Making Your Romance Steamy Clean

By Heather Justesen

Can you make kisses steamy, and still keep them clean?

This is a big issue in the LDS market, and in clean romances everywhere--and the answer is YES!

The key to a good, clean first kiss that gives your reader a payoff without venturing into murky waters is two-fold, though both techniques work in tandem.

First, you want to focus on the senses--what does the viewpoint character hear, smell, feel, etc?

The second thing you do is draw the kiss out so it increases the tension. If your characters look at each other, their eyes blaze in awareness and he kisses her--all in twenty words--you've not allowed the tension to build. Now, there may be times when you want to keep your kiss lighter, and this might work--and you certainly don't want to try and make every kiss tension-fraught, because, face it, they wouldn't be in real life, so pick and choose your most important kisses--starting with the first one.

Here's an example of a bare-bones first kiss from my book, The Ball's in Her Court:

“It’s her cupboard.” She shrugged, knowing he couldn’t see it. His arms were surprisingly muscular for a desk jockey and his short-sleeved blue shirt emphasized his biceps and the width of his shoulders.

He opened the cupboard and picked the jar of salsa out, turned and placed it on the counter beside her. Denise looked up into his eyes when he placed his other hand on her shoulder.

“You’re a lot of fun when you let yourself be, Denise.”

She couldn’t respond to that as her mouth went dry. The look in his eyes said more than she wanted to see. Why had she thought they could just be buddies, friends? Hoping to bring some sanity back to the moment, she tried to protest, despite not wanting to step back from the situation. “Rich—”

“I’ve never wanted to work for a company besides Donaldson. Not until I met you.” His voice was low, barely more than a whisper.

Denise turned her head away, focusing on the sink. “Rich, we can’t.” The protest sounded weak even to herself. She wanted him to kiss her.

“For just a minute I’m going to forget that you’re strictly off limits.”

His lips slid over hers and she felt herself falling into the kiss. Something inside her had wanted this since the first moment they met, and she couldn’t beat it back. At that moment, she didn’t even want to.

Now here's the full excerpt--what actually ran in the book--with all of the sensory details. See what a difference it makes?

“It’s her cupboard.” She shrugged, knowing he couldn’t see it, or the way she tracked every move he made with her eyes. His arms were surprisingly muscular for a desk jockey and his short-sleeved blue shirt emphasized his biceps and the width of his shoulders.

He opened the cupboard and picked the jar of salsa out, turned and placed it on the counter beside her. Denise looked up into his eyes when he placed his other hand on her shoulder. Her stomach quivered.

“You’re a lot of fun when you let yourself be, Denise.”

She couldn’t respond to that as her mouth went dry. She swallowed, trying to get past the sudden lump in her throat. One of his fingers brushed her neck and she felt goose bumps run down her arm. The look in his eyes said more than she wanted to see. Why had she thought they could just be buddies, friends? The moment stretched out for several seconds as they stood, motionless, neither breaking eye contact as the moment wound around them. Hoping to bring some sanity back to the moment, she tried to protest, despite not wanting to step back from the situation. “Rich—”

“I’ve never wanted to work for a company besides Donaldson. Not until I met you.” His voice was low, barely more than a whisper.

Denise turned her head away, focusing on the sink, but Rich slid his hands up her neck and onto her cheeks, his gentle touch alone enough to have her turn and face him. One thumb brushed across her cheek and the fingers of his other hand slid into her hair. “Rich, we can’t.” The protest sounded weak even to herself. She wanted him to kiss her.

“For just a minute I’m going to forget that you’re strictly off limits.”

When Denise looked up, his face was drawing closer and she wondered if she would breathe again. His lips slid over hers and she felt herself falling into the kiss. Her hands grasped the cotton at the side of his shirt, pulling him closer. His torso was solid beneath her hands and the movement of his fingers on her face and in her hair sent shivers down her spine, into her scalp. Something inside her had wanted this since the first moment they met, fighting against the memories that warned her away. His soul called out to hers and though she fought it, she couldn’t beat it back. At that moment, she didn’t even want to.

The first version was adequate, but not strong enough for a first kiss in a book that has a strong romance plot line. The second one allows time for the tension to build--and there was actually a little more buildup to this tension between them before the excerpt. You don't have to use words like desire and lust (words that are both no-nos in this market) to make your reader to feel that sweet ache of excitement that comes with a new relationship. It's all in the details.

By Love or By Sea - Give Away!

I thought I'd give you a little treat and include a small section of my book. I'm so thrilled with the idea of this contest! And I hope you will all eagerly leave me a comment! I will announce the winner on Sunday, August 23rd. (So just leave me a comment about how much you want to read it and how much you adore me and you are automatically entered!) There will be prizes given away between now and then too from other authors, so make sure to stop by and see what they are! I wish you all the best of luck and happy kissing.

