Yes, I know. You all come here every Wednesday, expecting me to pander to your lowest instincts by posting a photo of a deliciously moist Wetsday gentleman. Well, kids, I am tired of it. I am not merely a purveyor of hot, damp man candy. I am, by God, an artist. A writer. A novelist.
Sorry, got carried away there. Ain’t nothing wrong with wet mancandy. So, it that is your pleasure, stick around to the end of this post, and you will get your just reward.
But I am very excited about my new WIP, which is in first draft stage, undergoing its first round of edits right now. And so, exercising the privilege of being an author of this blog, I am gonna subject you, dear reader, to a sample of my MS.
I think of it as a Southern-fried Bridget Jones. My heroine, Cassie Grace, is a preacher’s daughter from a typical small Southern town, but she dreams of a Regency hero in breeches and boots, who will sweep her away from her job as a paralegal and introduce her to the social whirl of the Haute Ton. In this scene, Cassie has recently met wealthy British businessman James Holwood, who is in town looking for a site where he and his partners can build a factory. Cassie’s boss has instructed her to stay close to James and make sure he has whatever he needs (wink wink nudge!)
So here they are, inspecting a possible site for the new factory:
After lunch, folks excused themselves to go freshen up, have a cigarette outside, and so forth, and we had a bit of a break from the sales pitch. James looked at a door a few feet away and asked, “Where does that lead?”
I didn’t know, but I figured Rosie would want me to find out for him, so I said, “No idea. Let’s see.” I opened the door and found a long, well-lit corridor with more doors off on each side. James followed me in, and we walked several yards. He opened a couple of doors, peered in, and said, “More office space. Or perhaps storage.”
I opened the next door and went in. James followed. “A nice office for a line supervisor, or someone like that.” I tried to sound like a chamber of commerce cheerleader.
The door was on a spring, so it had shut behind us. As James came up right behind me, I realized that for the first time all day, we were completely alone. No Rosie, no realtors. Just me and the British Greek God.
I turned around and he was much closer than I’d thought. Far too close, in fact. Was he –?
Oh, yes, he was. His hands came up to frame my face, and before I had a moment to think, his mouth was on mine. That soft, sweet kiss demanded nothing, but promised everything. Oh, he knew what he was doing! I felt his tongue press gently on my lips, and I opened up to him, slid my hands around his waist and gave in to what I’d wanted to do since the minute I saw him. It was incredible how right it felt to be there. I couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but kiss him and be kissed by him, and let everything in the world fall away.
Far too soon, he lifted his head and spoke. “Good God. I’ve thought of nothing but that for four days now.”
Okay, my darlings. Since you have stuck it out this far with me, I will give you the man candy you came for.
Hmm, a bit of Norse Mythology, a la Wetsday????
Here’s Chris Hemworth, aka the Mighty Thor!
And if you’d like a little – more – of Mr Hemsworth, check out my blog at www.romancemama.wordpress.com It’s not as family-friendly as The Sizzle Blog!!!