by Jeffe Kennedy
I'm probably not the right Word Whore to kick off Man Candy week.
I've been going through line edits on my soon-to-be-released (okay, October 24, but it SEEMS soon!) novella, Sapphire. Among a few other, *ahem*, tics of mine, my editor asked me to search out the phrase "long fingers" and look at the frequency. Okay, so I used it eleven times in an 87 page story, just about every seven pages, once three times in two pages.
Yeah, I like hands. Long, lean, elegant fingers on a man? Does it for me every time.
You can really keep all those man-titty covers. With rare exceptions, they really do very little for me. Especially the headless ones.
I like an intent gaze. An alert man, preferably an articulate one. Give me that confidence, with the intelligence and canniness to know how to apply it.
In the beginning, it was Dirk Benedict.
I know, I know. But I was twelve. And my burgeoning love of sci fi/fantasy and surging hormones found the perfect storm in Starbuck. I even had a poster of him in my room. A girl never forgets her first bad boy.
Okay, I was a product of my era.
Andrew McCarthy in Pretty in Pink. All that reluctant lust. My mother totally didn't get it. Seeing him with that mannequin now? Yeah, me neither. But, hey, nice hands!
But then, Pierce Brosnan swept in and stole my heart. Frankly, he'll always have it. Now here was a man. Around this time, the Remington Steele era, I began to discover that I followed the urgings of my Irish ancestors. Yes, I love 'em pale skinned and dark-haired. Give me those intense blue eyes and wiry Celtic bodies.
Dress up Antonio Banderas as a pale-skinned vampire with long, black hair? Oh yes, yes, yes.
Hugh Grant? You can say what you like. Love him. Always will. Gorgeous hands.Oh, Johnny. Someday you'll realize I'm for you. He has amazing fingers, too. Long ones. No -I'm not going there!Any man who can make a reindeer jumper look this good, is a skinny Celt on my list. Lovely hands. But that scene where Bridget says "wait, nice boys don't kiss like that" and he replies "oh, yes, they fucking do" - purrrrrr.
The Australians carry the Blood, so I gave Hugh my nod at the top of the post. Totally on my list. I won't tell you what the Wolverine claws do to me.
So, when it came time to pick out my own? Oh yes. Black hair, intense blue eyes, looks amazing in a dark turtleneck.
And his hands? Oh yes, yes, yes.