As Alice began on her journey home and passed through the town, she exchanged pleasantries with a few people but mostly kept to herself, enjoying the view of the vast ocean growing in front of her and the goings-on of the town...
Then, as though nothing more than a mirage, she saw a tired man crest over the hill coming from the beach and walking towards her. The distance between the man and herself allowed her time to stare at him without being obvious. The tall man wore a tattered pair of trousers and a fairly clean, cotton shirt fastened only by three lower buttons, allowing his vast muscles to protrude from beneath as he carried a knapsack on his shoulder. His skin was bronzed from what she assumed were probably years spent in the sun. His sandy whiskers weren’t long but had obviously been neglected for many days, and his blonde hair was nearly as white as old Mrs. Winters’, but unlike hers, his hair traveled halfway down his back.
He sported an odd appearance, yet he was almost intriguingly familiar...
“Excuse me, miss?”
Alice turned at the sound of a soft, masculine voice and there, looking expectantly at her, stood the man she had been visually devouring only moments before. “Yes?”
“I realize this is probably a strange thing to ask, but . . .” He paused and looked at the inquisitive eyes that were lingering on him from passing spectators. He seemed suddenly less sure of himself. “D-do you know if the . . . the Newman’s still live around here?” he asked in a lowered, hesitant voice.
“Well, sure. They’ve lived west of town about a mile for longer than I can remember.” Then as curiosity got the better of her, she could not restrain the question from escaping her lips. “Are you one of Augustus’s nephews? You bear a striking resemblance to Augustus himself.”
The man chuckled uncomfortably and pushed a hand through his tangled hair. “Well, thank you, miss, but I’m not his nephew.”
A look of pain seemed to cross his face before he tipped his head to her in parting and left her alone to ponder on the encounter. Alice knew she had never seen this man before. She would have remembered. His weathered face made him appear quite old, and she felt a stab of sorrow at the look of pain that had so recently crossed his face. The look in the man’s eyes caused him to look somehow even older than he did at first sight.
That evening as she sat in the parlor with her nana and pappy, her gaze lingered on the fire while her embroidery sat forgotten on her lap. “What has your mind in a tumble tonight, peach?” Gretchen asked.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she answered casually...
“Well, are you just going to sit there until she drags it out of you, or are you going to tell it to us straight out?” Henry asked, equally concerned about his granddaughter.
“I don’t really know what to think, Pappy. My mind’s all muddled up and I can’t seem to make heads or tails out of anything.”...
“Why don’t you start by telling me how things were while you still could make sense of them,” Gretchen encouraged.
“Well, I went to see Mama and everything went well. She was attentive to me, and we had a real nice time. I came home, just like I always do and then . . .”
“Yes?” Henry said when she paused.
“Oh, I don’t know what to think,” Alice whispered desperately. “I was walking home, and then there was this man who came over the edge of the hill. He’d obviously come from the beach.”
“Was it Clarence?” Gretchen interrupted. “He’s normally coming back to town about that time of day.”
“Of course not,” Henry put in. “She would have recognized him.”
Gretchen and Henry were both completely captivated by what Alice had to say, but in truth Alice could not figure out what she was thinking. So how on earth did they think she would be able to tell them a story they could understand? “No, it wasn’t Clarence. In fact, I don’t know who it was. My gut instinct tells me he was a ghost, except he spoke to me.”
“A ghost?” Gretchen laughed. “Really, peach! What would put your mind to thinking something as crazy as that?”
“I’m serious, Nana!” Alice whined loudly.
“All right then. What was it about the man that put it into your mind that he was a ghost?” Gretchen asked repentantly.
“Well, he looked real enough, but he reminded me of . . . He kind of looked like . . .”
“Who?” Henry coached.
“I don’t know if I can utter his name.” Gretchen’s rather disappointed look displayed itself blatantly upon her face. Alice knew her grandparents were dissatisfied with her answer, but she didn’t know if she could tell them who the man looked like. So she changed the direction of the conversation. “He spoke to me though. His voice was low and hushed, as though he was afraid to speak.”...
“Alice, who was it that the man reminded you of?” Henry asked.
“Pappy, I don’t know if I can utter his name,” Alice whimpered.
“And why not?”
Alice hesitated, attempting to give enough information without actually having to say the man’s name aloud. “He died about six years ago in a ship wreck while he was at sea as a merchant sailor.”
“Are you trying to tell us that you spoke to Caleb Newman on the street in town today?” Gretchen asked reverently.
“I don’t know that it was him, Nana. And besides, how could it be him? Remember? Grace said there were no survivors.”
“But . . .”
“No, Nana. I’m certain my mind was just playing tricks on me. It was probably some poor sailor, anchored in town for a few days.” With that, the topic died, and the conversation moved on to other things, but that night as Alice lay in bed waiting for sleep to engulf her, the image of the man on the street kept her weary mind company. He was, after all, intriguing and very striking in his appearance, no matter how tattered and tired he looked. The thought of him being an older version of the ever-so-handsome Caleb Newman made the mystery of the man all the more enticing. He had been such a good looking young man; tall and very handsome. Rolling over with a smile on her face, she eventually found respite as she fell asleep thinking of the young man she’d thought of so often before.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I9UC78cx-kE