DIRTY tells the story of Elle (Ella, Elspeth) Kavanagh, a junior vice-president of corporate accounting in the firm of Smith Smith Smith & Brown. The reader learns through Elle’s first person narrative that she lands big accounts, does lunches, attends meetings, but is never given a more detailed look at her professional life. Other than a fund-raising event in which she’s involved and her budding friendship with co-worker Marcy, there are no particulars about what her career at Triple Smith & Brown entails. As with so many other elements in the novel, her career functions symbolically to show how Elle has been emotionally frozen, and what the reader does learn is that counting is a tactic that gets her through stressful situations. One could assume from her choice of such a career that what she finds most stressful is life.
Elle lives alone. She is not close with any of her neighbors except Gavin, the teen with whom she shares a love of books and who helps her paint the dining room in her small Harrisburg, PA home. She doesn’t date, though until “three years, two months, a week and three days” ago, she did have sex with men she picked up, assignations “about filling an emptiness inside” and “chasing away the dark cloud” she was often unable to escape. She’s estranged from the family who lives nearby, and only talks to her brother on the West Coast occasionally. Her wardrobe is black and white, her house equally drab. She rarely smiles or laughs. She simply exists.
It’s into this existence that attorney Daniel Stewart, after a chance encounter with Elle in a candy store, finds himself drawn. Though Elle refuses to date, she agrees to continue seeing him. Though she refuses to call him her boyfriend, she returns again and again to his bed. Dan is every man, a regular man, one with a breathtaking smile and an eclectic selection of ties. Not overly tall. Not overly muscular. He is smart, witty, sexy – a man the reader has no problem imagining as real, and one about whom Elle thinks:

Sex had been a choice I made to ease an ache inside. I knew it. I knew why I did it. I knew why I looked like a librarian and acted like a whore.
Until now it hadn’t mattered. I’d met men who made me laugh, who made me sigh, even a few, very few, who’d made me come. Until now I had never met one I couldn’t forget.

DIRTY is a difficult book to analyze, and almost reads as two stories, the first being Elle’s sexual affair with Dan which leads to the second, her emotional catharsis. The first person voice, Elle’s voice, is distancing, her use of metaphor often seeming to be a literary tool of the author rather than naturally Elle’s. Her musings are not always comfortable. Her story is dark, her character flawed, the tone hopeless at times.
All of this demands the reader be willing to trust the author to deliver a story worth reading. Not all will be so patient as to wait for that critical pay-off, but for those who don’t mind the often uncomfortable ride, Elle’s journey is a fascinating trip. Hart shows her protagonist’s transformation from insular to involved through interactions with Marcy and her boyfriend, Gavin and his mother, Elle’s own mother and brother, and especially Dan. It’s through that relationship, one at first purely sexual which develops into one of uneasy emotion, that Elle slowly comes to terms with the incident from her past that has crippled her.
It’s a painful metamorphosis, a sorrowful one, and one Dan must suffer through as well. Witnessing Elle’s treatment of him is not easy. Neither is watching him take it. Yes, their sexual encounters are the stuff of men’s fantasies, but with Elle an emotional ice block, one begins to wonder about the root of Dan’s insistence on breaking her down. What about her has caused him to fall in love? Yet his being with her when she is finally forced to return home and face her demons, to deal with the physical life that was lost along with her own emotional death, is heart-wrenchingly beautiful. He is there for her, taking care of her without taking over.
As to the question of whether or not the novel’s success hinges on its eroticism, that call can only be an individual reader’s to make. The second half of the book, where Elle begins her emotional thaw, is a singularly compelling read, and interestingly enough includes fewer sexual encounters. That said, the erotic scenes which have come before are in a large part responsible for the reader’s investment in Elle’s personal journey, and ultimately play a part in its satisfying end.
You can visit Megan Hart here and buy her book here or here.

