Fedora is the winner! Congratulations! ~DD
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Sandra Jones’s Casting Couch
I’m so excited to be a guest on Delilah’s blog. We’re in the same RWA chapter, and I can tell you, she’s a fabulous lady.
I’ve been writing the first draft of a new historical, and I’m spending countless hours online researching to get all the historical details correct. By day, I’m a librarian, so I find research half the fun anyway—I’m just weird like that, I know!
One thing that I can’t resist is finding pictures of actors who best fit the characters I envision. My current hero is based on a fairly popular actor, so finding pics of every angle and expression he wears is a breeze. Admittedly, I’m kinda crushing on him…but I think we’re all supposed to fall in love with our heroes at least a little. J
If I ever sell one of my stories for a movie, I’d be tempted to offer a few suggestions for the stars. For my casting couch, I’m looking for men who look great in chainmail, kilts, or cravats. Think Mr. Darcy, William Wallace, or Lancelot. Would the actor look alpha in a ruffled, unbuttoned shirt? If so, he’s my guy! Here are a few of my current obsessions:
Who would you want to see on a casting couch? Leave a comment for me on Delilah’s blog, and I’ll give one commenter a copy of the ebook!
Sandra Jones is the author of sensual historical romances. She worked as a bookseller and as a librarian, where she indulged in her love of old books. When not researching or writing, she enjoys being with family, reading, and watching British TV. A self-proclaimed history geek, she currently lives in a 1905 Greek revival home in the Mississippi Delta.
Sandra’s latest is HER CHRISTMAS KNIGHT, a medieval romance story included in FIVE GOLDEN RINGS: A CHRISTMAS COLLECTION, available in ebook now from Avon Impulse and in paperback in January.
FIVE GOLDEN RINGS
The holidays are a time for wishes, magic and, of course, love. Celebrate the season with this delightful collection of Christmas tales. What better way for Connor Talbot, Earl of Redfirn, to spend the holidays than convincing Leonora Compton that the only match she needs to make is with him!
The Duke of Ashton has had three years to plan for his perfect Christmas present—the Lady Eleanor Fitzsimmons as his wife. Now, all he has to do is convince the reluctant lady …
Phin Baldwin does not believe in Christmas magic … until the clever and beautiful Ginny Overton gets it into her head to show him how wonderful it can be when wishes come true.
Just returned from the Crusades, marriage is the last thing on Sir Caerwyn’s mind. But will he be able to resist Lady Nia, the thief of his boyhood heart, when she tempts him yet again?
Responsible Ethan Weatherstone is determined to save Penelope Rutledge—and her reputation—from her silly scheme, but can he save himself from the temptation of her lips?
He stepped away, leaving her still half-swallowed in the unfastened chain mail. God but she still stirred him, even dressed in pounds of armor. The shapeless form forced his eye to her beautiful face and made him long for the rest of her body hidden beneath. “Aye, you’ve become an excellent rider, skilled with a lance. But underneath all Padrig’s trappings, you’re still female.”
“I practice at the quintain more days than not, and I’m a good horsewoman. There was no combat in the event, so I was never in any danger. You must admit I convinced you.” Her face brightened and she stood straighter. “I’m sure you would say it was Serena’s influence again. Just like three years ago, the last night in our keep, before you left. You and I were to meet. When you arrived I wasn’t alone…”
His chest tightened. He’d kept the memory at bay for too long to let her remind him. He barked, “Now you want to tease me! Aye, you deceived me today, and you betrayed me then. What point are you trying to make?” Mayhap she enjoyed pushing the knife deeper into his heart.
“Caerwyn, you’ve never believed me, but I’ll say it again. I’ve never been with another man. Look,” she turned her back to him, gathering her braids in one hand and twisting them up to hold on top of her head. “Do I look like a woman from behind now?”
“You know you do not.”
“I practice in mail often. My father disapproves, of course. Serena’s worn it only once. In armor, she would look like a man from behind, don’t you think?” She moved closer to the bed, took hold of the thick banister. When she glanced over her shoulder at him, the sight of her posture, so sensual, so seductive, yet so unpracticed…sweat glistened on his brow.
“Aye. I suppose…”