It’s not as clear how, uh, erotic the story is, however, though it’s not like the two on the cover are doing their taxes.
I’ve always had a hate/hate relationship with romance novel covers. They kept me away from reading the genre for years. Now that I’ve been devouring the great interiors of romance books like a locust in summer, (…google locusts, make sure they come in summer, yup, continue…) I wish the exteriors could reflect the great writing within. Which for me, excludes mantitty and cleavage and flowing gowns.
Trouble is, that’s shorthand for romance. If I put a picture of a empty beer bottle on a dirty sidewalk on my cover, you don’t think, “and then they lived happily ever after.” And I like beer. And sidewalks. Nope, we’re kind of stuck with using the shorthand to communicate across the cloud to our readers that this is a love story with a happy ending and I want you to feel Le Sigh after you read it. And during.
Only 99 cents for about that many pages.