Page 12 of To Save Him

“Um…”  Brandon was holding one of my bestsellers in his hands, a book calledThe Hottest Night.  He obviously hadn’t glanced at the blurb on the back page yet.  “What I write is a little steamier than your standard romance.”

“Steamier?”

I nodded as he gazed upon the cover, and I thought the picture communicated better the context of the book than my words.  It was a man and a woman with lots of exposed flesh in an embrace just before locking lips.  Brandon’s head tilted slightly, but his eyes remained upon the book, even as he flipped it over.  Before he could read the blurb there that told of a story about a one-night stand destined to become a relationship, I said, “Yes.  The genre is callederotic romance.”

Brandon cleared his throat audibly before asking another one-word question.  “Erotic?”

Might as well be honest…especially since my mind had been in the gutter the past several hours anyway.  “Yes.  My books are for mature audiences.  It’s not like porn, though.  There are solid stories in each one of my books, and the sex is more about emotion and connection than getting off.”  Wow.  I was used to being frank with my audience but here I was being Kimberly Grace with Brandon too.

He didn’t even bat an eyelash.  “I’d like to read one.  Which would you recommend?”

“A lot of men don’t read romance.”

“I don’t either…but I want to readyourwords.”

If I didn’t know any better…

I pulled my eyes away from his, mumbling while running a finger along the tops of several books.  I knew most of my faithful readers would recommendCaptive, my coming-of-age story that garnered me a lot of recognition before finally lulling back down the charts.  But I wanted to give him something that had a little of me in it.  I tugged at a book with a beige background calledMother Lode, a story about loving one’s children and not knowing when to let go.

It didn’t deal with the topic of death itself, but that didn’t make it any less cathartic for me.  Readers responded—well, those who’d bothered to read it.  It wasn’t one of my best sellers, but it was one of my highest-rated books.  I’d had the cover redesigned to incorporate one reviewer’s words:  “Grabs you around the heart and refuses to let go.”  The photo on the cover was simple—a child sitting in a tire swing, his back to the camera, facing the sunset.  The story was a goodbye to my precious Gabriel, even dedicated to him near the front of the book, and I was once more relieved that my children didn’t read my stories.

Well, I’dtoldJR he couldn’t, not till he was older, and he’d rolled his eyes at the mere suggestion anyway.  Annabel was a little less dramatic about it but still of the same mind.  “No offense, mom, but reading about you describing sex would be, um…creepy.”

When she’d put itthatway…

But Brandon wasn’t my child and I had few qualms about letting him peruse or even read my books.  I handed the book to him after he reshelved the other one.  “There are still some adult themes and situations in this one, but they’re less graphic and the story is more about the main character’s relationship with her kids.  Yes, her lover is in the story, but her relationship with him is secondary.”

“What’s it about?”

Would it be obvious if I told him the basic plot?  And why did I worry?  He’d find out soon enough anyway.  “The main character married young, forsaking her own education and desires to be with the man she loved.  After giving him everything she had, including children who meant the world to her, her husband left her for another woman.  Several years later, the other woman decides she wants children but can’t have any of her own, so they become involved in a nasty battle for custody, and the depths the other woman goes to trying to slander the main character’s reputation stop at nothing.  She even tries to poison the children against their own mother.”

“Sounds pretty emotional.”

I smiled.  “It was.  If I cry when I’m writing a book, I know it’s gonna be a good one.”

He tilted his head.  I could tell he wanted to say something, but I also knew I needed to give him time to find the words.  Finally, he said, “Maybe something lighter.  I don’t know that I’m in the right place to read something heavy like that.”

“Fair enough.”  I took the book from him, and I felt a charge as my fingers brushed across his hand.  Shit.  I had it bad for him, and I’d barely known him for twenty-four hours.  “How about this?”  I handed him a book calledSmolder, a frivolous book that I’d penned in a week.  It had been fun and easy to write, the words simply spilling on the page.

It was already in his hands when it dawned on me that it was also one of my filthiest.

The cover was of a man with a gorgeous body—long, flowing dark hair, rock hard chest and abs, tattoos inked all over his lovely skin—so, to my mind, at least, it seemed pretty obvious what the book was about.  Brandon half chuckled before flipping it over and reading yet another blurb.  He didn’t look up when he asked, “Thismay be one of those books closed-minded people should avoid?”

I couldn’t help the grin spreading across my face, and damn if my cheeks weren’t starting to flame. Oh.  My.  God.  My voice almost escaped me as I forced out, “I think maybe so.”

And, I thought, perhaps young men I was feeling infatuated about should avoid them too.  But the wicked part of me wanted to know what his opinion would be.

 

 

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