I’ve been a sport flirter since the first grade. I played first string in middle school and was a varsity flirter in high school and college. I was stationed in Norfolk, Virginia for my tour in the Navy, and with a ratio of one hundred men for each woman in that town…well, you do the math. Talk about a kid in a candy store.

But wait. Why is the title about age if this blog is about acting confident, sensual, and flirty? Simple. Harry S. Truman may have been president when I was born and I may write about heroes and heroines who are younger than my children, but I’m not giving up flirting any time soon. I plan to be a force to be reckoned with when I check into my nursing home some day.

In French Women Don’t Get Fat, Mireille Guiliano has this to say about older women: “The French rightly acknowledge there is a particular mystique to une femme d’un certain age, an expression with layers of meaning, including respect but also worldliness and hits of seduction. In Europe men naturally find women of this age group desirable, even sexy, and are often caught turning to look at them.” Embrace it, ladies. Just because one has reached a certain age, doesn’t mean she can’t continue to let her confidence and sensuality shine through in a look or a smile—that might possibly be held a nanosecond too long. On purpose.

I’m a happily married woman of 37 years, so the kind of flirting I’m talking about is no longer wooing some guy into bed (unless it’s Mr. Ashby, who has no complaints about being married to a romance author.) It might be a little banter with a salesman at the hardware store. Or striking up a conversation with a handsome man while waiting for your train. Maybe sharing a laugh about something witnessed together in public. Perhaps a smile with your thank-you for a gentleman who has held the door for you. Instead of seduction, it’s more “Catch and Release.” You get the rush of catching the fish, but you’re not planning to take it home.

Sometimes it’s not appropriate to actively flirt, but that doesn’t stop me from checking out guys I might want to put in a book. As a romance author, I get to chalk it up as “research.” I write a Navy romance series called “Love in the Fleet.” Since I live near the Navy base about which I write, there’s plenty of research available. If I go to the base gym to work out around 0730 on Friday mornings, the crew of the USS Stud Muffin is there performing Command Physical Training. I get to watch the show—completely incognito in my old lady body—and they have no idea I’m taking mental notes. I mean, who knew a man’s pecs could behave that way when he’s doing pull-ups? Just because you’re on a diet, doesn’t mean you can’t look at the menu.

One day I was standing in line at the base post office, silently ogling the back of the flight-suit-clad pilot in front of me. I’m sorry, but there’s just something about a guy in a military flight suit. Not sure if all the pilots are sexy as hell or it’s just the addition of the flight suit—which is doubly sexy when they roll back their cuffs—as this pilot did. Now, flight suits have zippered pockets on the arms and legs to stow survival gear when flying. So this hot pilot goes to pay for his postage by unzipping his shoulder zipper and pulling out a credit card—which was pretty sexy in itself. But then he turned his head, smiled at me over his shoulder, and said, “You won’t tell anybody about my little secret hiding place, now will you?” I managed to smile back and say, “No,” which was difficult because I had already melted into a puddle of goo on the post office floor. Here’s how that experience played out in Book 2 in my series, Forget Me Not, about a playboy Navy pilot named Sky Crawford:

Sky flipped through his Rolodex of smiles, selecting just the right one because he would need the receptionist on his good side if he was going to get on any side of Dr. Untouchable. Usually chicks that didn’t fall for his I’m-the-bad-boy-of-your-dreams-honey smile succumbed to his aw-shucks-golly-gee-ma’am grin. Worked like a charm.

Certain he had Lillian’s attention, Sky unzipped a shoulder pocket in his flight suit and extracted his credit card. He glanced around dramatically, leaned over the desk, and said in a low voice, “You won’t tell anybody about my little secret hiding place, now will you, Lillian?” She took the card, her smile filling the room with sunshine. Too bad he wasn’t interested in the receptionist because it was clear he had her hook, line, and sinker.

Ladies, why do many of us read romance novels? Because we love that rush of new love, affection, and attention. Just because you may no longer be a teen, a twenty-something, a thirty-something, or even a forty-something, (and some of us will keep counting) age is just a number. Attitude is everything. Stand proud, embrace your sensuality, and let your beauty shine through—especially when there’s a hot guy around. Just don’t forget to throw the fish back if you’re not supposed to be taking home trophies.