Georgina Kincaid has a cat, an apartment and a job as an assistant manager of a bookstore. That’s the life she lives, but it’s not who she is. She’s a succubus – an immortal, a shapeshifter and professional seductress. Georgina yearns for a different life, but as payment for a mistake she sold her soul and any chance of home and hearth. That decision, made a lifetime ago, led Georgina to her current role of soul gatherer through sex.
The soul-for-sex exchange sounds cold and heartless. In other hands, the idea could condemn Georgina with a high unlikeability factor and doom the book. However, in the world created by Mead, the role of a succubus is a matter-of-fact reality. One that blurs the lines between good and evil, giving depth to the players on both sides of the debate. Demons, angels, vampires and other immortal forms walk the streets of Seattle. Many of them land in Georgina’s bookstore. Almost all cross her path in some way.
The cast of characters here is plentiful and varied. Jerome, Georgina’s demon boss. Carter, the head angel in town and a constant companion of his dark counterpart Jerome. Seth Morgenstern, the writer-in-residence at Georgina’s bookstore and secret reader crush of Georgina, who also is cursed with the ultimate male problem in a romance book – he’s a nice guy. Roman, the hyper handsome and mysterious hottie who makes Georgina’s blood boil. Warren, the married bookstore owner who looks to Georgina for sex not knowing that she is using him as a form of succubus refueling. And, Doug, Georgina’s co-worker. But that’s not all. Georgina’s pals and companions – Hugh, Peter, Cody, Erik – and the fellow immortals who roam around annoying Georgina and work together to round out the cast. A significant number of characters, all of whom get page time in Succubus Blues and all of whom the reader gets to know through Georgina’s first person narration. Despite this singular point of view, the characters – most of them male – take on a range of characteristics and play different roles here. This is a credit to Mead. Her strong, clear voice shines through a flawed and very real heroine. Using Georgina’s perception and through action and description, Mead sets apart each of the other players, creating a world that is deep, charged with excitement and compelling.
Georgina and her internal conflict in wishing to be someone other than the something she is has the potential to propel the book all on its own. Georgina fights off attraction to males she likes. The fear of sucking the soul right out of them is a strong motivation for her to live a solitary life. Despite her immortal calling, Georgina has a moral core and is conflicted, yet realistic, about what she must do to survive. So, she captures the souls of the dregs of society – a fact not appreciated by Jerome – and, even then, only does so when her need to recharge her energy overwhelms her. One complaint is that these aspects of Georgina’s character come out through a series of flashbacks that, at times, break the momentum of the overall plotline. The information, while vastly important, is handed out in such small bits and over such a long period of time that the lack of information early on leads to some confusion. When the integral information does come it adds layers to an already complex heroine.
Succubus Blues travels beyond Georgina’s internal war to delve into broader concept of good versus evil. Mead does not take the easy way out and have individuals be all good or all evil. Rather, this story deals with the not-so-comfortable middle ground, the points at which good people do bad thing and evil people demonstrate good intentions. Little is all good or all bad. Mead does not judge nor does she allow Georgina to do so. Rather, the reader is left to draw the conclusions, making this debut book smarter than many that have gone before. Despite these heavier theoretical ideas at work here, they never weigh the book down, likely because they pass by with a subtle touch.
Filling in the remainder of the book is a murder mystery. Someone is killing Seattle’s immortal population and, just so happens, the dead immortals are same immortals Georgina views as enemies. Jerome and Carter know more about the situation than they’re telling. Georgina, never one to follow the demon rulebook, refuses to stop poking around even after Jerome warns her to do so. Georgina’s search takes her on a journey through, including a brief research of Bible passages, and lands her in danger.
That’s the plot of the book. A fast-paced and highly energetic race to figure out who is the real “bad” guy murderer. What makes this book so utterly readable is the combination of an interesting plot, impressive worldbuilding, intriguing characters, clever writing and a unique heroine. The other positive factor at work here is the “what it’s not” aspects of Succubus Blues. It’s witty but not cutesy, serious but not dour and paranormal but not otherwordly to the point of being unrelatable.
There are aspects about which readers should be aware. Aspects which may not work for some. To the extent immortals can even have a happily ever after, Georgina doesn’t get one here. The reality is that this is not a romance. It is at times sensual and at time romantic, but it’s not a romance in the traditional sense. In fact, there isn’t even a clear-cut hero until the very end and even then… Sure, Georgina gets plenty of sex – most of which takes place off stage – but this is not about a couple working together to build a relationship in the traditional romantic sense. This is Georgina’s book. Her journey. Her struggle. Also, as the first book in a series, there’s a “just wait” feeling to the ending. For the most part, the mystery wraps up, but the loose ends do open the door for future chaos.
Whatever missteps happen here – and there only a few, some might say none – nothing takes away from the enjoyment of this hard-to-define but very strong urban fantasy read.
You can visit Richelle Mead here and buy her book here or here.

