There's nothing more exciting or attractive than the man of our dreams. The alpha hero who ignites our imagination and captures our hearts. We all have what that perfect hero is in our head. And at night in our dreams.
I write about my fantasy heroes in my books. I like them bigger than life, strong and silent. Maybe even a little battle scarred. But always fiercely protective of his woman. The kind of man who communicates through his actions.Would you like to meet a man like that? Here's one who's sure to capture your interest.
Meet Matt Dillion, my latest hero in "WICKED DESIRE".
Then her gaze landed on the object of his unfriendly inquiry and she forgot all about him as an attractive man. What she saw caused her heart to plummet. She closed her eyes and groaned with disbelief. There at his heel, teeth clamped in a death grip in the black leather of his boot, was her small toy poodle. Under normal circumstances the situation would have been funny. And had the man not been a police officer. But he was, and one clearly not amused by the five-pound fur ball attached to him. Maggie couldn’t see his eyes, but his tone left no doubt that he was aggravated and found nothing amusing about his current situation.
She kept her gaze lowered and strived for composure. The sight of a two hundred-pound man dragging a tiny poodle behind him caused a smile to flicker on her mouth. However, when her gaze moved up to his again she reined in the amusement threatening to spill over by promptly biting down on her bottom lip. He’d removed his dark sunglasses. And if the icy look he turned on her was any indication, she was in trouble.
“Good idea,” he said, as though knowing she’d been about to smile.
“Dammit, let go!” Maggie knew full well that yelling wouldn’t work, but she gave it a try anyway. Once her loyal protector sank her teeth into something, nothing short of her favorite treat would coax her into letting go of her prize. Maggie’s mind drifted back to the empty box of doggie biscuits in the trashcan. “Dammit, please don’t get me into trouble,” she said half under her breath.
“You’re too late.”
She wondered what that meant, probably a ticket. Ignoring the towering hunk of gorgeous man she bent to her faithful dog. She pet the small black head lovingly and glared into the brown eyes looking up at her, but small canine teeth refused to release the chewy prize in her mouth. As if to back up her stubbornness she growled.
“Come on baby,” Maggie pleaded softly, praying that for once Dammit listened to her. “You don’t want that nasty, old, policemen’s boot.” She hoped he didn’t take offense. “I…”
“I have a better idea, why don’t I just take my gun out and shoot him.” His tone was full of sarcasm.
Maggie shot him a furious glare from her kneeling position, not about to call his bluff. She had to look up a long way to meet his hostile, impatient stare. The man had to be six foot five if he was an inch. Six foot five of solid, sexy muscle.
Apparently, without a sense of humor.
She gave him her best damsel in distress look, even batting her eyelashes. He crossed his arms and raised a brow but she refused to be intimidated by him. “Her,” Maggie said with false sweetness, tightening her mouth with annoyance. “Dammit is a girl.”
He growled something low in his throat, clearly getting more impatient by the minute. “If you’re going to take the time to coax her into letting go at least let’s do it inside your apartment.”
Even as he spoke he slowly ushered Maggie backwards. With every step he took Dammit growled threateningly, giving his heel a vicious tug. The whole thing was ridiculous, and a chuckle escaped Maggie before she could stop it. She lost her balance.
“Go ahead and laugh, lady, but I guarantee I’ll have the last one.” His tone held a mild threat in it.
Really? Did he even know how to smile?
Maggie stared up at him from her undignified position on the floor, biting her bottom lip to keep from snapping something back. She ran her hand gently over Dammit again, speaking to her in a tone she saved especially for her, when what she really wanted to do was ring her little neck for getting her into this predicament. The last thing she needed right now was more trouble.
“Has she got pit bull in her or what?” He demanded from above. “I’ve never heard of a vicious toy poodle.”
“It’s your uniform,” Maggie explained in a sugarcoated voice, deciding to ignore his insult about Dammit. “Don’t feel honored because she treats the mailman and the meter reader the same way.” She didn’t add that they were used to Dammit’s ways and usually came prepared with a treat for her.
“In other words, you can’t control your dog.” He growled, Dammit growled, and Maggie rolled her eyes.
Goodness, you’d think he was fighting off a Saint Bernard or something. She glared at Dammit, giving out her own looks that could kill. Finally, as if Dammit understood the building tension in the air she dashed off in the direction of the bedroom.
Releasing a sigh, Maggie leaned back on her knees and thanked God while she was in the position. When she opened her eyes it was with some surprise to see his black boots were still in front of her. He hadn’t moved an inch. She raised her gaze to his silent scrutiny, feeling a rush of heat fill her cheeks when she realized his eyes were focused somewhere beneath her chin. Reaching up, she was mortified to find that her terry robe had parted.
Damn it! Her predicament with him was only getting worse. She clutched the material closed over her breasts with one hand and the other went for the arm of the over stuffed chair. She was halfway to her feet when a loud crash from the bedroom startled them both.
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