Wolff Wednesday: Ideas, anyone?

So, I mentioned last week that I sold three Superromances to Harlequin, but what I didn't mention is that my editor is looking for a couple Blaze proposals from me as well. The first proposal I have done-- it's a romantic comedy type called Lyrics and Lingerie that is a little out of my comfort zone as there's nothing dark or spooky about it. At the same time, I love it-- I'll post the beginning here, so you can tell me what you think.

But I'm struggling with the second proposal, trying to decide what kind of occupation to give my hero. This is a darker story, one that is more my usual style. My heroine, Cara, is a tax attorney who has basically run away from her boring life, looking for some excitement. She finds my hero (who is still nameless because I want to know what he does before I pick a name that fits him from the list you guys gave me before) who is "mad, bad and dangerous to know." I don't know much about him yet, except that he has a new tattoo (they meet in a tattoo parlor) he's tall, dark and handsome (big shock) and he's also pretty cynical about love and women.

So, any ideas on occupations for tall, dark and handsome? What kind of jobs seem sexy to you?

Oh, and as promised, here's an excerpt from Lingerie and Letters. It's still in the proposal stage and may never see the light of day, but I had a ton of fun writing the first few chapters ;)

Excerpt from Lyrics and Lingerie

She was the most erotic, ride-me-til-I’m-blind wet dream he’d ever had—and that was saying something, especially as he would have sworn on a stack of platinum records that he was wide awake despite the early hour of the morning.

After pushing aside the gauzy curtains his decorator had hung over his sliding glass door just last week, Jake Rawlins leaned against the already warm glass and spent a few moments simply reveling in the view. After all, it wasn’t every day a man—no matter how famous he was—came home to a woman bent over the railing of his fourth floor balcony and wiggling her naked ass for all it was worth.

Though if he was being honest—something sixteen years in show biz had convinced him was highly overrated—she wasn’t actually naked. That lacy little scrap of lime-green nothingness resting between her nicely rounded cheeks definitely counted as clothing of the best kind, but there was more than enough of her hanging out to convince him she had the sweetest, sexiest, heart-shaped ass he had ever seen.

Not to mention a killer pair of legs and some pretty impressive stamina.

As he contemplated just how many hours of yoga little-miss-I’ve-been-a-bad-girl-and-really-need-a-spanking must have needed to be able to hold that upside-down-ass-in-the-air position for this many minutes, his near-dead libido sprang to life for the first time in way too long. It took every ounce of self-control he possessed—and then some-- to keep from reaching out and seeing if that creamy skin was really as soft and silky as it looked. But until he figured out exactly who she was and what she wanted, Mr. Happy’s rodeo days were on hold.
So who was she? His eyes narrowed in speculation. The one fan who hadn’t yet thrown him over for Toby Keith? An aspiring star trying to sleep her way to the top? Or an escapee from an insane asylum?

As it had been months since anyone had so much as asked him to sign a body part, he was definitely leaning toward the latter. But who knew mental institutions had such hot patients? When it came time to get back into the swing of things, he might have to lay off the single bars in search of greener pastures.

Taking an absent swig of his rapidly warming beer, Jake took his time checking out every glorious inch of his unexpected visitor that he could see—which wasn’t as much as he would have liked as her fabulous ass was currently blocking his view of her breasts. But what he could see looked so good that he might be able to live with the disappointment.
She wiggled again, a wicked little twist of her hips that made his cock hard and his beer go down the wrong pipe. Sweet Jesus, she was explosive.

Do it again, he urged silently when his coughing fit finally ended, please do it again. She shimmied—almost as if she’d heard his plea—and his blood pressure skyrocketed. What would it feel like to have her move against him that way as he plunged into her over and over again? She wiggled a third time and he decided—crazy woman or not-- he had to find out.

Dropping his beer on the end table, Jake fumbled the balcony door open and stepped into the wet and sticky New Orleans air. Before he could talk himself out of it, he reached a hand out to see if –- maybe, just maybe—that peaches-and-cream skin felt as good as it looked.
“Hey, watch it!” The indignant yelp that greeted his tentative touch was definitely not as friendly as he’d been expecting. She was, after all, the one currently flaunting her flexibility on his balcony.

“I am watching it,” he answered. “Hard not to as it’s one of the finest I’ve ever seen. And so’s that pretty little scrap of lace currently playing at preserving your modesty.”

One angry sapphire eye peered around a shapely knee. “Got a thing for underwear, do you?”

He wouldn’t exactly call it a thing. There was a time not so long ago when women had tossed their underwear to him by the thousands—everything from bikinis and edible undies to boy shorts and what amounted to little more than lace-edged dental floss. But as he eyed the storm clouds gathering in that one cerulean eye, he decided discretion might definitely be the better part of staying alive. So he contented himself with a simple, “No more than the next guy.” Her answering snort told him she wasn’t overly impressed with his hard-won modesty.

“Well, this is all there is to see. So why don’t you head back in and—“ she looked him over from neck to toe with that one, narrowed eye—“get some sleep. No offense, but you look like hell.”

He felt like hell, but that was no reason to break the party up so soon—especially since he hadn’t finished his beer yet. “I was on my way to do just that when I noticed you. Manners and simple curiosity compelled me to come out and see if I could be of assistance.”

“I don’t need your help.” Her tone was acerbic, but her face was growing redder by the moment—more, he had no doubt, from her upside down position than from any embarrassment she might be feeling.

“Really?” He raised an eyebrow. “Then you’ve simply mistaken my balcony for your latest yoga lesson?” he asked in the Tennessee twang he’d never been able to shake. “I think my last girlfriend called that position the downward dog.”

The eye narrowed even more, until all he could see was a slit of cobalt. It really was a shame that such a shapely backside belonged to such a prickly woman. “I wouldn’t know.” Her voice could have frozen water vapor in hell. “I’m not a big yoga aficianado.”

Jake clucked his tongue as he sadly shook his head. “And here I was having such fantasies about what I could do with a practitioner of the fine sport of yoga. You just went and spoiled all my fun.”

“And the day started off so badly.”