Sorry for being away. I’ve been a little under the weather. Which is frustrating because I only have 1 scene left to write in DECADENT, but I’m starting to feel human again, so I’m anticipating that I’ll finish tonight!

While I’ve been confined to my house, I’ve been overdosing on lots of the pop culture I’ve been denying myself in my race to catch this deadline. Wow! My head is swimming with the 2 movies, 4 books, and 6 hours of TV on my DVR I’ve consumed in the last 3 days. In a weird way, I feel recharged. Sometimes, when you’ve been living in your own head for a long time with only your thoughts and ideas, it starts to feel a little stark. But plug in pop culture again, and suddenly, it’s like a battery charge to the psyche. I don’t just feel more informed, I feel more alive. Ready to tackle something new. Ready for whatever crazy idea comes out of my head next.

Oh, I haven’t completely made my way through all the books and movies I’ve been wanting to inhale; they’ll come. But it’s great for my creative process to watch the product of someone else’s for a while. And I expect another few days to start hearing the voices in my head again. Ask me later about heroes like Marrok, Ice and Bram. If I get my way, they’ll be pouring from my imagination and fingers to my editor’s desk soon.

But I gotta finish Deke and Luc first. Such demanding men!

As promised (threatened?) on Wednesday, here’s another glimpse of WICKED TIES.

Hope Jack and Morgan make you shiver…

Excerpt – WICKED TIES
by Shayla Black
January 2007
If you are under 18, please navigate elsewhere

Jack scanned the crowd. He knew the mood of the clientele, the feel of revelers seeking hedonistic fun. Across the smoky room, a guy in jeans and a black sweater looked around, rather than at the stripper exiting the stage and giving the audience a prime view of her ass. A few feet from him, another in a suit lurked in the corner, wearing a watchful scowl. He didn’t fit in. The bulge inside his jacket hinted to Jack that the guy might have a shoulder holster full of weapon.

Either of these dudes—or neither—could be Morgan’s would-be shooter. But Jack knew they couldn’t afford to take chances.

As nonchalantly as possible, he turned Morgan, now in disguise, to face him and covered their sudden stop in the crowd by pulling her against him and planting a series of kisses on her neck. She tensed.

“Cher,” he called.

Others near them would hear an endearment. Morgan’s nod told him she took it as the warning he intended. She forced the tension from her shoulders.

“I see a couple of men who look suspicious,” he whispered on the soft, soft skin of her neck. “Anyone look familiar?”

She hesitated, and Jack took advantage of her distraction and breathed in her sweet raspberry scent, brushed his lips against her soft-as-sin skin.

“I can’t think with you doing that,” she whispered harshly.

He dropped a hand down her spine, over the curve of her ass, more because he wanted to than because it was necessary. But it helped with the image that they were lovers who couldn’t keep their hands to themselves.

“You can. You will.”

Morgan breathed out a four-letter word, and Jack smiled. If her curse hadn’t told him that he was getting to her, the pulse picking up speed at the base of her neck would. The scheming part of him loved knowing he affected her. So did his sexual side. Oh, he didn’t forget that the shooter was probably somewhere near, but the asshole was too smart to shoot with so many able to see his face. And the sick jerk had no reason to believe that Morgan wasn’t Alyssa.

“I can’t see. It’s smoky, and I’m too short.”

True on both counts. Damn!

Curving both arms around her body, Jack anchored Morgan against his chest. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder, reminding him how small she was. With her big personality, her size was easy to forget.

Given her story, she’d been through a whole lot lately. He couldn’t help but admire her grit to go on, her strength to fight.

“Let’s get out of here, just in case one of them is your gun-happy nightmare.”

Morgan nodded, but he felt her trembling. Jack eased back to look at her face. Under the thick makeup, her blue eyes clearly reflected the knowledge that she was being hunted. But equal parts fear and determination tightened her lush mouth. She wasn’t giving up.

Neither was he.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” he assured her. “Take my hand. Smile. Good enough. Now, follow me out the door.”

