Ramona here, and I’m recovering from a lunchtime discussion with my also-single friend, Sunny, about whether or not I could consider myself a cougar. After all, my job is to contemplate, on an almost daily basis, how yummy younger men are. I have to plot ways to get them romantically involved. I have to be a little (or a lot) in love with each of them in order to keep my heroines entranced.
Hey, it’s rough, but someone has to enjoy doing it. I’m single. And I’ve also always liked younger men. They have such delightful . . . stamina.
Of course, I also have to keep all these young men chaste and faithful, which is sort of opposite to most cougar objectives.
Still, a girl can dream. It does make the writing go a lot faster.
Take Daniel Rivers, for instance, the hero of Field of Danger. He served in the military and has the build to prove it. About one-fourth Native American, he has those distinct cheekbones and dark eyes that see into your soul. The grief from his father’s death gives him a tense edginess that’s softened by his desire to protect April as well as make her remember everything she saw. By the end of the book, you just want to hug him and . . . well, um . . . you just want to hug him. Right.
Chastely hug him.
I think I’m going to go curl up by the fire and practice purring.