Thursday, August 28, 2008
My first cover from the Wild Rose Press!
What a great way to start the day! This was in my mailbox this morning. Nicola Martinez did an outstanding job, don't you think?
No release date yet, but soon.
Here’s the blurb for Seventh Heaven:
Lilah owns the New Hope Record and Crafts Shop with her friend, Val. Selling their handmade jewelry and pottery to tourists in their Delaware River town keeps them independent and free spirited. Lilah’s only hangup is James, who bartends down the street. She’s crazy about him, but lately he’s been cold and distant. Turns out he has reason to be down--he’s had his ticket punched for Vietnam. When Lilah makes him a lucky leather-string choker using a silver ankh--the Egyptian symbol of eternity--James is skeptical, but begins to warm to her again. Can Lilah show him that her love is all the luck he needs?
And an excerpt:
Candles light the bar, daisies and daylilies fill a vase at its center. Bob Dylan moans that the answer is blowin’ in the wind.
James walks out of the kitchen. When he sees her, he takes long strides toward her. “Hey, right on time.”
Her voice seems stuck in her dream-filled head. “Well, yeah, I didn’t want to jinx my lucky number.”
He lays his hand on her back, and its warmth seeps through her white cotton blouse. “Come on in.”
She wants to tell him how wonderful the flowers are, how romantic the candles are. How time feels like the river, static, but slipping away too fast. “This looks great.”
“The old guy downstairs loves to garden. He gave me the flowers.” He steps behind the counter. “Are you hungry?”
“No, not at all.” Her stomach is knotted so tight, no food would fit.
She sits on the stool. “Absolutely.”
His muscles ripple as he mixes the alcohol. Cologne scents the air, cologne he wasn’t wearing earlier.
“Another slow night,” she says. The bar is empty except for her and James.
“All week. Very unusual.”
The tang of the drink seeps into her. “Not that I mind.”
“I’m kind of glad.” He leans toward her, and time seems to reverse a few weeks, a river reversing its flow.
Jimi Hendrix croons about the wind crying Mary, his voice a richly toned instrument, as electric as his guitar.
She smiles. “I like the music.”
“Hendrix is always a crowd pleaser.” He watches her mouth as her lips curl around the salty rim.
She sets the drink on the bar. “Let’s hope the crowds stay home for this one.”
He holds out his hand. “Come on.”
She takes it, though she doesn’t understand. Separated by the counter, they walk hand-in-hand to the end of the bar, where he pulls her close. It feels like whooshing up a mountain, like flying. When he moves her across the floor, she’s drifting on air currents high above the earth.
Candlelight reflects in his dark eyes, making them sparkle. He tightens his embrace and they move together like water over a rock. He leans his cheek against hers, and his breath warms her skin.
The song ends. He groans into her shoulder, his hands running slowly across her back. He leans away to look at her. “Want to go for a ride?”
“On your Harley? Hell, yes.”
He laughs, the first real smile he’s shown her in weeks. “Let’s go then.”