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I can't seem to leave Live Journal behind entirely, so I will continue to post here infrequently.

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Faith's Yummiest Heroes

  • Aug. 20th, 2007 at 10:39 AM
I was very honored when I received communication from novelist Teresa Bodwell that she wanted me to do a guest blog on her journal. I've been a fan of her writing for about seventeen years now. Before she became a published author she wrote these great short stories about a princess named Faith. Great stuff. It was clear she was destined for fame.

Yes, I'm Teresa's daughter. My name is Faith. I'm seventeen years old. Not much of an expert, but, hey, the number of hours in a day I spend thinking about movies is roughly the number of hours that I'm awake, so, well...I distinctly think stuff about movies, if not very insightful stuff. So, because I love lists, here are the ten most drool-worthy movie heroes in my opinion. Now I believe in appreciating all genres and I wanted that to come across in this list. So while I did include some of the great epic romances that have come out of Hollywood, I've also included heroes from a children's movie, three sex comedies and even a thriller, proving that a hunky man makes any movie better.

( Steve Carell as Andy Stitzer )

( Clark Gable as Rhett Butler )

( Cary Elwes as Westley )

( Matthew Broderick as Ferris Bueller )

( Bruce Willis as Malcolm Crowe )

( John Cusack as Lloyd Dobbs )

( Clark Gable as Peter Warne )

( Ben Stiller as Ted Stroehmann )

( Robby Benson as Beast )

( Tim Matheson as Eric 'Otter' Stratton )

Well, that's my story and I'm sticking to it. If you like hearing me talk, I blog my movie reviews here

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Don't you just love a military guy?

  • Aug. 17th, 2007 at 9:23 AM

Brave, true and lookin' fine. Who doesn't love a military guy? Personally, I've loved a guy in uniform since I was a kid. So take a look at Pam Trader's Drew Savage.

Then tell me what you feel about military heroes--the ex-military guy? The Special Ops guy? Navy Seals? What's your pleasure?

If you'd asked me to describe Drew a few weeks ago, I would have told you he’s the guy who lives at the end of the corridor on the fourth floor of the Bachelor Officers Quarters and is gone for days or weeks at a time.  I know that because he lives in the room next to mine and sometimes I would see him in the halls.  
From those brief encounters, I learned he’s as tall as my little brother Steven, who plays point guard for Michigan State and as blond as my older brother Brian.  He favors jeans and cowboy boots and the way he looks in them is probably illegal in at least six states.
It took me three months before I realized I never saw him in uniform, so I actually thought he was a civilian contractor.  He doesn't smoke and I've never seen him drunk.
He's gentleman enough to hold the door open for me if we happen to arrive at the same time, had never hit on me, and had never brought a woman up to his room as far as I knew.  His sex life seemed to be a hot topic of gossip among the women in the Q, so I was asked that.  A lot.
I could have told you he liked country music - Toby Keith in particular - but plays it at a level respectful of his neighbors.  He has a pleasant baritone speaking voice, but can't carry a tune in a bucket.  He prefers knit boxers to briefs, wears an extra large tee shirt and his socks are holey.
Those are things I learned sharing a wall and a laundry room with Drew Savage.
 Now I know his baby blue eyes can be cold and impersonal and scary or warm, twinkling and sexy depending on who he's talking to.  He has a scent so uniquely his - leather and citrus and Drew - that I could pick him out of a room if I were blindfolded. His hands are twice the size of mine with long pianist's fingers that can be incredibly gentle when they touch me, yet those same hands have killed people.  
His Texas drawl deepens when he's aroused and he does a toe-curling imitation of Bogie in Casablanca.  His cell phone doesn't come from a store and I'm not allowed to answer it if it rings.     
He practices yoga.  Naked. 
He drinks his coffee black, his whiskey neat and he's got an insatiable sweet tooth. No candy bar within a mile of Drew is safe. Some nights he doesn't sleep.
His right foot is more ticklish than his left one.  There's an ugly six inch scar on the outside of his right knee that he won't explain. 
I can tell you he likes long, slow kisses that go on for hours unless he's just come in from the field.  A simple training exercise releases a wildness deep within him I can taste. 
He writes letters in terrible penmanship to his grandma in Mississippi because she doesn't have email.  He'll lie to the face of a high-ranking foreign diplomat, cheat a Columbian drug lord, and steal from the French treasury if that's what the mission demands of him.   
Those are the things I wish I'd never learned about Captain Andrew Savage, US Army, 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta.


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Eve's Yummy Heroes

  • Aug. 14th, 2007 at 10:18 AM
For my money—Eve Silver is writing some of the best heroes of any author today. Check out the excerpts below, featuring Lord Craven from Eve’s His Dark Kiss. And look for her current release—His Dark Prince (and yes, the hero on the pages is even hotter than the cover guy). And don't forget Driven by Eve's alter ego, Eve Kenin--coming in September. This is not just another post-apocapalytic trans-Siberian trucker tale!

