This week’s topic from the Marketing for Romance Writers blog challenge is Gift-getting–“What I always wanted, but not very much.”
Reading Gary Chapman’s The Five Love Languages clarified something I suspected all along: gifts are not my preferred way of expressing/receiving love. I’m all about acts of service and words of affirmation.
I wish there were a graceful way to bow out of the whole business of gifting. I have enough stuff, thanks, although I’ll gladly make an exception for books. I feel so bad when someone gifts me something I’ll never wear or use, knowing they committed time and money to selecting that item.
Think how low-stress holidays and birthdays could be if we adults limited gift-giving to written expressions of why we love each other. When a blue mood settles over us like an oppressive cloud, how heartening it would be to reread those hand-written cards and letters from friends and loved ones.
Speaking of written expressions of love, why not give yourself a gift? In the run-up to the second book in the Book Nirvana Series–Runaway Love Story (coming June 24th)–Through the Red Door is on sale for just 99 cents (eBook) on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and iTunes. Fans of grown-up romance, indie bookshops, and historical erotic art will enjoy this steamy tale of new beginnings after grief.
Letting him inside could be her salvation…or her undoing.
Widow Clara struggles to keep her indie bookshop afloat. Professor Nick comes in search of historical erotica from her famed collection, but stays for the lovely bookseller–until a scandal from his past shatters her trust.
Here’s an excerpt:
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.”
He 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.
And remember: We authors live and die by reviews, so if you read a book you enjoy, mine or anyone else’s, please take the time to leave a review on your favorite book vendor’s site. Thanks!
