Part I: The Alpha Male—“Grab a Toothbrush, You’re Coming With Me”

Several years ago, my sister, a devoted romance reader, loaned me her battered copy of “The Game.” Brenda Joyce’s novel, the first of hers I’d ever read, promptly blew my mind—for many reasons. The setting: not the colorful but tame drawing rooms of Regency England. Oh, no, no, no. Joyce treats us to the dangerous, intrigue-filled world of Elizabeth I. The characters: Lady Katherine, a beautiful, convent-bred virgin, and her polar opposite, pirate/privateer Liam O’Neill, son of a notorious criminal. The conflict: O’Neill, falling into instant lust when he sees Katherine, decides to kidnap her for his mistress, thereby thwarting her plans to find a noble husband.

That’s it in a nutshell. For nearly five hundred pages I watched these two match wits, fight, and fall in love. At one point (more about that in Part II: Conflict), I actually tossed the book onto the sofa and yelled at the characters (“Oh, my God! What are you doing to each other? Stop it!”) because I couldn’t bear to read the scene. Not because the lovers were stupid but because they were so effectively tearing each other apart. If you’re an author, you know you’ve hit a grand-slam home run when you make a reader care enough about your characters to yell at them.

But the thing I remember most about first reading “The Game” is its powerful hero, Liam O’Neill, the consummate alpha male. Proud, arrogant, overbearing, cunning, manipulative, he’s also smart, sexy, funny and endlessly vulnerable where Katherine is concerned. Even as I watch him bully and manipulate her, I root for him. Why? Because although he doesn’t yet realize it himself, he’s so desperately in love with her he’s willing to do ANYTHING–including, if necessary, kill—to get her. If she doesn’t like it, that’s just too bad. When she complains about this treatment he says he’ll bend her to his will. Of course he does, and the two live happily ever after.

But it’s Liam’s unyielding stance—we’re going to be together, no matter what, and you better get used to it—that I think is at the heart of the alpha male. In his purest, most elemental form, the alpha male is someone who says to the heroine, “You’re mine now. I’m sorry if you don’t like it. Grab a toothbrush, you’re coming with me.”

Thrilling.

Katherine reasons. She negotiates. She begs. She cries. Liam feels bad for her, but never changes his mind. He bullies. He manipulates. Slowly, he reveals a softer side. He waits her out and proves he can be trusted. He protects her. He wins her.

Think about it. What could be more exciting—and challenging—for a strong heroine than coming up against an equally strong hero? Rhett Butler tells Scarlett that he wants her, will have her, and won’t be bullied by her. And he’s right. In “Outlander,” Jamie tells Claire she’s his wife now, whether she likes it or not, and damn well better act like it. In Joyce’s wonderful “Deadly” series, Calder announces to Francesca that they’re going to be married. She says no they’re not. He says we’ll just see about that. They battle it out. Next thing you know, Francesca is eagerly anticipating their wedding night. In … well, you get the idea.

I LOVE alpha heroes. For me, a romance is exponentially better if the hero knows, immediately, that he wants the heroine, will have her, and will be manipulative about it if need be. As a writer of contemporaries, this is tricky. How do I create a powerful hero who’s willing to go to great lengths to get a woman—and not make him seem like a stalker maniac?

I struggle with this problem with every hero I create. And I’ll keep struggling. No cuddly, beta heroes for me. No, thank you. Because, as Brenda Joyce well knows and “The Game” proves, the alpha male is worth the struggle.