Not My Choice and I'm Happy

MUSE MONDAY
Authors love to have control over all facets of their manuscript publication. Doesn't happen. But we like to complain or think how if we could design the cover or if we could choose what's on the inside lead in page and on and on. I'm guilty on occasion.

But not this time.

I got the pre-galley for my next release, The Art of Love and Murder. Had I chosen an excerpt from the book, I might have gone with a passage about the hero and heroine - something to do with the romance plot. But my publisher was wise and chose a passage that addresses the suspense/mystery plot. And am I happy with that. Still no release date, but here's the excerpt:

Momentarily struck dumb by his eye color, she stared back. Why hadn’t she noticed until now? Although not as light as hers or her father’s, the professor’s eyes were a startling green shade. 

His hand nudged her arm. “Lacy?” 

She jumped. “Oh, yes.” She slipped the tissue from the half-carved wolf. Another glance at his eyes and goose bumps riddled her arms. 

He lifted the wood close to his face, using both hands as if handling a delicate hummingbird. His thumb traced the neck of the creature to the juncture of where it emerged from the wood. When he brought the piece to his nose, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, Lacy wanted to turn away from the oddly erotic gesture. 

He swallowed, opened his eyes and set the wolf back on the tissue. His attention shifted to the photograph of the chest. He touched the photo, a smile on his lips. “Where is the chest?” 

The chest. Like he knew it, had seen it before. “I’m having it sent. You’ve seen it before?” 

He didn’t move, stared out the window as if deep in thought. “I’d like to show you something, Lacy.”

“All right.” She waited, watching his profile. 

He turned and stared into her face a moment. “You’re so very lovely. A creation full of life and passion, surpassing any art form.”

His hypnotic voice floated on the classical strains drifting from the living room. She couldn’t speak. Didn’t know what to say. She’d been lifted upon a pedestal of admiration. With any other man, she might consider his words a means to a sexual end. The professor’s intentions, however, were crystal. He admired her like a work of art.