Available from The Wild Rose Press, Amazon, B&N, and wherever you get your romance fix!What a week it’s been! On Wednesday, I celebrated my first-ever book release, and on Thursday I sent the manuscript for Book Two in the series to my editor.  On Friday, friends came over to celebrate with nibbles and bubbly. I’ve been grinning for days.

Now to start drafting the third installment in the Book Nirvana series. What do you think, dear romance readers–can I get away with a hero named Elmer? Introduced in Book Two, he’s a hunky brewer and artist, with lots of muscles, tattoos, and a flaming ginger beard. I rather like his confident swagger as he rocks his old-fashioned name. Must I furnish him with a studlier middle name or nickname?

Anyway, in hopes of enticing you to taste the delights awaiting behind Clara’s Red Door, here’s a snippet.  Clara, a widow of one year and the owner of an indie bookshop, is looking over a book of Shunga (Japanese erotic artwork from the Edo era) with Nick, a professor of cultural anthropology.

Nick flipped the page again and pointed to an image of a couple going at it fiercely. “Notice how the woman’s toes are curled?”

She giggled. “I thought that was just an expression. You know, he made my toes curl.”

Nick closed the book and gazed into her eyes. The corner of his full lips twitched upward. “I hope someone’s curling your toes, lovely lady.”

Her breath escaped in a soft whoosh. Discussing sexy artwork with this gorgeous professor was uncomfortable, if titillating. But no way was she ready to discuss her own love life, or lack thereof. Nestled beside him in the squishy leather chair, her mind and body waged a battle. The combination of his warmth, his husky voice, and the beautiful, explicit images laid out before her—it was too much, leaving her hot and tingly, but also squirmy with embarrassment. She wasn’t ready to feel this way again. And yet, her body had other ideas.

She cleared her throat and sat up straighter. “I’m a widow, Mr. Papa—Nick. My husband passed away a year ago.”

Nick’s teasing smile melted away. His dark eyes shone with emotion. “I’m sorry, Clara. I hope I haven’t made you uncomfortable. I didn’t mean to pry.” He laid his hand over hers, his touch warm and soft. “I lost my wife two years ago. Cancer.”

The tension drained from her body like water through a sieve. He understood.

****

Want to learn more about Shunga and other historical artwork? Sign up for my monthly newsletter and receive A Peek Behind the Red Door: Historical Erotica that Inspired the Book Nirvana Series. (Adult material, of course)