Some have asked what kind of of writer I’d like to be, and my answer is, “Well compensated.” Fact is, I’m still trying a few things out but there does seem to be a lucrative market for Romance fiction. Sure, I wouldn’t want to put my real name on it (speaking as a guy who’s blogged for almost four years under an alias), something dashing like, oh, Roman Teeque. Let’s see…how hard can it be?

Rolf drew her to him. Though his embrace was tender, his arms around her were like the branches of the mightiest oak; she marvelled that the giant could be so gentle.

“I would do anything for you,” he breathed. His voice was sunlight through the trees, falling on her in a forest clearing. His scent was of exotic spices and of the tradewinds that had first brought him to her. She looked into the eyes that were as blue and cool as a spring-fed mountain lake. They were still waters, yet she could see the leviathan stirring in the depths, sense it rising in passion. Her lips parted almost of their own volition. But no…

She tossed her head, shaking her titian hair and put her hand to his broad chest, as if to push him away. Instead it lingered. Looking to her hand, she whispered, “Would you climb the highest mountain?”

“Aye,” he said, “and reach up and bring you back a star as well.”

“Would you swim to the bottom of the deepest sea?”

“Yes, and bring you the brightest pearl, though Neptune himself hold it in his briny hands.”

She felt a shiver from the very core of her being. “Would you…would you pick up your socks?”

“Actually,” he said, “Mom’s always done that for me.”

Dang, that’s harder than I thought.

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