How Many Pairs of Running Shoes Does One Man Need?
I really enjoy writing in the male Point of View (POV). Alright, alright, who am I kidding? I love it! It’s easier for me to write than the female POV for some reason and a whole lot more fun. In recent years, and certainly throughout my ‘before writing’ professional career, I worked in a male dominated industry and have a lot of male friends. Male friends that were, and are, very open about what they think about. TMI, anyone? I grew up a tomboy and I still love to get my hands dirty on occasion. I’m not a woman’s woman, but I’m a girly girl, if that makes any sense. I can render a wall, paint anything, use a power tool with ease and dry wall, but I have a purse and shoe collection you wouldn’t believe. I think I just relate a whole lot better to a simpler, more direct approach to things. Sometimes a spade is just a spade, you know?
I love to think about and explore how men really think. It’s fascinating and let’s face it, I’m always more interested in the hero in romantic fiction. It’s the heroine we’re invested with, but it’s the hero’s show in many ways. As such, I really try to get into the male psyche and try to delve into what and how a guy might think and how he’ll act in certain situations based on the personality I’ve built. Of course, I use what’s at my disposal for research; family, friends, my husband, even my young son. No-one is safe! Sometimes I get it. And at other times? It’s still a mystery, like…why the heck my husband thinks he needs eleven pairs of athletic shoes. Eleven! He insists they’re all different and serve very specific purposes. LOL. Okay, I don’t know about you, but they all look the same to me.
So, what do you think? Do you think you have it figured out?
Check it out!! Read the Excerpt!!
Christ, he was a sick fuck.
Sam rubbed his hand over the rough stubble on his jaw, the raspy sound loud in the quiet room. Carla, Carrie, or whatever the hell her name was, had left. Hell, she hadn’t been able to get away fast enough once she’d figured it out. He could still smell the unmistakable scent of sex. It was thick and heavy in the air and wafted up from the ruined sheets he was lying on every time he moved. It’d been good—hard, fast and impersonal, just how he liked it. Okay, so it’d gone to crap at the end, but he’d gotten his rocks off and had no complaints in that regard. She’d been gorgeous and built, with a tongue that was more talented than most and a way of moving her hips when she rode him that had almost blown the top of his head off. So what was his problem and what the fuck was he doing? He shouldn’t still want to, shouldn’t need to—
Desperate and young, Jillian Moore did something she knew would one day come back to bite her in the ass. She’d posed nude. For money. Years later, and on the fast track to a successful career, she’s still haunted by her mistake. She can’t help but wonder when her past will catch up with her.
Samuel Steele is not short on female attention, but the women who warm his bed pale in comparison to the fantasy he’s created of the seductive temptress in the painting hanging prominently in his bedroom. A fantasy that has ruined his once satisfying sex life. When he discovers that her exact likeness works in his building—for him—things get…interesting.
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