What Women Really Want

Valentine’s Day is right around the corner and most guys are probably rolling their eyes and moaning, “I just got through Christmas” or “Man, I screwed up with my last gift. I really need to give her something great. It’s too cold to sleep in the doghouse.”

Relax guys. I’ll tell you want woman. Romance.

Romance is not something you can buy in a store. It doesn’t cost a cent. The expensive flowers are great, and so are the chocolate and jewelry. They’re appreciated, but they’re not romance. And if they’re presented in a less than a romantic way, you’re dog meat.

Romance is when a guy shows the woman in his life how much he cares for her. Like, placing his hand on the small of her back as they walk side by side, brushing her hair back from her face, or leaving for work and rushing back in the door, again, for another kiss. Make her a cup of tea or rub her shoulders. Or surprise her with a candle lit bath.

I think the most romantic thing my DH has ever done for me is send me a postcard telling me he really loves me for no reason of all—not my birthday, not Valentine’s Day, not an any anniversary . It really doesn’t take much to make her hearts swell.

So, for the ladies reading this blog, do you want to help the guys out and share what you’d consider romantic?



Valentine's Day Wayback Style
OBSESSED BY WILDFIRE
By Autumn Jordon


Isobel slipped out of Warner’s truck and was immediately trapped by his hard body. Her shawl fell from her shoulders and Warner’s warm lips caressed her exposed bare skin. The man’s maleness wrapped around her senses, crushing her defenses into dust. Her knees buckled as tingles followed his assault over her dress’s thin strap, up the cord of her neck to the sensitive area under her lobe.

Tilting her head toward the snow moon, Isobel’s eyes drifted close. “We’re together six months and you still can’t wait until we get inside?”

“Remember our first date?” He mumbled against her ear.

“I’ll never forget. You wanted me so bad.”

He pulled back and chuckled. “I wanted you. You ripped my shirt off before I made it up the porch steps.”

“I think all the smoke you’ve inhaled while investigating fires has affected your memory, Yankee.” With her hands splayed on his hard chest, she pushed him back. “Why don’t we head in and I’ll show exactly how you assaulted me.” She entwined her fingers with his and started toward the house only to be yanked back.

“I need to show you something first.” Grabbing both her hands, Warner backpedaled toward the barn.

“No. I’m not dressed for the loft.”

“Trust me.”

Isobel laughed. “I’m in trouble if I do that.”

Warner rolled back the barn door and hit the light switch.

Lizzy whinnied.

Isobel took a moment to give the mare now completely blind in her right eye a treat of winter apple. As the horse’s soft muzzle tickled her palm, Isobel wished she’d find another horse as great as Lizzy was at the barrels and as pretty as the Appaloosa she’d seen at auction last week.

“Come on.” Warner’s hot breath brushed her ear.

Her new dress would smell of straw and beast if Warner had his way. The gravel floor crunched as Isobel dug her FMN cowgirl boot heels into its firmness. “No way I’m going to make out—”

A nicker drew Isobel’s attention to a stall that should be empty. “What was that?

She peered through the bars at the handsome Appaloosa colt she’d lost to a higher bidder at the auction. Her heart thumped under her breast. “I don’t understand. How?”

Warner’s eyes danced with wicked joy. “I knew how much you wanted him. Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.”

Isobel laced her fingers around Warner’s neck and pulled him closer. “Yankee, you’re going to get your shirt ripped off again.”