise—I’ll get you out even if I have to kill someone. She hadn’t expected it to come to that but she realized with a shock that she’d do it again if need be.

But as much as I like the soothing blanket of heat and the lure of exotic places, I have always wanted to see the Snow Mountains in Australia. Why, you might ask? Because years ago I saw a movie, The Man From Snowy River, and I fell in love.

With the story, the scenery, the people. I wanted to ride a horse down the mountainside the way Tom Burleson did, cracking that long whip of his. I wanted to campy in the snow of the mountains, boiling the pure crystals for water and watching the sun cast its blinding light on it.

When I wrote about Reece Halliday in Crack the Whip, it was Tom Burleson I saw, naked in the snow on the mountains, the very essence of masculinity.

Crack!

The sound echoed in the room. India jerked even though he hadn’t touched her yet, simply cracked the whip in the air. But the sound was arousing to her. And to him.

Crack!

This time he applied it to her flesh and the tail left a satisfyingly red stripe on India’s ass. One of those delicious little sounds he loved rolled from her throat, diffused by the fake cock in her mouth.

And as I wrote this scene I could just imagine my naked hero, standing in the snow rather than in a heated room, naked beneath the sun. The fabled horses of the mountains thundering around him.

I play the theme from the movie very often when I’m writing because that image inspires me.  Check it out on iTunes. I bet it will inspire you.