Slowly, Jack wended his way through the crowd, working the far side of the room as much as possible. He stopped to answer a greeting, endure some backslapping from frat boys he’d helped out of a scrape once, all of whom assumed fucking Alyssa would be every man’s version of paradise.

The suspicious characters cast glances over them as they neared the door. The dude with the suit kept his gaze glued to Morgan. Jack covertly watched the man assess her, eyes narrow with speculation. Running would only alert the asshole if he was Morgan’s stalker.

Instead, Jack whirled Morgan around and grabbed her. Her eyes went wide as he held her face between his palms and slanted his mouth over her own.

Right away, her softness assaulted him. After a gasp of protest, Jack sensed Morgan forcing herself to relax. To submit. At the press of his lips, she opened to him slowly, slowly, with shy hesitance that made him burn with need. A delicious uncertainty flavored her kiss, making him hard as a pike. But it wasn’t enough—either to convince the assassin chasing her or to assuage the hunger that churned like a violent storm in his gut.

He couldn’t wait for more.

A growl erupted from this throat as he dove into the kiss and urged her soft lips to part wider. He entered her mouth with a ravaging thrust of his tongue. And groaned as her wet, sugary heat and hot cinnamon-spice flavor exploded across his senses. Tangled with the taste of her fear.

Morgan began to kiss him tentatively. Unfurling to him, softening. Soon, she uttered a soft moan and matched his rhythm, her tongue seeking his when he retreated. She clasped his shoulders and clung, slanting her head until their mouths fit perfectly. Gripping her tightly, he sank deeper into her. The flavor of fear on her tongue receded. She trembled—but now her reaction didn’t have a damn thing to do with fright.

Morgan gasped…then surrendered, opening completely.

Crushing his delight at her lush response, Jack promised himself there would be plenty of time to fuck her, screw Brandon out of a bride, and enjoy every moment of her soft, shy responses. Later.

Ending the kiss with a nip of his teeth on her plush lower lip, Jack opened his eyes in time to see the slick in the suit talking to some of the regulars around him. Jack made sure he blocked Morgan from the view of guys who hung out here at least once a week. He hoped like hell none of them would remember that they’d never seen him kiss Alyssa like that.

Happy Friday!

The good news is, I’m 4 short scenes away from finishing DECADENT. Which is good, considering it’s due in a few days. Oh, and I received back cover copy yesterday, which I’ll share with you later this week!

The bad news…I’m officially whacked. I get this way whenever I’m finishing a book. I’m either writing non-stop and sloughing off on cooking, exercise, and sleep. Or I avoid the whole thing for days and days, trying to rework the end in my head, THEN get on the obsessive tear to the end.

This time, I’m both. Oh goodie.

I was obsessive last weekend and wrote 22 pages. Since, I’ve written about 3 and slept…oh, maybe 4 hours a night. So now my brain is pretty much shut down. Grr, I hate insomnia!

Even worse, I can’t get writing out of my head, but is it the book I’m working on keeping me up at night? No, that would be too easy. I’ve had an unusual series idea for a few months. One of my lunch buddies knows all about it, and he’s been a great sounding board. But now my weird subconscious is introducing me to even more characters in this series and telling me how they fit into the picture and giving me tantalizing glimpses of what these books could be… The practical part of my brain is saying, “take a number and get in line behind my novella, my book for Ellora’s Cave, my proposals for Berkley, the books for Blade and Stefan, etc.” In other words, I’ll be back to you in about 18 months. Naturally, the subconscious says that’s totally unacceptable. I’m sensing a mental smackdown in my future.

Waking up repeatedly at 3:50-something a.m. with these interesting strangers does not make me a fun camper to be with. So RAH, in his male wisdom, says, “Just roll over and go back to sleep.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to snap back, “OMG, that NEVER occurred to me! Wow, what a revelation. Amazing! Have you won awards for your brilliance?” Instead, I smile and say, “Tried that. Didn’t work.” His reply? “You’re whacked.” *sigh*

I got up instead and started making notes, aware of my encroaching deadline…yet still pondering these new characters with bizarre names. Lucky me.

