Note from VBC: Today we have author Leigh Evans on the blog. We’re fans of her Mystwalker series, and if you’re intro good urban fantasy with the right dose of heat, you should check it out. Her latest The Problem with Promises just released on Feb. 25. You can find it easily at Amazon. With that we’re turning it over to Leigh!
When you meet a man for the first time, what do you notice first? His face? His height? His body? Or maybe you’re a specialist whose gaze swiftly moves to your personal hot spot–his abs, or hands, or ass. Okay, let’s shift gears. What do you think a man sees the first time he spies you?
Your answer really depends on how you’re feeling about yourself that day, doesn’t it? If you believe you’re rocking those straight leg jeans, you’re going to think, “my killer body, what else?” Or if your hair is really fine today—so awesome that you should be smiling down from a billboard in Times Square—you’ll be convinced that’s the item that will catch his eye.
Actually, that was a trick question. The first thing we notice when we meet someone is their sex. Are we looking at a guy or a girl? The next question, depending on your sexual orientation, is this: do I want to sleep with them? That one happens so fast, and so instinctively, that sometimes we’re not even aware that we’re asking ourselves the question. But our body notices, even if we don’t. And sometimes, it takes a bit of time for our mind to catch up to our natural instincts. Like in those cases where you find yourself oddly attracted to a dude who inexplicably sizzles.
Case in point, Benedict Cumberbatch. Like roughly three-quarters of the female population, I have a thing for the man. (And trust me, you have to have a ‘thing’ about him to ever use his name in print because it’s a bitch to spell). Of course, I’m possessive of him, and must point out that I spotted him years ago–in The Other Boleyn Girl where he played a totally, unsympathetic character. In short: a weasel.
Who looked really bad in tights and a pancake hat.
But Benedict has that X-factor. He’s compelling even when he plays a weasel. Or for that matter, an arrogant, neurotic-but-brilliant dweeb. How else to explain all those women who developed crushes on him while he was wearing this hat?
The guy’s just got it. It’s there. Buried inside him. Even in bad tights and a deerstalker, you want to tackle him and take him to bed.
(Alright, maybe you don’t find anything remotely attractive about him. You don’t get it. You don’t see it. For that, I apologize and offer you this alternative. Feast your eyes on this and catch up with us later.)
They say that attraction is all in the eye of the beholder. I disagree. It’s bigger than that. For instance, how about scent? Some men are only mildly attractive until you get a hit of their voodoo pheromones. BAM! One sniff and their hot-factor shoots from ‘meh’ to ‘oh baby’.
In my fantasy world, Alphas are wired to find their One True Thing, and they have acute senses that will lead them to her. Sight + Touch + Scent = Destiny. Which brings us to Robson Trowbridge. Six foot tall, and too pretty for words. Never in a million years would he have figured that Hedi was it for him. She’s round, she’s a six not a ten, but when he sees her curves, touches her skin, has the scent of her in his nostrils…
Hedi says it best: “… when Trowbridge looks at me like that, I’m not fat, I’m not short, I’m not average. I’m Hedi, Pocket Venus and Destroyer of Men.” (excerpt from The Problem With Promises)
Yup. Some couples are meant to be.
They’re just hawt together.