Sometimes I’m lazy. Well, not lazy. I’ve done a CRAPTON this week.
But there’s a hole in the bottom of my motivation bucket. So I thought I’d fill that hole with candy instead of the blog post I’m supposed to write.
I bought these pictures fair and square for you to enjoy. You’re welcome. 😉 Well, except for the last one. That’s yours truly and some incredibly HAWT EC Cavemen.
MANHANDLERS! Yes, you! It’s a new year. This means chances to make resolutions grudgingly and break them with glee (or not), to take that trip you always promised yourself, accomplish a major goal, write a book and read thirty more! It’s also an opportunity for me to share more delicious men on my post days. So let’s start the year off right, yes? (You know I have a thing for abs, right?)
This was a hard post to write — pick one man out of a world of gorgeous men and say “He’s the one I’ll write about” is no easy task. My mind rebelled. My mouth was so dry I was puffing our powdered sugar. (And no, it had nothing to do with the donuts that leapt into my cart and then onto my desk. I swear…a lot.) I thought about the things I find ridonkulously sexy and they all seemed to come from, you guessed it, the British Isles. My love affair with green grass, sheep that look like they were hooked up to an air hose, royalty and handsome lads came together to help form this post.
First, allow me to introduce you to a familiar face for romance readers and writers. He’s graced a bazillion covers, each one hot, hot, hot, and he is gracious about all of it. Sam Bond is, by far and away, my serious want that borders on need. Born in Christchurch, England, he fulfills just about every single fantasy I could possibly have. Arms that could bench press me? Check. Pecs that cast small shadows? Check. A wicked set of abs? Check, check and check. Long hair? Cheeeeeeck.
But I’m not limiting myself to one aspect of that lush, lush landscape. (ahem) No, I’ve found that there are a wide variety of men who pique my curiosity. I have a wicked thing for a man in a kilt. Wicked. Thing. This picture seemed to sum up some of the finer points of Scotland.
Finally, I’m skipping across the Irish Sea and touching down with a wee bit of interest in a pint and a lovely lad. Jonathan Rhys Meyers’s accent is enough to make the seams of my clothing start unraveling. No joke. Hems come undone, thongs snap, laces untie, bra clasps go twang and fire off all willy-nilly. It’s embarrassing, really, since I have no real control over whether or not I find myself topless in any given situation. Just kidding. Barely. I find the accents of the Isles the most compelling of any accents out there. Australia naturally runs a close second, but England, Scotland, Ireland and Wales will always hold my heart. And the men of those lush lands? Well, they can hold any part of me they want.