I hope that, in deference to my very tired wicked muse, that no one will mind a new excerpt from WICKED TIES on Friday…

Once again, it’s time for my husband to pontificate about whatever is on his mind. There’s never any telling what’s going to come out of his mouth. Could be anything from his favorite Andy Griffith episode to the best sniper position at 400 yards. Buckle your seatbelt and hang on… Enjoy your October Centerfold!

Fall weekends in our household tends to involve all things football. Whether it’s college or pro, weekends will find me sitting in front of my big screen, enjoying a well-deserved break from the monotony of the “office”. But, as I’ve written before, my alter ego, Romance Author Husband (RAH), gets drafted into duty. While Texas is playing Nebraska, and Oklahoma squares off against Colorado, I am sitting in front of my PC, trying my best to help my significant other. Contest mailings, promotional materials, website updates and blogging are all on my “honey-do list” for today. Do I miss my comfy leather chair, mulitple cans o’ beer and a plate of nachos? You bet I do! But being RAH is my calling, and I proudly support my wife and anything she asks me to do. Well…almost.

Happy Friday! Today’s Feature is about the wonderful and talanted Deidre Knight’s latest release, Parallel Heat. It’s the second book in this imaginative series. If you missed the first, Parallel Attraction is still available!

Here’s a blurb about Parallel Heat:
In her “fresh [and] wonderfully creative”* Parallel Attraction, Deidre Knight created an unforgettable alternate world of danger, seduction, and the mysteries of time. Now she returns to that world as the destiny of two sworn enemies is changed forever by the unpredictable perils of love….

Little do Marco and Thea know, but they have met before in an alternate universe, and they are bound by betrayal and vengeance. Now, on a world at the brink of destruction, they feel only a forbidden passion and the unease that comes with it….

Here’s a little sneak peek…

PARALLEL HEAT by Deidre Knight
October 2006
Signet Eclipse

FIRST TIMELINE—THE FUTURE

There weren’t many places a dead man could go if he hoped to survive; at least that’s how Marco had always regarded the matter. Back on Refaria as a boy, in the midst of warfare and revolution, he’d learned that soldiers who embraced the afterlife had an uncanny way of finding it. Right now, he wished he could lock-in on some eternal, mystic wormhole that would shoot him straight out on the other side of his current hell.

He was literally in the middle of nowhere, hunkered down in the back corner of some dive on Highway 189, the perfect geographic location for him after everything tonight. He was nowhere; nameless; lost. He didn’t even know which bar he’d landed in, only that there were a half-dozen pool tables and a haze of cigarette smoke shrouding the place. And beer… racks and racks of beer, and Marco didn’t give a damn about his protector’s vows, not now, not tonight. He was going to get drunk and freefall into a painless state of oblivion if it was the last thing that he did.

His waitress returned, her low halter top revealing a small butterfly on her right breast, and slid yet another bottle of Heineken across the scuffed, wooden table toward him. He nodded mutely at the woman before staring down at his swarthy hands. He’d already lost count of how many bottles he’d tossed back since his arrival, and the cut on his forehead still hurt like hell, but that hardly mattered. Taking another heavy swig of beer, he felt the world around him grow even hazier—the dark bar was so cloaked in cigarette smoke, he could hardly tell if it was the effect of the alcohol on his system or just the cloud hanging over the place. His eyes burned, and for a moment he closed them, feeling the world swim woozily all about him.

Yes, let me forget, he thought. In All’s name, just let me forget tonight.

Throughout the barroom, rough wooden picnic tables were positioned, little more than graceless constructions of two-by-fours slapped together at haphazard angles—as if the working class regulars who populated the place required nothing more than basic stalls for their drinking pleasure. In fact, Marco had been lucky, managing to land one of the only real booths in the joint, and even then, the garish red leather beneath him was ripped and cracked, at least ten years past its prime.

