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What makes you special?
What makes me special? To be honest, I’m having a hard time answering that. In my time (about five-hundred years from now) art has become the new demigod. I’m a model you see. For a time I was popular and in demand. Then I got older and my looks became unfashionable. Oh I still dreamed about modeling contracts, but my day job (I’m a dock foreman) built up too much muscle. That ruined any boyish beauty I might have once had. The artist who discovered me thinks I’m special though. She’s a terrific lady. I hope she’ll be my lady, one day.
Anyway, despite life’s ups and downs, I’m a confident guy. I believe in myself. My friends are guys of good character and we have a good time together. I believe in my artist, too. Now there’s a lady life’s thrown a few curves at.
Tell me about your most current adventure.
Sometimes life just hands you a pile of luck, you know? That’s what happened to me. For some reason I still can’t understand, a master artist picked me out in a crowded bar. I didn’t even recognize her at first. When I saw her, I was blown away by her soft curves and that gorgeous red hair of hers. Staying professional was hard when she asked me to strip down for her and pose—at her place, not the bar. I’ll let Gwen tell you about it…
“Are you ready to begin?” Calla asked after a time. She smiled at him gently.
“Yes,” Jarek nodded firmly. “How would you have me pose, Master?”
“Nothing so grand yet, Jarek.” Calla waved her hand and grinned. “Not today anyway. If I may, I’d like to see what I have to work with, then I’ll spend some time thinking about how best to portray those admirable qualities that drew me to you.” She couldn’t be sure but she thought he blushed. “If you are ready, please remove your shirt.”
She watched to see how readily or how awkwardly he’d obey. She’d asked about his experience in an effort to carry on a conversation with this stranger but also to find out if he had any legitimate modeling experience. If he’d know how to pose or arrange his body when asked, how to hold a pose without becoming fatigued. She’d been shocked to learn he’d had not one but several bad experiences and from the sounds of it, he hadn’t done much work since. She wondered if he was past them.
Jarek hesitated for only a second, then he stood and slowly began unbuttoning his shirt.
Calla stood and started to move around him, giving him a wide berth so he wouldn’t feel crowded. “I will observe your torso from every angle, Jarek,” she told him calmly and matter-of-factly. “Your torso and your face.”
“Not my—?”
“I will not need to see your genitals unless I am going to paint them, Jarek,” she explained quickly. “I am not ready to paint you yet and asking you to display yourself before then would be a misuse of your trust.”
His gaze lifted to hers and tracked her movement as she moved to his side. He felt something pass between them. Perhaps it was the trust she spoke of. Jarek’s expression said he felt confident and beautiful. Straightening his shoulders, he undid the rest of his buttons slowly and with obvious deliberation, then let his sturdy linen shirt slip off his back.
Calla had to work hard not to gasp. Jarek’s shoulders were indeed a sensual delight, broad, sculpted and striated and his skin shimmered with golden warmth in the midday light. His shirt fell past his buttocks as he slipped his hands out of the sleeves. Calla felt like she was being teased, perhaps even seduced by the slow deliberation of his movements, although she did not mind. She chewed on her lower lip as he casually laid the shirt across one of the chairs. He straightened to his full height, lifted his chin and stood still.
The smooth line of Jarek’s skin was broken by the defined ridges and dips of a full, pronounced and very male musculature. His lats fanned out in a mouth-watering arc, the muscular ridges on either side of his spine were deep, powerful and flawless. The muscles at the base of his neck flared out over his shoulders and provided the perfect shelf for the tips of his dark, curling hair to brush against.
“May I touch you?” Calla asked before she was aware the question was in her head. She was surprised her voice was steady.
“Of course,” Jarek answered without a trace of self-consciousness. He dipped his head to one side at the sound of her approach. His only reaction to her small, warm fingers on his skin was a catch in his breath he couldn’t hold back.
Calla locked her knees to keep them from shaking. Her reaction to this vital and profoundly masculine man was even stronger in the quiet of her patio than it had been in the noisy animated tavern. Struggling to keep her breathing even, Calla ran her fingers down one side of Jarek’s back. His skin seemed unnaturally soft although it was taut and she could practically feel the strength humming through him. Slowly and methodically, she explored every dip and swell of muscle after muscle. She stroked his back, his spine, the dimples that graced the expanse of skin just above his belt…just above the rise of his perfect buttocks. She touched the backs of his arms, wrapped her fingers slowly around his biceps and tested the resiliency of his skin. She breathed him in—man and spice and what had to be a pheromone because she started breathing a little deeper and her cleft grew damp. Her nipples hardened and Calla fought not to lean into him and comfort their nagging arousal with the pressure of his body against hers.
