Sunday, February 24, 2008

So Many Men...

(I posted this last Friday over at Samhain Publishing's Blog.)

Mad Jack Madden, the man from Immortal Illusions was a great hero to write. Balls to the wall, a sinful, sexy rouge who never said ‘die’. He talked trash, played the game like a master, and knew his way around women. My modern rake, he really showed me a good time. And Gideon Sinclair, from Immortal Protector? Dark, daring, and dangerously hot. My first hero, he was a challenge I'll never forget.

You’d think I could show some loyalty, but right now I'm too busy wondering about that next man. Call me fickle, and you might be right. But you must admit, there’s something to be said for the novelty of masculine mystery, the allure of enigma, and the certain promise of passion found on untried ground.

I think that’s one of the things I really enjoy about reading, and writing romance. Love abounds. Over and over, you get to relive the thrill of the hunt, and savor the bliss of the fall. Each time from a new angle, with a fresh twist.

You wonder: who will he be, this new hero of mine?

Is he an All American blonde with a killer smile and bedroom eyes, or the dark man of mystery hell bent on seduction? Will he sear your soul with a single, inescapable glance that melts you where you stand? Is his voice rough, or smooth, or a pleasurable mix of both? When he stands beside you, does the air charge? Can you feel his heat wash over you as he lingers, just inches away, far closer than is proper for people who are not intimate? You’ll wonder: does he realize he’s in my personal space? Is he doing this unknowingly, or by design? Did he hold my gaze, my hand, a bit too long, or did I imagine it all because my libido is torqued to the max and ready to snap me in two?

You won’t get the answer directly, his eyes are inscrutable, his actions quixotic and mysterious. Maybe he’s doing it, knowing he’ll pay a price later on, but he just can’t resist. Even if he can’t touch, it’s so close, it might as well be skin to skin. And when he can touch, he takes his time even though convention dictates otherwise, because it feels so damn good.

He’ll make your breath hitch in your throat. Sometimes, he’ll catch you with that stare, and you’ll wonder, where could this go if I let it? And is hell to pay too big a price? You start out thinking yes, but the more time you spend in his deliciously wicked company, the more you think, sure, I’ll pay hell, I’ll give up the world, chuck everything I own out the damn window, if it ensures that toe curling kiss is followed by more of the same. So close for so long, you can’t help but give into the attraction and all else falls away.

Is he laconic, or mouthy? Mad cap, mad, maddening? That kiss: was it lazy, demanding, tender, possessive? And what kind of lover will he be? Slow, and sure, taking his time to make time, knowing things about you even you didn’t know? Or will he come on strong, and fast and hard, burning every well planned defense to dust, pushing you so beyond every wild limit you’re consumed and reborn a thousand times in his blaze? Either way, he’ll blow your mind, so everyone wins.

Yes: Everyone wins.

That’s the best part. No matter who he is, what skin he walks in, how he deals out that first kiss, and every one there after, we all go home happy.

And some people think romance sucks.


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