Through the din of loud honky-tonk music, he could hear the phone at the bar ring, jarring him from his dazed state. The bartender—a burly guy with tattoos up and down each arm—grabbed it off the receiver. After listening a moment, he cupped his meaty palm over it. “Eh! Jordo!” he called out, “your old lady wants you home!”

Around the nearest table, a group of men erupted in bawdy laughter, slapping the guy who was obviously Jordo on the back while making crude comments.

Even he has someone who cares about him, Marco thought miserably, sinking down into the booth. But not me. Not that he’d ever had a woman of his own. No, he had always led a solitary existence when it came to matters of the heart. Still, people had cared for him, important people. But not now. He was utterly alone—without his Circle, without his king and queen, without his homeland. He was, quite simply, a protector without a protected. And maybe he did deserve to die as payment for his crimes. At least that would end the torment that had hounded him for the past year as he had secretly loved his best friend’s wife.

Enjoy your Friday!

It’s better than the dog ate my homework. It’s better than I slept through my alarm clock.

I’ll confess that I don’t have a dog. A canine might not get along with my very fussy Missy Meow. As for alarm clocks, I don’t usually set one. I have one of those odd systems. I generally tell myself what time I need to get up, and I wake up. Abracadabra. I’m weird, I know…

So what’s my excuse? I traveled to Arizona last weekend to be with my dad as he celebrated a big birthday–with my whole extended family.

Poor me. I had to spend 3 really gorgeous days here, walking in the brisk desert mornings among the mountains with my aunt, uncle and mom–who live in 3 different states. I spent evenings with my crazy 20-something cousins, listening to their party stories and the way they talk about their, um…love lives. Watching the next generation play games and giggle. Seeing the cousins I grew up with and talking about their ups and downs in life. Visiting with a cousin who took me to get my driver’s license the day I turned 16. Priceless… It was a fast whirlwind weekend, but I wouldn’t have traded it for the world.

However, that means I’m really behind in my writing. I contemplated doing sneaking in a few pages while there, but somehow writing the a deeply emotional, sexual scene with the kids two feet away watching “Annie” and my mother popping in and out of the room to check in on me… Let’s just say I wasn’t motivated. Like the little redhead on the DVD says, “Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love ya tomorrow…”

Normally, Wednesday is the day you vote for Feature Friday. This week, I’ve already got a treat lined up for you, so we’ll resume voting next week. I’m also hoping to convince my somewhat blog-avoidant RAH (romance author husband) to “bare it all” in his October Centerfold. Hopefully, I’ll have it for you soon!

Happy Fall, Y’all!

So this week’s votes are counted and the winner is…WICKED TIES.

In case you’re new to me or my books, here’s a quick blurb…

She didn’t know what she wanted until he made her beg for it…

Morgan O’Malley has seen a lot of kinky things as the hostess of a cable sex talk show. But she’s never met a man like Jack Cole before. A self-proclaimed dominant, he’s as alpha as a male can get–and good for Morgan to have around when an obsessed stalker ratchets up his attempts to get to her.

Though Jack is a bodyguard, Morgan feels anything but safe in his presence. Because slowly and seductively, Jack is bringing her deepest fantasies to the surface. And when he bends her to his will, what’s more shocking than her surrender is how much she enjoys it–and starts to crave his masterful touch. A willing player in Jack’s games, Morgan knows that his motives aren’t pure, but she has no idea how personal they are…

And now for your Feature Friday special. Enjoy!

Excerpt WICKED TIES
by Shayla Black
January 2007, Berkley Heat
If you are under 18, please navigate elsewhere

CHAPTER 1

Have you ever wanted to put yourself in the hands of a man whose sole purpose is to give you pleasure?

The words flashed across Morgan O’Malley’s laptop screen. She sucked in a sharp, shocked breath. She’d met this man in an online chatroom less than three minutes ago. How could he know that?

He must have guessed, had to have guessed. She hadn’t told him anything about herself, not one single thing, except her name and the fact she wanted to interview him for her cable TV show.

But even through her stunned silence, he kept peeling back the layers of her secrets.

