" . . . a wonderful book rich in history." Sherry, Coffee Time Romance
"An unconventional, book-loving heroine and an equally unconventional book-smuggling nobleman find unexpected romance and political danger in pre-revolutionary France. More than one creative plot twist graces this unique, sensual story, which paints a realistic, compelling picture of the era." Library Journal's List of 5 best romances of 2004, Copyright 2005 Reed Business Information (posted 2.14.05)
"With off-stage appearances by Rousseau and the
Marquis de Sade, this 18th-century French historical-erotic romance
is also about the reciprocal seduction between writers and readers.
Marie-Laure and Joseph imagine themselves as characters in books,
and their relationship is a bookworm's dream. As the writer of two
previous erotic novels (under the pseudonym Molly Weatherfield) and as the wife
of a bookstore owner, author Pam Rosenthal clearly identifies with both her
main characters. The dual point of view only enriches the telling of the tale,
especially in the expertly executed erotic scenes. If you've ever lost yourself
in a good book, you too will enjoy identifying with the characters in this one."
"Boldly setting her novel in pre-revolutionary France, Rosenthal displays such an elegant style as she interweaves her intense love story with the social and political realities of the time that even readers averse to the historical period will be drawn in. A pair of intriguingly unconventional protagonists, a cadre of uncommon, well-defined secondary characters (both real and fictional), and a creative plot laced with some unexpected twists result in a literate, sensual romance enhanced with just enough historical detail to satisfy without overwhelming the reader. Lively, appealing, and unique-who could ask for anything more." Library Journal, February 2004 Copyright 2004 Reed Business Information (posted 5.11.04)
"Historical accuracy, sizzling explicit sex, a
thrilling plot and characters you can sink our teeth into are the
hallmarks of truly excellent erotic novels -- and customer and
staff-favorite author Pam Rosenthal does it again in The Booksellers's Daughter .
The French Revolution is the backdrop for a young scullery maid's
path crossing repeatedly with daring aristocrat Joseph and his
family, each determined to make the maid into their plaything.
And surprise, surprise -- she's more than just a plotline pawn,
but a highly intelligent young woman who decides her own fate."
"...for readers who like a wealth of historical aspects thrown in to embellish their romances this book will certainly fill the bill .... an exceptional read that lovers of historical romances should flock to the stores to pick up ...I recommend it most highly..." Marilyn Rondeau, Historical Romance Writers (posted 4.06.04)
"...continues to forge new pathways for authors itching to explore unconventional storylines....Ms. Rosenthal's voice is strong and true.... For those who have been waiting for an historical, and a hot one at that, set in the time just prior to the French Revolution, look no farther." Lady Luck, Romance Junkies (posted 2.16.04)
"Ms. Rosenthal has penned a delightful tale of love ... with a secondary cast of characters that readers will find both delightful and diabolical. ... For a truly pleasant read that will leave you breathless with its romance and honesty, do not miss The Booksellers's Daughter." Edith Morrison, Romance Reviews Today (posted 1.16.04)
"She weaves the intricate details into each and
every page creating lush, vivid settings... The love scenes are sure
to please romance readers who enjoy some spice!... Overall, The Booksellers's Daughter is another smash for Pam Rosenthal. With writing of
this quality, it is no surprise that she has found a huge following
in such a short time!"
"On the eve of the French Revolution, a heroine
who loves books and reading vows to uncover an elegant aristocrat's
true story, in Rosenthal's lushly sensual, intimately detailed
love story, one that will enchant readers with its lush prose, fascinating
historical setting, and beautifully nuanced characters."
"Erotic, tantalizing and brimming with historical details and personages, this novel is an irresistible read, and even more -- it's a love story about people who love books nearly as much as each other. It is this love that made me really enjoy this sexy, tender, touching novel." Kathe Robin, Romantic Times Book Club (posted 12.30.03)
In future years Marie-Laure would never be quite sure what had really happened during the next moments. Of course she’d recall it with vividness and clarity, joy and delight. But she’d never truly be able to separate perception from imagination or distinguish memory from surmise. For how could she possibly have experienced every astonishment, decoded every sign, interpreted every wonder of that first embrace?
He’d mumbled something when she opened the door and looked up into his dark eyes. Pardon me, Mademoiselle Vernet, I’ll explain all this later, was what she thought she heard; perhaps he’d also said something about “danger” or “protection.” But the only words she could be sure of were “Mademoiselle Vernet,” the only emotions she’d be able to swear to were giddy delight and delirious elation -- silly, selfish relief and prideful vindication, in truth -- that he hadn’t forgotten her name after all.
He wasn’t wearing his coat or waistcoat. She’d caught a quick glimpse of his hips and thighs in pearl-gray velvet breeches. The lights and darks of the velvet, illuminated by her flickering candle, revealed rather more than she was prepared to admit that she’d understood.
Nonsense, she’d think later. Of course she’d seen the bulge between his legs. After all, she wasn’t a child or a fool -- the velvet was definitely stretched by the tumescent flesh beneath it. And even if she’d been embarrassed to bring it to consciousness upon first observation, there could be no doubt of what she’d felt a moment later, no mistaking the urgent press of him against her own hips and thighs. And no use pretending that she hadn’t been thrilled by it.
The weave of his linen shirt had grazed her chest and shoulders; his hand cradled her breast. She’d gasped with surprised recognition: somewhere, in some secret place at her center, she’d wanted his hands on her breasts ever since she’d watched him pile books onto Papa’s desk.
Was that the sound of cloth ripping? It was hard to discern behind the sound of her heartbeat and her breath, hard to concentrate with his mouth against hers, opening it, probing and teasing it with his tongue.
His other hand was tight at the small of her back. Well, it had been tight at first. Yes, she was sure of that. He’d held her closely -- for a moment. And . . .she was pretty sure of what had happened next, almost certain that his hand had loosened, had become more adventurous. It had moved downward, slowly but confidently lingering over the curve of her buttock, while it gathered her skirt and petticoat out of the way. And as for where his hand was poised to go next, and where he might put his fingers.
She’d marvel, later on, that she hadn’t been shocked or frightened by how indecently he was touching her. But wasn’t she also caressing him under his shirt at the back of his waist? How could she take offense at his wandering hands, when her own hands were touching him everywhere she could reach? She could feel the ache starting up in her belly, the trembling, like that night in Montpellier.
Such a jumble, such a torrent of sensation. And such a mystery, for she couldn’t think how they’d come to be in each other’s arms in the first place. It didn’t seem quite accurate to say he’d “swept” her into his arms -- or, for that matter, that she’d “rushed” into his embrace. If there had been a crucial gesture, a shy or importunate first touch, she couldn’t specify what it had been or who had made it. The embrace had simply -- happened, like a bolt of summer lightning.
It ended just as quickly.
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