Jarek’s breath caught when she swirled her fingernails over the inside of his forearms. He straightened his fingers when she caressed them. He almost captured her hands in his but relaxed at the last minute, letting her fingers slip out of his grasp. Calla lost all track of time as she stroked the sides of Jarek’s body, seeing, feeling and scenting him with a growing need that trampled all boundaries of professional propriety.
Deliberately, she stepped away from him. She moistened her lips and trembled from head to toe. “Thank you. You can get dressed,” she managed to say without her voice breaking, picked up his shirt and handed it to him. Calla kept her hands firmly at her side when Jarek turned around to face her. His slipped his shirt back on with a slowness that almost had her ripping it back off his perfect, powerful torso.
“Did I pass the audition?” he asked with what sounded like deliberate audaciousness.
This time, Calla blushed. “Definitely,” she breathed and fanned herself theatrically.
Jarek grinned contentedly. He finished buttoning his shirt and tucked it into his pants. “When do I start?” he asked.
Calla walked back to the table, picked up her cup of now cold tea and sipped it—more to give herself a second to breathe away from Jarek’s powerful sensuality than anything else. “Any time tomorrow. I can’t promise I’ll come up with anything brilliant by then but we will work through a few ideas.”
Jarek nodded sagely, then ruined the effect by grinning down at her boyishly. “Any time tomorrow? How about one minute after midnight?”
“One minute after midnight and you’ll catch me in my bedclothes.”
The intensity in Jarek’s dark blue eyes jumped. He’d like to catch her in her bed and wondered how she’d react if he asked to take her there now. He leaned over the table, watching her predatorily. Calla’s breathing jumped and her nipples grew hard again.
Something in her expression shifted, like he was overwhelming her or she was unprepared for the unexpected heat rising between them. Moved by compassion, Jarek was the first to look away. “Okay,” he said casually. “Two minutes after midnight then.”
Calla laughed. “Anytime after sunrise will do nicely.”
“Agreed.” Grinning, Jarek turned away. It seemed like a long time since he’d felt this good about himself. As he left the patio, he paused beside the marble statuette and looked at it once more. Like before, he laid his hand on the base. “What will it feel like,” he asked himself more than her, “to be immortalized like this? What did your model say when he saw this completed?”
Calla’s mouth thinned. “He did not see it completed. He left me before it was finished. That is the last rendering I ever did of my ex-husband.”
Jarek’s gaze rose slowly to hers and, guardedly, he watched Callandria’s face for anger, tears—even resentment, but found none. He let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.
“If even the greatest fool of our time can be so perfectly cast, then there is indeed hope for me yet.” He took her hand and pressed a lingering kiss to her palm. “Until tomorrow, Callandria,” he said quietly, bowed his head and left.
If you could offer your author advice, what would it be?
I wish she’d find a way to keep my artist’s dirt-bag ex-husband out of the picture. The guy’s a narcissistic jerk who’s happiest when he’s running Calla down.
Are you happy with the way people perceive you?
I guess I don’t think about it much. Like I said before, I’m a pretty confident guy. Sure I wish my life had been different…before now that is. I wanted to contribute to the arts, to support myself through modeling. That didn’t happen and I accept that. I treat people the way I’d like to be treated. Just don’t confuse my easy-going nature with an inability to step up in someone’s defense if it’s called for.
Is humor important? Why or why not?
Humor? Absolutely. Like it was five-hundred years ago, life sucks sometimes. People treat you like dirt. If you rise above that, don’t let yourself sink down to other people’s level, you’ll be okay. Humor helps me do that.
Is expressing love difficult for you? Why?
When I was younger, yes. Nowadays, I’m more open to new experiences, feelings. Take my relationship with my artist for example. She’s a tough, classy lady whose ex betrayed her. To this day, he won’t lay off trying to grind down her spirit, even her credibility in the art world. Whenever Calla needs it, I make sure I’m there, supporting her, reminding her how terrific she is. I also can’t lay off staring at that great ass of hers whenever I get the chance. I like how it lights up her eyes whenever she catches me.
Share a little bit of the ‘real’ you with our readers. Any Dark secrets?