Do you want a man to see inside you, all the way to your fantasies, the darkest ones you don’t even tell your friends about, and make every one of them come true?

A surge of arousal coiled in her belly. Her palms began to sweat. Morgan swallowed hard.

In the silent living room shadowed with the many colors of dusk, Morgan squirmed on the black leather sofa, shoving desires she didn’t dare admit to the back of her mind.

This was business. He was business. It wasn’t a good idea to have the hots for the next interview subject for her show. It might be late-night cable talk, but Turn Me On was her job, her brainchild, her little rebellion. . . her life.

Besides, aching for a guy whose real name she didn’t know, whose face she’d never seen—whose lifestyle she shouldn’t even ponder—was just dumb.

So, Master J, is that what a dominant does? she typed in response, determined to keep the conversation light. Dish out fantasies?

One of the things, he responded at length. But that would be oversimplifying the relationship. His most important goal is to earn his partner’s trust. Trust is important in any relationship, but especially in one involving Dominance/submission. Without that, how can a woman freely put herself in a man’s care and know that her well-being and safety will always be first? How can she know her master will understand her so he can make her every wicked fantasy come true?

Dominance wasn’t just about tying someone to the bed and screwing them into the mattress? Surprise wrinkled Morgan’s brow. Trust, care, understanding—she had to admit, that all sounded like a fantasy in itself. Certainly, she’d been lacking those qualities in her relationship with her ex-fiancé, Andrew, especially the understanding.

Trust allows a woman to connect with the primitive part of her that craves the utter surrender of being at her master’s mercy, despite not knowing if plans for her involve pleasure, pain, or both.

Morgan couldn’t deny that Master J intrigued her even more now than when one of the production assistants, Reggie, had given her his bio.

Toggling to her email, she opened the bio she’d been given and scanned it again.

A member of the BDSM and D/s scene for nearly ten years, Master J is experienced in all facets, but continues to learn. He owns a personal security company and has been bodyguard to senators, international diplomats, and athletes. A West Point graduate, he also served in military Special Forces as a team leader before being honorably discharged.

Morgan clicked the email closed. The paragraph revealed a lot about the man whose words made her shiver with dark fantasies. Self-discipline, honor, strength. Yet the blurb said very little at the same time. Who was this guy? Could he really bind and tease a woman into making her beg?

Morgan? Her name flashed across the screen. You still there?

Sorry. Just thinking. Clearly, I have a lot to learn about in order to do the show properly. I guess I thought it was all about velvet ropes and handcuffs.

It’s about that, too.

She laughed, pushing down the ache curling in her belly…and lower. A little curiosity didn’t make her depraved. Definitely not. It was just interesting to see how the other half lived.

But it’s also an exchange of power and trust, he typed. A woman chooses to give her master dominion over her body and her mind. She surrenders her flesh and free will to anything and everything he desires.

What sort of surrender? a voice inside of her demanded to know. A thousand dark images pushed themselves into her brain from the depths of her fantasies: her kneeling to this stranger’s cock, him ordering her to spread her legs wide so he could simply look at her, her bound to his bed as he prepared to take whatever he wanted.

Disturbed by the shocking turn of her thoughts, she shook them away. And ignored her rapid breathing.

Lots of people had bondage fantasies at one time or another, she’d read. Having one or two herself was normal, no matter what Andrew said.

Morgan squirmed against the leather cushions again, ignoring any extra moisture between her legs.

But a D/s relationship is also about a lot more, Master J typed.

How do you put someone in manacles, blindfolds, and dark rooms, but still earn their trust? How do you develop an emotionally gratifying relationship when one person has all the power?

It’s not like that.

Morgan’s gaze stayed riveted to her screen as she waited for more. For a long, silent moment, she held her breath…but nothing. Master J wasn’t going to reply further. Just like in the bedroom, she supposed. He had the power to give or withhold…

80 days until WICKED TIES releases!! Happy Friday!

