I hesitate, considering. There is no denying there are some distinct similarities between the hero of Surrender To A Stranger and the love of my life. Armand St. James is a powerful, handsome man of considerable stature, not unlike my husband. His hair is an ever-shifting ripple of blondes and browns, and his eyes bear an uncommon coloring that changes constantly, sometimes deepest blue, at other times an unequivocal green--not unlike my husband's. These traits enhance his remarkable ability to disguise his appearance, a talent vital to slipping in and out of courtrooms and prisons, brazenly defying the threat of capture and death as he rescues the unjustly condemned...

I frown. Since the birth of our beautiful daughter I've been up a lot during the darkest hours of the night, and although chronic sleep deprivation has dulled my general awareness, I'm almost certain I would notice if the man snoring beside me were off saving people. I try to recall the previous evening, and feel relatively sure that the mound of blankets cozily ensconced in the bed as I stumbled out to warm a bottle was him. Of course there is always the possibility that my love performed great feats of courage and daring before we met. After all, he sometimes points out that his life did not actually begin on the day I came into it (at which point I am forced to correct him).

His expression deliberately casual, he puts down the manuscript and folds his arms across his chest, waiting for my response. "Well?"

I contemplate a little longer. My hero is far from perfect, and my husband is, well, almost perfect (most of the time). But Armand is a man of integrity and compassion, who is filled with the need to act in the face of injustice, and who is capable of a haunting tenderness when someone touches his heart.

Not unlike my husband.

I wrap my arms around the solid breadth of his shoulders--that wonderful place where our baby has so often found comfort during a torrent of tears.

"All of my heroes are based on you." My lips are barely a breath from his as I lovingly finish, "Always."