I’m not at all similar to the heroines I write. In real life, I’m an introvert, I hate confrontation, and in my perfect world, we’d all either get along or else someone would lock us in a room until we did. But let’s face it, for the most part, introverted heroines who don’t confront the hero and who get along with everyone are boring. (Now, locking two people in a room, I could work with that…)
So it’s not too much of stretch to say my heroines are often the exact opposite of me. I will confess to having a massive inner snark monster, however, and I think it’s that part of me that gives birth to my heroines. I love writing a character with spunk.
In my recent release, Obscured, Athena is trapped in life of prostitution, but she’s still a spitfire.
“Harris, this is Athena. She’s very special to me.”
I try not to roll my eyes at Mike’s statement.
“Hello, Harris,” I say and nod. I don’t touch men as a rule if I don’t have to.
“Goddess of wisdom?” Harris asks, his voice friendly.
“Ironic, right?” I reply. “If my parents only knew.”
I kick myself for being so flippant. I know better than to be sucked in by a friendly voice and a pleasant looking exterior. But Harris is grinning. Wisely, he doesn’t mention my parents.
“I wanted you to meet him,” Mike says as if we didn’t say anything. “He’s going to be working with me now. He’ll be my second in command.”
“Huh, that’s too bad,” I say, looking straight at Harris. “Now I can’t like you.”
Spunky characters are fun and interesting. Not only because you don’t know what they’ll say or do, but also because it’s so entertaining when they get in trouble. Like in this scene between two minor characters from my upcoming Feb 2016 release, The Master:
“Meagan, sweetheart.” Luke was all smiles standing before the tall blonde.
“I thought you made it very clear you weren’t coming to opening night. Thought you said you were busy?”
“Shut it, Luke.”
“I see by your bracelet that you’re here as a submissive tonight. Might want to rethink the way you’re addressing me.”
“My humblest apologies, oh, Lord and Master.” “There you go. Can you say it again without the sarcasm?”
I suppose it’s not to much of a stretch to say I often let my heroines speak for me, though I do find as I get older that I’m much more likely to speak my mind. Or, who knows, maybe it’s because I spend so much time in the mind of characters who do!
The day I meet Isaiah Martin for the second time, I am running late. I pride myself on my punctuality, not to mention that my clients demand it, and I’m not paying attention to my surroundings.
I look at my watch again. Five minutes after. Shit. I scurry through the hotel lobby, making a beeline to the elevators. If luck happens to be on my side, I won’t have to wait, but the elevators in the largest hotel in Las Vegas are notoriously slow.
Will the stairs be quicker? I glance over my shoulder. The stairwell is located on the other side of the large open atrium. With my client’s room on the thirtieth floor, the elevator is faster, even if I have to wait. I turn back to the elevators.
And run right into a man standing in my path, overcorrect, and twist my ankle.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” he says in a soft, cultured Southern accent, reaching out a hand to steady me. “You okay?”
“Damn it!” My ankle throbs so much I’m not sure I can walk. I gingerly put my weight on the hurt ankle and curse again at the pain.
Suck it up, Athena. This is nothing. Think about what’ll happen if you don’t make it upstairs in the next few minutes.
“Ma’am?” Mr. Southern Gentleman repeats.
“I’m fine.” I tentatively move my foot side to side. “Just give me a minute.”
“Why don’t you come sit down and let me take a look at that ankle?”
“You a doctor?” Odds are Odds are he’s just your standard pervert wanting the chance to run his hand up my leg. Even if he is a doctor, I’m not about to let him put his hands on me. Not a wise thing to do, since it’s almost a certainty Mike will find out.
“No, ma’am,” he says. “But I think you may need to rest that ankle just a bit.”
“Really, I’m fine.” I put my full weight on the ankle and nearly fall over as the pain sparks up my leg. “Ow. Ow. Ow.Hell.”
He doesn’t speak again, but takes me by the arm and leads me to a bench near the elevators. His head drops down and he runs a finger along my anklebone. Pokes and prods me. “I don’t think anything’s broken, but you should probably stay off your feet for the next little bit.”
“Easy for you to say,” I snap. “You’re obviously not the one running late.”
He looks up and our eyes meet.
Warm caramel eyes. His thick, black hair is long overdue for a haircut and curls up the tiniest bit at his neck. His firm lips give way to a perfect “O” of surprise at the exact moment I recognize him.
He embraces me with a crushing hug. “Imagine seeing you here. How are you?”
My spine goes rigid, and I don’t return the hug. “I’m….I’m fine,” I stutter while my eyes dart around the lobby, trying to see if anyone’s watching me.
“I can’t believe it’s you.” He is oblivious to my discomfort. “Are you in town for long?”
I force myself to stop scanning the area and focus on Isaiah instead. A cold chill runs down my spine as I take in his handsome features. The last twelve years have treated him well. No longer is he the awkward teenage boy plagued by acne and thick glasses. He’s grown into the handsome man I always knew lay beneath the surface.
He looks at me in expectation. What did he ask?
I fiddle with the hem of my skirt. It rests just above the knee. “I live here.”
From Tara Sue Me writing as Cat Waters:
There’s the truth you know….
At age 16, Athena Hamilton traded her body for survival when a powerful Vegas hotelier and pimp lured her into his world. Ten years of turning tricks has taught her to trust no one and feel nothing. Yet a chance meeting with a childhood crush sparks hope for something more.
The truth you believe…
There’s no way Isaiah Martin could want her. He’s a pastor. Too good. Too pure. But when she learns her days are numbered, she runs into the safety of his arms and trusts his promise of protection.
And the truth you never imagined…
The aftermath of a tragic accident and a bitter betrayal leaves her destitute and alone. The one man she shouldn’t trust offers her a chance to escape. But when good and evil collide, what do you do when the truth is Obscured?
Tara Sue Me wrote her first novel at the age of twelve. It would be twenty years before she picked up her pen to write the second.
After completing several clean romances, she decided to try her hand at something spicier and started The Submissive. What began as a writing exercise quickly took on a life of its own. An avid reader of all types of fiction, she soon discovered she enjoyed writing a variety as well.