The Charley Davidson series by Darynda Jones is one of my all time favorite Urban Fantasy series. Just thinking about Reyes gives me shivers. I'm so honored to be a part of the blog tour for the fourth book in the series: Fourth Grave Beneath My Feet. She is here today to talk about why we like Bad Boys so much! She's also here for a chance to win a copy of Fourth Grave Beneath My Feet-the information is at the end of the post.There's also an excerpt!
Why Do We Like Bad Boys?
Hello beautiful readers!
Thank you so much for having me.I thought it would be fun to talk about why we like bad boys. I mean, really. Why?I’ve asked myself this many times. My heroes seem to have one thing in common. They are dark, broody, and mysterious. But I also love the fun guys. The ones who crack facetious jokes at inopportune times just to make the heroine smile. And yet for me to fall in love with them, they have to have that spark of darkness. That level of danger like an electrical current lying just beneath the surface.
But why? Why is it that their stand-offish attitude only draws us in deeper? Women don’t like to be mistreated. It’s not about that, IMHO. I think it goes much deeper, way back to the caveman days.
Strength: In other words, can he provide for me? I’m not saying the heroine can’t be strong. Far from it. But there is something inherently appealing about a guy who can take care of her woman, in more ways than one.
Beauty: Bad boys aren’t always gorgeous by society’s standards, but often it’s his devil-may-care attitude and those rough edges that make him beautiful. He has an inner strength that lures us to him like moths to a flame. And often he is powerful. Power is pretty. Which brings us to . . .
Power: Power doesn’t necessarily mean strength, nor does it necessarily mean wealth. Power simply means that our hero has it in one way or another. Maybe he is the leader of a motorcycle gang. That’s power. Or maybe he isn’t the leader, but he is the best rider, or the most loyal of the group, or the strongest fighter. Those are all elements of power. Basically, power can mean that our hero is the best at something, better than 99.9% of the people out there. He’s the best sniper or the best pitcher or the best investment broker. He does something not many can. And power is something that he will never relinquish, and that makes him even more appealing. What woman doesn’t dream of peeling back the layers? Of getting our hero to give in to her?
Danger: There is something sexy about a dangerous boy, a boy who snubs societal rules and is his own man. His appeal is exquisite and he becomes irresistible, impossible to forget. He is the catalyst that convinces our heroine to shirk her sensibilities and follow him down a dark and dangerous path.
Passion: If there is one thing that can be said about our bad-boy heroes, it is that they are deeply passionate. Yes they are dangerous and aloof and powerful and gorgeous, but they will fight to the death for the woman they love, and they will do anything to prove their love in their own way.
When you add up all of these attributes, you get a sexy-as-hell hero who would die for his one true love. Bad-boy heroes are often larger than life, which makes them worthy of our beloved heroines.
What do you think? Why are bad boys so appealing?
Thank you again for having me here today!
Sometimes being the grim reaper really is that. Grim. And since Charley’s last case went so awry, she has taken a couple months off to wallow in the wonders of self-pity. But when a woman shows up on her doorstep convinced someone is trying to kill her, Charley has to force herself to rise above. Or at least get dressed. She quickly realizes something is amiss when everyone the woman knows swears she’s insane. The more they refute the woman’s story, the more Charley believes it.
In the meantime, the sexy, sultry son of Satan, Reyes Farrow, has been cleared of all charges. He is out of prison and out of Charley’s life, as per her wishes and several perfectly timed death threats. But his absence has put a serious crimp in her sex life. While there are other things to consider, like the fact that the city of Albuquerque has been taken hostage by an arsonist, Charley is having a difficult time staying away. Especially when it looks like Reyes may be involved. Just when life was returning to normal, Charley is thrust back into the world of crime, punishment, and the devil in blue jeans.
With renewed energy, I pulled back onto Academy— after hitting a
drive- through for a mocha latte— and had just started for home when
my phone rang.
“Yes?” I said, illegally talking on the phone while driving within the
city limits. Scoping for cops, I waited for Uncle Bob to stop talking to
whomever he was talking to and get back to me.
My uncle Bob, or Ubie as I most often referred to him, was a detective
for APD, and I helped him on cases from time to time. He knew I
could see the departed and used that to his advantage. Not that I could
“Get that to her, then call the ME ay- sap.”
“Okay,” I said, “but I’m not sure what calling the medical examiner
ay- sap is going to accomplish. I’m pretty sure his name is George.”
“Oh, hey, Charley.”
“Hey, Uncle Bob. What’s up?”
“Are you driving?”
“Have you heard anything?”
Our conversations often went like this. Uncle Bob with his random
questions. Me with my trying to come up with answers just as random.
Not that I had to try very hard. “I heard that Tiff any Gorham, a girl I
knew in grade school, still stuff s her bra. But that’s just a rumor.”
“About the case,” he said through clenched teeth. I could tell his teeth
were clenched because his words were suddenly forced. That meant he
was frustrated. Too bad I had no idea what he was talking about.
“I wasn’t aware that we had a case.”
“Oh, didn’t Cookie call you?”
“She called me a doody- head once.”
“About the case.” His teeth were totally clenched again.
“We have a case?”
But I’d lost him. He was talking to another officer. Or a detective. Or
a hooker, depending on his location and accessibility to cash. Though I
doubted he would tell a hooker to check the status of the DOA’s autopsy
report. Unless he was way kinkier than I’d ever given him credit for.
I found his calling me only to talk to other people very challenging.
“I’ll call you right back,” he said. No idea to whom.
The call disconnected as I sat at a light, wondering what guacamole
would look like if avocados were orange.
I finally shifted my attention to the dead kid in my backseat. He had
shoulder- length blond hair and bright blue eyes and looked somewhere
between fifteen and seventeen.
“You come here often?” I asked him, but my phone rang before he
could say anything. That was okay. He had a vacant stare, so I doubted
he would have answered me anyway.
“Sorry about that,” Uncle Bob said. “Do you want to discuss the
“We have a case?” I said again, perking up.
“How are you?”
He asked me that every time he called now. “Peachy. Am I the case? If
so, I can solve this puppy in about three seconds. I’m heading down San
Mateo toward Central in a cherry red Jeep Wrangler with a questionable
“Hurry, before I get away!”
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Darynda Jones has won numerous awards for her work including a prestigious Golden Heart®, a RITA®, and a Daphne du Maurier. As a born storyteller, she grew up spinning tales of dashing damsels and heroes in distress for any unfortunate soul who happened by, annoying man and beast alike. Darynda lives in the Land of Enchantment, also known as New Mexico, with her husband and two beautiful sons, the Mighty, Mighty Jones Boys.a Rafflecopter giveaway