Thanks for inviting me today, Delilah. I’d like to leave a question with your readers and an e-copy of Forget Me Not for one lucky commenter. Do you enjoy a bit of flattery and flirting now and then? (And if you’d like to stay in touch with the captain of the sport flirting team, Sky Crawford, feel free to LIKE his Facebook page: facebook.com/SkyCrawfordFanClub)

Blurb for FORGET ME NOT:

Suffering from Peter Pan Syndrome and survivor guilt, Navy helicopter pilot and renowned playboy, Brian “Skylark” Crawford, swears he’ll never marry, uncertain he deserves happiness—besides there are too many hot chicks to choose from. War widow and veterinarian, Daisy Schneider, swears to love only animals after her Marine pilot husband is killed in Afghanistan—but work fails to ease her loneliness or the guilt that she might have saved him. Between one matchmaking, rescue cat and a fiery battle with drug runners at sea, the fur flies as Sky and Daisy learn valuable lessons about life, love, and second chances.

Forget Me Not: http://alturl.com/wb6ru

AUTHOR BIO:

Heather Ashby is a Navy veteran who taught school and raised a family while accompanying her Navy husband around the United States, Japan, and the Middle East. In gratitude for her Army son’s safe return from Afghanistan and Iraq, she now writes military romance novels, donating half her royalties to causes that support wounded warriors and their families. Forgive & Forget, Book 1 in “Love in the Fleet,” was voted “Best of 2013” by Suspense Magazine. She lives in Atlantic Beach, Florida with her husband and two rescue cats.

www.heatherashby.com
Twitter: www.@HAshbyAuthor
facebook.com/HeatherAshbyAuthor?ref=hl

On May 6th, I have a full-length novel releasing with Grand Central’s Forever Yours line in both paperback and ebook. It’s just the sort of tale all those 50 Shades of Grey fans should love. It’s available for pre-order now!

The moment Tilly Floret sees the sleek Bentley driving down Main Street, she knows trouble has arrived in her sleepy little town. A mysterious job posting keeps appearing at the diner where she works and she can’t resist applying. No matter that the entire town of Bayou Vert is whispering about the wealthy, powerful man behind it all and his scandalous return home.  The moment his ice-blue eyes meet hers, he ignites an all-consuming desire she never imagined possible, one she can’t deny.

Ex-Navy Seal Boone Benoit never thought he’d set foot in Louisiana again.  As soon as Tilly starts her new job in his pleasure club, he senses a kindred soul. One who has carefully guarded secrets of her own—and a simmering hunger for the taboo rites of mastery and submission. The only difference is she doesn’t yet know it . . . Now as Boone tutors Tilly in the tantalizing world of leather and restraint, she will shed her every inhibition and surrender to him, body and soul.

Buy at Amazon |  Buy at Barnes & Noble 

The sound was faint and haunting, entering his dreams like a distant echo. A metallic tinkling drifting closer, coming and going, like tiny golden bells worn on a waving arm.

Boone Benoit awoke in a sweat. He lay still for a moment, searching the darkness around him, remembering the layout of the furniture in his bedroom, but finding no new shadows to cause alarm.

But he heard the tinkling in the distance and slipped out of bed. Opening the French doors that led onto the balcony, he stepped out into the humid night air and listened.

Nothing. He must have imagined the sound. Or maybe the gardeners had installed wind chimes, and they’d stirred in a breeze. Although, right this moment, the thick bayou air was perfectly still.

Another door opened farther down the balcony. From the corner of his eye, Boone saw his right-hand man, Sergei Gun, step outside.

“You okay, boss?”

“I’m fine, Serge. Just thought I heard something.”

“Want me to have the guards take a look around the grounds?”

He began to shake his head. His unease at being back was clearly playing with his head, and he wasn’t happy about it. He’d only been back a day, but in Bayou Vert, news traveled faster than CNN across backyard fences. For all he knew, someone might be there in the dark, staring down the barrel of a rifle. “Yeah, have them make a round. And find out if someone put up wind chimes.”

Serge’s head canted.

He probably wanted to ask why, but knew Boone well enough to refrain. Boone and those closest to him had secrets they all kept close to the chest. For good reason.

“What do you want them to do if they find chimes?”

“Shoot ’em,” Boone said with a grim smile.

Serge’s teeth gleamed in the shadows. “Get some sleep, boss.”

“You too.”

Boone stepped back inside and lay down on the bed, closing his eyes and trying to relax, but he strained to hear the telltale sound—golden bells on a bracelet, tinkling at the end of a pale arm.

Dragging in a deep breath, he wondered if he was ready for this. Ready to return to his childhood home. Ready to face his past and the terrible thing that had happened here.

Likely, the sound had been only a dream, dredged up by his own feelings of guilt. A blood-soaked memory. Boone acknowledged the guilt. Accepted it. But now was the time to face the part he’d played. Dead calm settled around him and he drifted off into an uneasy sleep. Read the rest of this entry »