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May. 21st, 2006 @ 04:13 pm Sam I Am...
Current Location: Oberon, California
Current Mood: accomplishedaccomplished
Current Music: Bodhran ~ Young Dubliners


Sorry. Couldn’t resist that title. It’s not so far from the truth, though. Sam and I have the same hair, we share the same taste in jewelry and I’d dress all in black, too, if I thought I could get away with it…okay, maybe not every day.

A Sight to Dream Of originally opened with a scene set in Sam’s NYC apartment—a lovely place on the Upper West Side, with a great view of New Jersey--Edgewater and Fort Lee, to be specific--my old stomping grounds. I axed it because I decided I wanted the series to be set 100% in Oberon….A decision I had to reverse for the very last scene in the eighth book. C’est la vie.

Sam has become a favorite with a lot of readers. Not too surprising, really. He’s got that whole ‘money = power and power = sexy' thing going for him, after all. He’s arguably the wealthiest man in Oberon.

Sam is passionate but controlled. He knows who he is and what he likes and he makes no apologies for any of it. He knows how to make a point and keep a secret. He’s intelligent, protective, self assured enough to admit when he’s made a mistake, and man enough to love a strong woman.

Sam’s the only character who really is never bothered by Marsha’s abilities––other than during the first few weeks of their acquaintance, when he’s lying to her, of course.

He loves having her in his mind. He loves the tingling currents of energy he feels when they touch.

He’s pragmatic, down to earth and unpretentious. He’s one of those quietly efficient people who know how to get things done. Though he rarely throws his weight around, it’s clear, right from the start, that he can hold his own with pretty much anyone he comes into contact with…except, perhaps, Marsha…which is probably why he falls so hard for her, come to think of it.

It’s hard to find fault with him. True, he is given to making snap judgements upon occasion, but he’s not above correcting himself when he realizes he’s wrong. He’s a bit of a wine snob, that’s about the worst I can find to say about him. LOL! No wonder so many people like him.

Here’s a scene from A Sight to Dream Of This is Sam and Marsha’s first meeting, at the Coastal Cleanup…


[Marsha] had just finished packing up the last of the waivers, when a low honking noise made her look up. She watched as, wings extended, a flock of maybe half a dozen geese veered through the parking lot, passing right over the heads of the observing crowds, rising just high enough to clear the tops of the trees by scant inches, before dropping out of sight below the tree line.

"Why do they do that?" a voice behind her asked. It was an unfamiliar voice. A dark, rich, rumble of a sound, she felt the vibrations from it settle deep in her solar plexus.

"Do what?" she asked, unable to suppress a mischievous smile "Fly? They are birds, you know."

She turned around, still smiling, and found herself face to face with the man she had noticed earlier. He was even more striking up close. His gray eyes gleamed like hematite; a dark, gunmetal shade, overlaid with an almost metallic sheen. She felt her smile falter. Amusement was replaced by a faint wariness. She had seen eyes with that peculiar luminosity only a handful of times, and always in people who commanded great personal power. But it was not the prospect of coming face to face with a wizard that unnerved her so much as the unexpectedly warm expression in those eyes.

"Yeah, thanks, doll. I’d figured that much out by myself," he drawled, his smile robbed the words of their sting. "You wouldn’t happen to know where they’re coming from, though, would you? Or where they’re going? This is the second time I’ve seen them barrel through here like that."

His smile was at least as unnerving as his eyes. Marsha took a deep breath and tried to relax. It wasn’t easy. He had a real wolf’s smile. Big, bright and deadly. The next words out of his mouth should be the better to eat you with.

"Oh. Well, actually, a lot of the wildlife preserves in the area maintain regular feeding schedules," she told him. "So these guys just figure out the timing, and then they make the circuit."

"You mean to say they can tell time?" the man asked, clearly incredulous.

"Well, the change to daylight savings time confuses the hell out of them for awhile each year. But ordinarily, yeah, it sure seems like they can."

"Uh-huh." He studied her suspiciously for a moment, before asking. "And the commando flying techniques? What’s that all about?"

She laughed at the description. "Oh, you know, I think they just like to throw their weight around, and maybe show off, a little."

"They do a good job of it."

"Yeah, don’t they just?" She glanced at him once more, briefly. Trying to absorb as many details as she could, without staring, and then turned her eyes back to the now empty sky. He was just a little under six feet tall, with a lean, muscular build. His rather large, beak of a nose was bracketed by a neatly trimmed beard and moustache, and by thick, elegantly arched eyebrows—all a slightly darker shade than the burnished steel gray of his hair. He was dressed all in black. Leather jacket, jeans, T-shirt and boots. With a single black-and-silver stud earring in his left earlobe and a heavy silver and turquoise pendant hung around his neck.

Well that figures. Her thoughts raced to make sense of what she was seeing. Anyone with a lot of power would instinctively think about defense, and black was, after all, just about the most defensive color there was. Unless she was mistaken, turquoise was the stone traditionally employed in a variety of protection spells. And silver was widely used to either conduct or disrupt etheric energy. Which might very well account for the strange effect he was having on her senses.

In fact, when she thought about it, everything about his appearance made perfect sense. And the overall effect was--

"Very impressive."

Marsha blinked. "I’m sorry...what did you say?"

"The geese?" he asked, with a sardonic lift of his brows.

She felt herself blush, although she couldn’t quite have said why; it was not like he could have read her thoughts, or anything. She laughed self-consciously. "Yeah, well, if you think that’s something, you should see the pelicans. They really think they own the place."

"I’ll look forward to it."

Surprised, she glanced at him. There had been an odd undercurrent in his tone, and he was watching her now her with a steady, curious look. Almost as if he found something about her intensely puzzling

"Do I know you?" she blurted, then blushed again because they both knew she didn’t.

"Not yet," he answered, smiling more broadly as he extended his hand. "Hi. I’m Sam."

"Oh, uh...hi," she replied, feeling just a little flustered. His hand was warm and firm and his calloused palm much harder than any she’d been in contact with for a very long time. She was so enchanted by the pleasant tingling sensation that ran all the way up her arm to her shoulder that she was only marginally aware of Erin’s return.

"Here you go," Erin said and, without exactly meaning to, Marsha dropped Sam’s hand in order to take the paper cup that was being thrust at her.

"I, uh...oh...thanks, Erin," she answered absently, frowning at the cup in her hand and trying to quell her disappointment. "So, um...I’m sorry...Sam…what did you say you were here for?" She peered at him, aware of a sudden sense of annoyance, but not certain in which of them it originated.

Certainly he looked considerably annoyed as he answered, with an arrogant lift of his brows, "I hadn’t."


©PG Forte 2006, All Rights Reserved.





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