Every once in a while, I like to surprise you. I usually don’t post something between Wedensday’s voting and Friday’s Feature but…this week is special. The award-winning author (and great pal) Jaci Burton has a new book out with Ellora’s Cave! Here’s a peek… Enjoy!

In a secret laboratory on Earth, Waia is discovered and rescued. Genetically altered and abandoned by those who changed her, she’s suffering extreme pain. The DNA inside her demands her submission to a master, yet she can feel no sexual joy of her own.
She’s taken to Dargon to be trained by Master Kyr, who demands she learn to accept her own pleasure before she can satisfy him.

Through the bonds of emotion, submission and trust, Kyr reawakens Waia’s sexuality, embarking on a voyage to discovery that provides surprises even for him. But danger lurks for Waia at the end of her journey, and she must learn to put her trust in her own instincts and a man who claims he can train, but never love.

EXCERPT:
This post contains sexually explicit material. If you are under 18, please navigate elsewhere.

“Tell me what you’re feeling right now.”

Wai blinked and he knew she didn’t want to tell him. But he waited, allowing her time to respond.

“I’m feeling quite fine. I’ve eaten a wonderful meal in this beautiful garden. The devices inside me are very stimulating,” she added.

“No, I said tell me what you’re feeling, what you’re thinking. Not what you think I want to hear.”

“I don’t understand.”

Kyr refused to allow her fear to rule her. “Yes, you do understand. I want to know why you went from aroused to upset so quickly. What were you thinking that caused this?”

“You don’t want me,” she blurted.

Arching a brow, he asked, “And what do you base that assumption on?”

“You’ve had an erection all day, yet you haven’t asked me to relieve you.”

“Doesn’t the fact I’ve been hard all day tell you that I do, in fact, want you?”

“No, not really. I just assumed…”

He waited for her to finish her sentence. She didn’t. “Don’t ever assume. If you have a question, ask. You will never be punished for curiosity. Now tell me what you assumed.”

“That you were aroused by the sight of all the naked and half-naked women we encountered today.”

He stood and circled the table, keeping his gaze fixed on her. “You need to understand that I can have any woman I want here. Or any submissive male, for that matter. Any time and in any place. If I stepped into the training room and a dom was fucking his submissive, I could order him to step out of my way so I could fuck her. If a woman passed by in the hall, I could order her to drop and suck my cock right there. Any woman or man I want, I can have. As master, I am allowed these privileges.”

He waited for her to grasp the information before telling her, “The woman I want is you. I’ve been hard all day because I’ve been next to you, listening to the devices fucking you where I want to fuck you and inhaling the sweet scent of your wet cunt. I want to bury my shaft so far inside you that you scream in pain and pleasure. I want you to suck my cock so deeply that it disappears between your lips. I want to come in you. In your pussy, your mouth, your ass, over and over again. That is why I’ve been hard all day.”

Her mouth opened in surprise, her lips forming an “O” that he simply couldn’t resist. He stepped toward her, desire ready to erupt in a savage release he’d craved far too long. But as he required discipline from his submissives, he required the same of himself. Still, he had to have at least this much right now. “Get on your knees in the grass.”

She quickly complied and he moved in front of her, keeping his gaze trained on her face as he pulled the closure of his pants apart and tugged them over his hips. Her eyes turned a molten amber as he revealed his cock, and she licked her lips.

“I will allow you to touch and taste me, but I will not come for you until you’ve learned your own capacity for pleasure. Now suck me.”

I’m a big believer in voting. I registered when I turned 18 and I vote most every election that comes around. After all, if you don’t make your wishes known, you shouldn’t bitch about the outcome. At least that’s what I was taught.

Well, along comes a candidate I know I won’t be voting for. Meet Fred Head. He’s running for State Comptroller of Texas. His major beef about his opponent? She published a romance novel in 2000. Except he doesn’t call it a romance novel… Here’s Fred’s words on the subject:

Susan Combs claims to be a person of high moral standards. Her record of writing, having published and selling a pornographic book clearly shows that Susan Combs is a two faced, hypocrite who was obviously more concerned with her literary career and seeing her name in print than the morals of the young People of Texas who are exposed to her 222 page book, A Perfect Match, which has her name at the top of every other page…

Susan Combs has shown no remorse and made no apology for writing her pornographic book. Fred Head hereby challenges Susan Combs to fully explain to the People of Texas why she wrote a pornographic book, apologize to the People and withdraw from the race for Comptroller of Public Accounts.

