I have a problem that I’d like you to help me solve. I need a title for the second book in my Reformed Rakes Series (Yes, I recently decided it needed a name as my next series has one). The current title of my second book is THE GAUNTLET. I have a terrible fondness for this title. It just fits the plot of the book. However, THE GAUNTLET is not the least romantic sounding or sexy is it? Well that’s what I’m looking for, something that’s fits either of those categories and of course fits the book.

I decided to have some fun with this title naming exercise. I’m going to give you the blurb for Book 2 and an excerpt, and from that hopefully someone, anyone, will be able to come up with a title I can take to my editor. The person who supplies me with that title will win a current release (max retail $7.99). Now if we end up using the title, you’ll also receive a $25 Amazon Gift Certificate and of course, a copy of the book when it comes out next year. So is everyone game? Perfect, let’s begin with the blurb.

~*~*~

Thomas Armstrong vows only the loss of his faculties could ever convince him to take Amelia Bertram under his care during her father’s absence from England. Sadly, that loss does occur… the moment Lady Amelia publicly states that rumors of his exalted sexual prowess are more fable than fact. Responding like any man with an ounce of pride would, he picks up the gauntlet she throws down on the ballroom floor.

When Amelia’s last failed elopement attempt has her sharing a roof with the very man who took her place in her father’s affections, she is determined to escape her prison to marry a man of her choosing. But, what she discovers in the seclusion of the viscount’s country estate is the ton’s ‘golden Greek god’ is more than the sum of rumor and innuendo, and under their mutual acrimony rages a fire not even a deluge from the Thames can extinguish.

But letting go of the past is difficult. Can Thomas and Amelia bury old jealousies and grievances for the promise of a love powerful enough to surmount his pride and crumble the walls surrounding her heart?

~*~*~

As you can see, my hero and heroine have that whole oil and water thing going for them. Now let’s look at one of their, er, um, exchanges. In this scene Amelia has been summoned by her father to his study. It’s clear she should take more care opening doors. And perhaps, Thomas, our hero, should watch how closely he stands to said doors.

Upon reaching the study, she blithely thrust open the door, only to make jarring contact with a body standing on the other side.
She heard the thwack and a low masculine grunt—the sound a mixture of surprise and pain. Instinctively, she took a quick step back, her hand still clutching the knob. Lord, what was her father doing—
Before she could complete the thought, Lord Armstrong’s imposing form stepped into view, tapered fingers rubbing a spot near his right temple. He observed her through narrowed eyes, apple green and ponderously lashed, pinning her with the type of look meant solely to make a person squirm.
Squirming was not in her nature, but her heart performed an odd lurch and her pulse quickened at the sight of her father’s protégé. She was once again unsettled to discover that with each meeting, the golden-haired viscount could elicit such a response in her. But then—her gaze swept the length of his body—he did exude an elegance and raw masculinity she grudgingly conceded might appeal to a less discerning woman—which thankfully, she was not.
“Pardon me.” Amelia kept her tone level and polite. Easing the door open wide enough to allow for the sheer volume of two layers of stiff petticoats beneath her pink, flounced skirt, she entered the room. She immediately blinked against the glare of the sun pouring through large paned windows dominating the eastward facing walls.
She caught the clean, subtle whiff of bergamot and rosemary. His scent. She’d recognize it blindfolded and spun around. How she’d grown to thoroughly dislike that scent. She loathed the man whom she’d forever associate with it even more. Inhaling a breath deep and slow, she took up a spot on the area rug, a comfortable distance from both men.
“I didn’t expect someone would place themselves so near a closed door,” she added in case he’d misconstrued her statement as an apology.
Her father’s face seized up as if in the midst of an apoplexy. Lord Armstrong’s mouth flattened, his regard narrowing to a squint. Amelia returned his stare placidly. He could stare—or glare, as it were—at her all he wanted. She didn’t give a whit, ignoring her heart knocking a frantic beat beneath her breastbone.
“It is also customary to knock before opening a closed door,” came the viscount’s glib reply.
“Might I remind you, my lord, it is I who resides in this house.” The gall of the man, trying to chastise her. Who told him he should situate himself thus? Hinges on doors were not meant as frivolous ornaments; they did have a purpose.
“Amelia is regrettably sorry,” her father hastily interjected.

~~~

Like hell she is. The bloody woman had probably parked herself outside waiting for the opportunity to bash his head in. Thomas wouldn’t put anything past her.
Tamping down his growing irritation, he replied smoothly, “Yes, Harry, I am quite certain she is.”
“I hope I’m not preventing you from leaving. You were on your way out, were you not?” she asked in dulcet tones, a smile curving her lips.
If it had been any other woman, Thomas could have envisioned many other uses for such a mouth; plump lips the deep pink of a man’s erotic dreams. And if one were dealing purely in aesthetics, who could fail to appreciate the dark-haired beauty’s jaw-dropping figure shown to its best advantage in a gown the exact sapphire blue of her eyes, the fitted corsage allowing for the glorious display of creamy skin. But as stunning as she was, he wouldn’t have her if she begged him. Not that he would mind the begging part. That he would enjoy most heartily if only to have the pleasure of refusing her.
“Er…Thomas, thank you for calling. I expect I shall see you again before my departure.”
Thomas issued Harry a curt nod. “Yes, I expect you will.” He returned his attention to her. “And as always, Lady Amelia, it was a pleasure,” he said, managing to remain quite straight-faced, for surely Judas could not have told a grander lie.
For a brief moment, something sparked in her blue eyes, breathing life into the flawless, glacial beauty of her countenance and hinting at a slumbering fire. If he gave a damn—which he most assuredly did not—it’d give him cold satisfaction to see her icy hauteur reduced to a puddle on the floor.

So what do you think? What is the perfect title for this book?