I for Intimacy
To me, this isn't the only difference between the two genres. I find that in sweet romance novels, the focus lies more on love than on lust. And that is exactly my cup of tea for writing. I try to create scenes of intimacy where not only the body is involved, but where the physical aspect is joined by mind and soul. Otherwise it would just be I for intercourse... ;-)
Here's an example of the intimate scenes I write, taken from my latest book "Saved in Sri Lanka":
She saw his body tense, and his eyes changed color to a darker slate gray with hardly any blue in it. He laid his hand on the side of her neck where her pulse beat against it like frantically fluttering bird’s wings. When he leaned down, her eyes closed.
The next instant he kissed her. His lips, firm and cool, were barely touching hers. It was a kiss of tantalizing softness, tentative and tender.
When she didn’t scream or shove at him or run, he brushed his mouth against hers again, adding more pressure.
Sepalika wanted more, much more. So she kissed him back, throwing all caution to the wind. With a sigh, he deepened the kiss, angling his mouth, his thumb caressing the hollow at her throat. Her hands came up, searching for a hold, for any way to keep herself from melting under his now firmer but still heart-breakingly gentle kiss. She grabbed the lapels of his leather jacket, pulled herself up, and felt a thousand sensations flood her.
Never had a kiss felt this magical, never had it awakened her lust like this.
It was as if she had lived all life for this moment, as if her lips were connected to every single particle of her body, setting it on fire.
When the tip of his tongue brushed over her mouth, she couldn’t suppress a moan. The sound seemed to come from deep out of herself, and it barely registered because she was so lost in the magic of the moment.
Daniel drew back slightly and whispered her name in what was as much a question as it was a groan.
The sound of her name on his lips, spoken so full of feeling, burst the bubble. Sepalika realized with a start what they were doing, and panic surged through her, obliterating desire.
Letting go of his jacket as if she had touched a poisonous plant, she stumbled backwards until her back hit the door frame. With a hand to her mouth on which she could still feel his kiss, she stared at him.
His breathing was ragged, and his eyes with the dilated pupils were wide open and wounded before she saw him close himself off.
“Goodnight then…sweet dreams,” he called softly, stepping back with obvious reluctance. When he mentioned the word “dreams”, it reminded her of his previous comment, and she bit her lip. Oh yes, she’d definitely dream of him tonight—if she ever fell asleep, that is.