:shock: Are you believing this? The book was a Meteor Kismet, for heaven’s sake! If you’re not familiar with those, it was a contemporary category romance like most any put out by Harlequin about two people who fall in love and ultimately choose to commit to each other. Wow, that’s pornography at its worst. I can only imagine what he’d say about me… This guy is freakin’ clueless. Not only has he likely pissed off every romance writer in the state of Texas (believe me, I’ve heard from them!), he’s also pissed off a whole lot of readers, I’ll bet.

Some of my peers have been kind enough to email him and point out that romance novels are 52% of all mass market paperbacks sold, which means (if he’s doing the math), that a whole bunch of the reading–and voting–public find nothing unacceptable or pornographic about a romance novel. If this is the worst he has to say about his opponent, that’s tragic. He’s running for an office that deals with accounting. No one asked him to be Texas’ morality guru.

Okay, I’m steamed…but I’ll climb off my soapbox and get to today’s other vote. It’s Wednesday, so that means we’ll be voting on a new Feature Friday. If you haven’t seen the recent posts, I can’t put up any more uncontracted work, so… let me know by Thursday night which book from the list below you’d like to see a juicy peek from:

* BOUND AND DETERMINED
* STRIP SEARCH
* NAUGHTY LITTLE SECRET
* WICKED TIES
* THE LADY AND THE DRAGON

I’ll post a little something on Friday, based on your votes. But remember, whether it’s for public office or a blog feature…you have to vote to make your wishes heard!

It’s taken me a while (yes, blame the deadline gremlin again), but I managed to type up some notes from my interview with Rafe. There are others coming…a little at a time. Most of the heroes I can ask follow up questions, so if I didn’t ask Rafe something you’re dying to know, I’ll do my best to include that in future editions.

Enjoy!

Earlier this year, I caught up with Rafe Dawson, the hero from BOUND AND DETERMINED. He squeezed me in between business trips and met me in his plush Manhattan offices early in the evening.

His assistant Regina took me on a tour—very posh—then walked me across gleaming hardwood floors, past lots of chrome and computers, and sat me down in Rafe’s office. Wow, what a spectacular view of Midtown!

Moments later, Rafe walks in, impeccably dressed in a navy blue suit, cut so perfectly I wonder if it’s a custom job. It’s clear he’s well put together under his threads, too. Am I allowed to purr? Probably bad form for an interviewer… His crisp white shirt accents the gorgeous olive skin and unusual eyes. I’m a little star struck, if I’m being honest. He’s flat gorgeous. There’s something about him…like he’s untouchable. It’s such a challenge to the female psyche. Yet I sense a vulnerable quality buried under all the business and bravado.

He welcomes me with a businesslike smile. Did I mention he’s gorgeous?

SB: Thanks for making time to see me. I know you’re incredibly busy.

RD: The joys of owning your own company.

SB: Lovely offices. Did you decorate these?

RD: (He snorts in self-deprecation) No. I’m not the decorating sort.

SB: Of course not. Well, why don’t you tell me about yourself.

RD: I’m not much of a talker. Be specific. What do you want to know?

SB: Um, let’s start with vital stats: age, height, weight, hair and eye color.

RD: 29, 6’, 170, brown, gray. Next?

SB: How did you get started in the electronic security business?

RD: (He seems to relax at this question.) Computers and I, we go way back. They’ve always been something of a passion for me. I’ve always been a good hacker, so I can think like they do.

SB: Ever get in serious trouble hacking?

RD: There was this incident in college when I hacked into the CIA…but I really don’t like to talk about it. I managed to avoid prison time and used the incident to my advantage when I started my business. Mind if we change the subject?