Yeah, I’ve got a few. I’m not proud of it, but when I was younger, I took some questionable modeling jobs. The kind where rich men gather around a private studio and the models assume various grappling poses. Nude of course. Hints of forced seduction, defilements…that sort of thing. I’m a big guy and I make other models look defenseless by comparison. I left the work when I realized these so-called artists were more interested in watching than sketching. And that they wanted me to move far more than pose. Calla hit the nail on the head when she referred to that kind of session as life sex shows under the guise of art. She never looked down on me after I told her though. Like I said, she’s a terrific lady.
What has been your all time favorite question from another character?
It was the day Calla came down to the docks and talked my boss into donating my work hours so I could work with her full time. As I was leaving, one of the guys I work with asked, “When will you be back and does she have a sister?” My answer? “If she had a sister she’d be far too good for the likes of you. As to when I’ll be back…I’ll be back after I’ve been immortalized.”
What was the best sexual experience you’ve had?
This is just between you and me, right? I’m not a kiss and tell kind of guy. There was this one morning…Calla was working in her studio. Life had been messing around with her, again, but despite that, she’d had a breakthrough. She was working on this wax model. A sculpture of me, of course. *wink* I was just so floored by her amazing talent I dropped to the tiles, sat between her knees and started kissing her…well, you get the point. She’s the kind of lady you want to worship, even if it means your balls ache for the rest of the day. I’m pretty sure she’ll make it up to me though.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Character spotlight with Gwen Campbell’s, Jarek
Monday, October 11, 2010
Author spotlight with Gwen Campbell
What has been your biggest influence on becoming a writer?
Getting downsized from my job. No, really. I’ve always written (little stories and plays for my friends when I was kid, then historical romances that didn’t sell. Hundreds of magazine articles that did sell.) When I got downsized, I had a window of opportunity (before the bank balance got to zero) to focus on writing romance. I learned how to be real professional about the industry, how to read my work critically and accept and learn from the criticism of others, parked my butt in the chair and kept it there while I worked at my craft.
How did you feel when you got your first publishing contract?
Relieved. Like all those hours and all those sacrifices my husband made so I could stay home and pound the keyboard had been worth it. I may write about delicious alpha males, but HE’S my hero.
How do you categorize yourself: pantser or plotter?
A plotter, definitely. When I gave my life over to writing full time and ran the risk of dragging my family’s financial future down the drain with me if I failed, I put on my big-girl panties and approached writing like I would any business plan. I didn’t have time to waste on false starts or massaging a temperamental muse. What I’ve got is an on-going idea file. The genesis for a book might be a single picture in my head, a single scene or a character. That information gets added to the idea file. Over time, as I go back to the file again and again, that original nugget gets expanded on. Or not, depending. After awhile (some quicker than others) the idea for that book evolves into a fully realized plot outline, complete with fleshed-out characters, conflicts, over-arcing themes and (if I’m lucky) subtext.
Do you have any guilty pleasures?
Chocolate. Hands down. And there’s actually NO guilt involved. Next question?
What are you working on now?
A Halloween-themed book about a time-traveler from the future and a DEA agent. She transports into his house because she needs a place to stay and faulty information told her he’s out of town on assignment. He wakes up in the middle of the night to find her standing in front of his open refrigerator, naked, drinking milk straight out of the carton. Like most of my books, there’s a dog in this one. A beagle named Toby. He’s not a time traveler though. He’s just cute.
Who is your favorite all-time author?
That’s assuming there’s only one. So many different genres and writing styles turn me on. I like Ann Maxwell’s early stuff. Stephen King, Patrick O’Brien. I used to be a massive Elizabeth George fan, but after fourteen books, she made her Inspector Lynley unlikable. I often wonder if it was deliberate, like Arthur Conan Doyle made Sherlock Holmes jump off a waterfall, killing him so Doyle wouldn’t have to write about him anymore.
What’s your biggest reward in being a writer?
Paying back my local writing community. I remember those depressing years when I would use up my spare time writing one historical romance after another. I’d send out dozens of query letters and never get anything more than a standard rejection form…if I got a reply at all. I’m now a member of a local writers’ group and Romance Writers of America. At the meetings, it’s great talking writing and just listening to other people, but if I’m asked, I’m privileged to share whatever insights I have about the industry, getting published…but mostly I encourage, encourage, encourage.
If you had the opportunity to say one thing to your readers, what would that be?
Thank you! Really, really thank you.
www.GwenCampbell.net