A swirl of black greatcoat and a tall, powerful frame filled her vision as he left their conveyance and strode toward the house. Feeling oddly deflated by his abrupt leave-taking, she scuttled forward to the open door of the carriage and watched his progress. The wind had carried the storm away, leaving behind the clear night sky and the smell of clean wet earth. 

Lord Craven vaulted up the wide stone stairs, then paused and turned slightly, leaving his profile silhouetted against the light that poured from the lamps flanking the open front door. She thought his hair was dark, so it seemed from this distance, his chin strong and his nose straight and fine. More she could not see, but the overall impression was of a tall, forbidding man. Handsome in both face and form. 

Tension coiled inside her as she stared at him, and her skin tingled in the place his fingers had contacted. She caught her lower lip between her teeth, wishing that he had not walked away so quickly, wishing that he had tarried. Sucking in a breath, she was left wondering why such thoughts should plague her, and why the lovely scent of him yet swirled about her, tantalizing her.  

Unwilling to forfeit the sight of him just yet, she leaned out a little farther. Lord Craven inclined his head, appearing to speak to someone inside the doorway. Then with a swift glance in her direction, so brief she almost missed it, he turned and disappeared into the house.

* * * * 

Startled, Emma spun so quickly she nearly lost her balance. Lord Craven was directly behind her, his broad shoulders filling the door frame. He reached forward and grasped her elbow, steadying her. 

"And good morning to you, Miss Parrish. I trust you are recovered from the fatigue of your journey." That voice. Warm and lush, it stroked her senses, made her want to lean closer and revel in the sensuous baritone. 

"Good morning, my lord." Her heart skittered within her breast as she looked up and took in her first clear view of Lord Anthony Craven. Why, he is young, she thought in surprise, no aging tyrant but a man of perhaps three decades, vital and strong. He was tall, well formed, the tailored cut of his coat caressing his frame. Dark hair, overly long and sinfully thick, hung straight to his collar, framing the hard planes of his face. She had the oddest urge to reach out, to run her fingers through the shining strands of his hair, to test the softness.
 
Dear heaven. He was more than attractive. He was masculine perfection. Emma wet her lips, stunned by his stark, male beauty, and by her own inexplicably strange reaction to it. The full, sensual curve of his lips pulled taut, and she held her breath waiting for his smile. 

 "And thank you, yes, I am quite recovered from the fatigue of the journey." She felt breathless, akin to the sensation elicited by a vigorous walk. 

The smile she anticipated never came, and she found herself oddly disappointed. He stared at her intently, as if he could read her every thought, his gaze locking with hers, and then dropping lower to peruse her person in a most indecent manner. 

Emma's pulse raced as he returned his attention to her face. She felt undone by the look he settled on her. Somehow, the way he looked at her, with pupils dilated and dark, rimmed in an eerie topaz green, made Emma think that Lord Craven was hungry. For her.
  Don't you just love the tortured hero? Or do you prefer the smooth-talking charmer?

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Yummy Heroes Week

  • Aug. 13th, 2007 at 11:31 AM
I have declared this Official Yummy Heroes Week. To celebrate we are going to have a delicious description of a yummy, watchable male every day this week. Monday through Thursday, I'll re-post some of my favorites from the past year. Friday I'll introduce you to a new hotty. Drew Savage had all the women of my RWA Online Yummy Heroes workshop drooling on their keyboards.

Today I'll start with one of my favorites. This was a real guy that I saw while walking my dog on the river trail. Okay, I probably did the verbal equivalent of Photoshopping him--enhancing him with delectable parts I've observed on other guys.

Oh, and this pic is not THE guy, but he'll do. Which brings up the question--which is the better view--coming or going?





 
He followed the curve at the far end of the track and came toward me down the straightaway. His white tank stretched across a broad chest, his bronzed arms pumping high. As he drew closer, I could see the hem of his shorts grazing his long, lean thighs with each powerful stride.
 
A few strands of trim dark hair lifted over his brow in the wind created by the motion of his body charging hard down the track. He flew past me and I couldn’t resist turning to watch the view of his backside as he completed the stretch and reached for the next curve.
 
There’s a grace in the running movement—legs and arms working together to propel a body forward. All of it connected at the focal point of nicely rounded buttocks. The man wore loose running shorts, not those skin-tight lycra jobs that are so popular today. These swished over the surface of his skin, calling attention to powerful glutes. His stride was efficient with little wasted energy, only a slight rolling movement to absorb the shock of feet pounding against the artificial surface of the track.
 