SB: No problem. Tell me some activities you enjoy.

RD: I like basketball, video games, drinking a good latte, reading non-fiction, solving a new computer virus. I watch a lot of movies.

SB: Hmm. Most of those activities are things you do alone.

RD: Yeah. I’m good at alone. People can be unreasonable and unbalanced. One of the reasons I prefer computers. At least when machines become unstable you can fix or ignore them. People never work that way. They only get more annoying.

SB: Doesn’t that make for a lonely life?

RD: I like solitude. I manage.

SB: (I’m dying to ask if he’s lonely, but I sense this would not be a welcome question.) Describe the worst day of your life.

RD: (He pauses.) I was 11. My mom was finally going to divorce my father, the miserable piece of shit, despite the fact she was a good catholic. She’d flown to Puerto Rico to visit her childhood priest when her plane crashed.

SB: You still miss her?

RD: Yeah.

SB. You loved her, I can tell. I’m so sorry.

RD: It was a long time ago, right?

SB: (Even so, it’s clear he’s not over it, but a change of subject is in order.) Describe the best day of your life.

RD: (At this question, he flashes a big smile. Wow, is he gorgeous!) The day I realized I was one job away from making $5 million. I’m really looking forward to walking up to my dad and proving to him that I’m not the “worthless son of that Puerto Rican whore,” as he always called me. I made my money, not inherited it. I’ll also refrain from crawling into a bottle of gin and pissing it away, unlike him.

SB: Is he the reason you don’t let anyone close?

RD: (He shrugs) I have friends, but I’ll admit he’s made me aware that I’m not a warm and fuzzy guy.

SB: (Oh, another touchy subject. Moving on…) What attracts you to a woman? What’s the first thing you notice?

RD: At a glance, breasts. I’m a guy. Sue me. I love breasts. And no super-skinny chicks. Men don’t want hip bones poking them during sex.

SB: What about other traits, the ones you can’t see? The ones that come out in conversation?

RD: If I can’t avoid conversation…I’d say her warmth. Recently, I met this crazy blonde, Kerry, in Florida. She totally turned my life upside down. Before I met her, I would have told you I looked for intelligence, and I still value that. But the minute I met this girl, the way she just laid her emotions out on the table attracted me. No hiding, no pretending, no evasions. If she felt it, I knew it. It struck me as so brave, and I was amazed. I’ve never met anyone like that.

SB: Is it true she actually kidnapped you?

RD: Yeah. Can you believe that? I gotta give her credit for guts. She was determined to save her brother from doing hard time for embezzlement and was convinced I could help her.

SB: Did you help her?

RD: We proved him innocent. Kerry did a lot of her work herself. She’s…one of a kind.

SB: Wow, that’s a huge compliment, coming from you. Are you going to pursue her?

RD: (He pauses a long time before answering.) A part of me wants to. But I’ve got to face facts, right? I wouldn’t be able to keep her happy. She would want a level of connection that I just don’t know how to give. I suck at relationships. Ask previous girlfriends whose nicknames for me could usually be abbreviated with MF.

SB: Are you sure you shouldn’t go after Kerry? It sounds like she’s on your mind a lot and you admire her. Are you attracted to her?

RD: Have the Yankees ever won a world series? Hell, yeah.

SB: Is the sex good?

RD: (More than a hint of mischief fills up those yummy gray eyes.) No comment.

SB: Hmm. For argument’s sake, I’ll pretend it is. If you like her and want something with her, what’s holding you back?

RD: I’m not in the market to be anyone’s regret or broken heart or whatever. I know my limitations. Next?

SB: (Guess that means this topic is now off limits.) Where do you see yourself in 3-5 years?

RD: About where I am now, I guess, just older. With a bigger company, for sure. I’ve been so focused on my $5 million mark that I didn’t think much beyond that. (That frown tells me he’s thinking about it now.)

SB: I guess I’ll let you go now. Thanks so much for your time. I really hope everything works out for you.

RD: (He shakes my hand, looking distracted.) My pleasure.