Valentine’s Day has been and gone. The chocolates are all eaten and the dead roses have been discarded, but has the magic of love disappeared as well? I don’t think so.
Without romance the world would be a sad and lonely place, and I don’t think I am alone in thinking this way. Tens of thousands of women who read romance books know the truth. Love makes the world go round. No matter whether the story finishes with death or birth, happiness or sadness, as long as, in the mind of the romance reader, the ending is satisfying to them, they are happy and ready to buy their next romance book.
Some of the best romance books I have read had me crying at the end, but I didn’t feel cheated because under the right circumstances, and as strange as it might seem to some, a sad ending makes for a grand finale.
A short love scene from my recently released novel, A Rose In No-Man’s Land.
When Mark entered the bedroom silence greeted him, except for a slight rustling of the curtains. The bedside lamp bathed Amy in a soft, intimate glow as she slept. Her lips curved into a tender smile so her dreams were pleasant ones, hopefully of him. She lay flat on her back, absolutely naked. He had never seen anything so beautiful. Her hair spilled out over the pillow like shimmering moonbeams. The mounds of her breasts, tipped with pink, and the tangle of golden fluff between her thighs, were the only vestige of color on her shimmering, milky white skin.
He stood staring at her. He could not move, didn’t want to move, just let his gaze wander up and down her exquisite body. He had escorted some of the great beauties of
Europe over the years. They could not hold a
candle to this lovely girl because of her inward beauty, a virtue they did not
He crept into the bathroom to undress so as not to waken her then tiptoed over to the bed. Carefully he slid in beside her, rolling on to his side so he could watch her. Soon this wasn’t enough. He wanted to touch her, needed to do much more but knew he would not waken her to do so.
With feather-light touches of his fingertips he explored at will. Her skin had the smoothness of porcelain, but it was soft, warm and alive. Laying his face up close to her, he inhaled her rose fragrance. Never again would he smell the perfume of roses without being reminded of Amy.
He closed his eyes and lay quietly, resting his hand on her waist. He thought he heard the sounds of distant artillery or perhaps it was the pounding of his own heart.