He leaned into the turn, never slowing as he raced around the end and up the long straightaway on the other side. Pushing hard to be just a little faster, stronger, better this time around.
 

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Mind's Eye Candy

  • Sep. 1st, 2006 at 9:22 AM
This is from my current work in progress--a contemporary western story set in Montana. The working title is Tempting a Cowboy. I took the dialogue out of the first meet scene, to focus on the description of the hero through the heroine's eyes.

Damn, he was a big man. Willow let her gaze drift over his powerful shoulders down to the jeans that hugged his trim waist, firm butt and sculpted thighs. It was the kind of view she'd paid money to see back in her teen years when she was a rodeo groupie. Forget the bronc riding, steer wrestling and barrel racing--watching the testosterone driven strut of the cowboys in their tight jeans and high-heeled boots was more than worth the price of admission.

He turned and shook Willow’s hand when he was introduced. The contact overloaded her senses--rough calluses, gentle warmth and firm pressure. His solid grip indicated he had plenty of power, but he also knew how to restrain it. She looked up into his face, his eyes were shadowed by a worn taupe Stetson, but the corners of his lips were turned up just a bit in a casual smile of awareness.

Heat rushed to Willow's face as she realized she was still holding his hand. She opened her fingers and let her arm drop to her side.

His grin seemed to be hiding a private joke. He pushed the brim of his hat back, revealing steel gray eyes intently studying her. She warmed from her cheeks and neck down deep into her chest. He was a rodeo man, which meant he was sexy as hell, but he lived life in eight second increments--not conducive to long-term commitments.

He gave her a slow nod and a lazy grin as though he could read her thoughts. Willow swallowed and mentally reinforced her spine and knees before they melted into a puddle.

From his hat to his boots, everything he wore seemed well broken in. His denim shirt and jeans were faded, but clean and looked as though they'd been tailored to fit his broad shoulders and narrow hips. The only thing Willow didn't like was his hat because it kept his hair a secret and shadowed his face. The men in cattle country did seem to love their hats, but at least Sean wore a traditional Stetson and not one of the trucker caps that seemed to have taken over. In the grand scheme of things, she was willing to give up the perfect, designer hairstyles of L.A. in exchange for those sexy cowboys strolling down Main Street.

He raised his hand to the brim of his hat. The casual tipping of his hat reminded Willow of happier times watching old westerns on TV with her dad. There was something about the aw-shucks charm of those old-fashioned cowboys. He turned and sauntered away with the unmistakable swagger of a man who knew his ass looked damn fine in his tight jeans.

So--what do you think about a man in a hat? Does it add to the sex appeal, or take something away? Indiana Jones is defined by his hat. And then there's James Garner--do you remember Maverick? He donned a cowboy hat again for "Murphy's Law". I loved the scene where he is explaining how a man where's a hat. What it means when it is tilted just so. Great stuff. What do you think? Does the hat make the man? Or do you think more as Willow does--that it is a shame when a hat covers up the man's hair?

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Mind's Eye Candy

  • Aug. 25th, 2006 at 12:29 AM
 
There's something about a man. The way he walks, talks, smiles, moves. Every Friday I’ll be posting a word picture depicting a man. He might be someone I saw walking down the street, working construction, fishing the river, or lifting weights at the gym. I’ll invite friends to post their word pictures too. Some will be fiction, others will be real. They will all be the kind of guy who makes a woman stop and take notice.
 
Eye candy is great, but “mind’s eye candy” is even better. All it takes is a little imagination to complete the picture.
 
Are you ready? Open your mind’s eye and enjoy.
 
He followed the curve at the far end of the track and came toward me down the straightaway. His white tank stretched across a broad chest, his bronzed arms pumping high. As he drew closer, I could see the hem of his shorts grazing his long, lean thighs with each powerful stride.
 
A few strands of trim dark hair lifted over his brow in the wind created by the motion of his body charging hard down the track. He flew past me and I couldn’t resist turning to watch the view of his backside as he completed the stretch and reached for the next curve.
 
There’s a grace in the running movement—legs and arms working together to propel a body forward. All of it connected at the focal point of nicely rounded buttocks. The man wore loose running shorts, not those skin-tight lycra jobs that are so popular today. These swished over the surface of his skin, calling attention to powerful glutes. His stride was efficient with little wasted energy, only a slight rolling movement to absorb the shock of feet pounding against the artificial surface of the track.
 
He leaned into the turn, never slowing as he raced around the end and up the long straightaway on the other side. Pushing hard to be just a little faster, stronger, better this time around.
 
THE GREAT DEBATE:   This scene shows my bias on the lycra vs. loose atheletic shorts debate. But what is you opinion? Which is sexier?
 

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