Under a sliver of moonlight, a woman with a waterfall of black curls looks up expectantly at a hunky sailor, the sleeves of his T-shirt pushed up over huge biceps. As she leans back in his arms, her ruffly white gown looks as if it's about to fall right off her bronze shoulders.
It's a familiar scene in the smoldering world of romance novels, but with an increasingly common twist: The characters on the cover of Mildred Riley's "Midnight Moon" are black.The basic story structure - bigger-than-life man, impossibly beautiful woman, happy ending - isn't different.
The details are: Characters with degrees from historically black Spelman College or Hampton University. Coffee and caramel-skinned heroines with textured hair and full lips. Heroes with over-the-top hip names like Jaz and Hennessy. References to Whitney Houston and the Isley Brothers.
Those differences have struck a chord with readers, who have made the last two years particularly lucrative for writers of African American-themed romance novels.
Belinda Hughes of Tampa, Fla., a thirtysomething accountant, had never read a romance novel until two years ago. The novels seemed too fanciful, and Hughes said she couldn't connect with the characters. Then she discovered Eboni Snoe at a book signing.
"I was very intrigued and I started reading a lot of the other ones," said Hughes, who now owns about 35 black romance novels. "I seem to be able to relate to them. Usually, (the heroines) are working women; career women ... and it seems like you can relate to them as far as their positioning in society. I think you can identify a little more with it."
As recently as 10 years ago, such books were deemed unmarketable by many publishing houses. And just a few years ago, the number of black romance titles in print could have been counted on both hands, says Carol Miller, editor of the Brooklyn-based industry magazine Romantic Times.
"I have been told there was actually a policy that most houses said they would not take black heroes or heroines, which of course, seems outrageous," says Miller.
That happened to Brenda Jackson, a romance author based in Jacksonville, Fla. When she first floated the idea for a black romance to a mainstream publisher in the late 1980s, Jackson says she received a swift, blunt response: If you can make these characters white, we might consider it.
Jackson's response was just as swift. She and some other black romance writers formed Women Writers of Color and decided to confront editors at the annual Romance Writers Conference.
About that time Leticia Peoples, an equal opportunity manager in Washington, D.C., had a similar encounter. She says publishing executives told her there was no market for black romances, that there were no black romance novelists and that too few blacks purchased books for a profitable result.
"It was frustrating, but it also angered me," says Peoples, 56, who is retired and lives in Palm Coast, Fla. "I decided I was going to show them there was a market."
The result was Odyssey Books, a small publishing house Peoples founded after she spent a year taking classes and reading about publishing. She put an ad in Writer's Digest asking for African-American romance manuscripts and was bombarded with responses.
The first books, Donna Hill's "Rooms of the Heart" and Mildred Riley's "Yamilla," hit the shelves in 1990, drawing a wave of enthusiasm from readers. "I got letters from all over the place from women who were telling me how glad they were to receive these books," says Peoples.
In 1994, Pinnacle Books followed with its Arabesque line of African-American romances, some of which have gone into third and fourth printings. This year, Genesis Press and Noble Press kicked off the similar Indigo line.
Several other mainstream companies - Fawcett, Silhouette, Signet and Avon - also have tested the waters.
Then Terry McMillan came on the scene, and everything changed - dramatically.
By all accounts, the blockbuster success of McMillan's romance-heavy novels "Disappearing Acts" and "Waiting to Exhale" played a major role in the success that black romance authors now enjoy.
"Terry's book made people sit up and take notice," says Atlanta-based writer Angela Benson, 37. And what they noticed, Benson says, was "the numbers basically say that black people have a whole bunch of money, and in the romance industry they have not been a targeted group."
They also noticed, Jackson says, that "black people did read and that black books could cross over to white readers as well.
"Harlequin and a lot of others who didn't want us before are asking for us now."
Ultimately the newfound demand eclipsed the pioneer of the industry. Peoples says she needed to expand to match the distribution of bigger companies that latched on to her idea. Instead, Peoples opted to retire.
Odyssey had published 11 titles. But the small company hardly made Peoples rich, considering that she invested her own money in it to begin with. And most of what she made was put back into the business, she says.
"If I felt I could make it as lucrative as a major publisher, I probably still would be in it," she adds.
Other companies have done well by picking up where Peoples left off with ethnic-only lines. Arabesque now has 45 authors and Indigo has more than 10, with plans to release six new novels early next year.
The success of the genre is evident at Books for Thought, a Tampa store owned by Felecia Wintons. During a recent signing by a romance author, people came in on their lunch hour. And on a recent Saturday one woman came in and bought 15 books.
Renee Pollard, of Tampa, is one of those customers. She stopped reading Harlequin romances years ago because she couldn't relate to them. Then she saw the new black romances in Wintons' store, and she was hooked.
Pollard says she is struck by the familiarity of the language and character interaction, including references to events like the Black Ski Summit and historical figures like the Buffalo Soldiers. Now, Pollard says, she has more than 60 romance novels on her shelves.
Writers and publishers don't expect the trend to wane.
"When I talk to the readers they tell us they want more. We can't keep up with the demand," says Jackie Exum, vice president for the Columbus, Miss.-based Indigo line.
(Distributed by Scripps Howard News Service)