Ally Carter takes the high school experience and raises it to a whole new level by introducing her readers to an academy where student education consists of learning doctorate level physics, how to build a proper bomb and the languages of the world, and where career day involves being recruited by the CIA, the NSA or the FBI. As the daughters of career spies, these girls are well prepared for international espionage and how to kill the president of Paraguay with a fork, but not how to flirt with boys and get a date for prom. So when the ultimate chameleon, Cammie, gets made on a covert training mission in town, and made by a boy no less, the girls are a bit suspicious. After all, this boy, Josh, could be a spy, and it’s therefore necessary for Cammie to spend as much time with him as possible. All in the name of international security, of course.
In Cammie, Ally Carter has created a likable female protagonist. She’s sweet, funny, and a little bit dorky as she stumbles through discovering whether she’s experience the regular teenage dating dance with town boy Josh, or dealing with something else entirely. Here’s a girl that everyday experiences the extraordinaire, but longs for the normal she doesn’t have—a boring existence where finding out that your father won’t be coming home from his last mission doesn’t factor in. Josh represents this dream with his nuclear family and roots in Roseville that go back generations, and the longing she feels for these things is clear throughout her narrative. It’s not that Cammie doesn’t love the excitement of her legacy (her mother was a Gallagher Girl, a spy, and is now the head master), but a life without secrets sure looks pretty appealing, even if she has to lie to experience it.
Backing her in Operation: Boy are her friends Bex and Liz (daughters of spies themselves) and the reluctant Macey McHenry (bad girl, debutant, and recent Gallagher transfer); all interesting characters in their own right. Standing in the way of Cammie’s relationship with this possible sweet boy? Her mother, her legacy and the new Covert Operations Professor on the block, Joe Solomon, who just might to have it out for our young heroine.
Instead of falling into the trap of introducing too much plot and making Cammie save the world, Carter keeps the story simple (well, as simple as a teenage spy story can be) as girl meets boy, girl lies to boy to appear normal, and then girl has to deal with the fact that normal isn’t possible for a spy in training. Everything that Cammie does to respond to her life and her relationship with Josh falls within the realm of the world Carter has built. Cammie’s not a normal girl, but her basic wants and needs are the same as any other teenager: the need to fit in, belong and feel loved. The theme (which the author by no means hits the reader over the head with) is applicable to anyone in that lying sucks and there are consequences. Cammie lies to herself, her mother and to Josh, and in doing so hurts them all. While the consequences of this tie up a bit too nicely with the mother, the author doesn’t try to convince us that Josh will forget and forgive. Is there hope? Plenty, but there is also much to be explored in later novels.
With I’d Tell You I Love You, But Then I’d Have to Kill You, Ally Carter creates a world that will appeal to anyone who wished their life could be a bit more James Bond and a bit less “Leave It To Beaver”. It’s a fun, fast-paced story that manages to take heavy subject matter—the death of a parent, lying, the high school experience—and brighten and lighten with a coating of lip gloss in much the same way that Bond’s martini washes away the aftertaste of the reality of the international arms race. While Cammie’s narrative isn’t flawless (a few comparisons and descriptions seemed more adult woman than teenage girl—even if she is a spy), it’s a joy to read and I can’t wait for the next novel to come out. The Gallagher girls are sure to have many adventures—and an extensive following—in the years to come. Highly recommended for anyone who would be interested in a blend of the Princess’ Diaries, the Private series and Goose Girl.
You can find I’d Tell You I Love You, But Then I’d Have to Kill You here and here and its author, Ally Carter, here.

The best romantic suspense villains exhibit which of the following traits:

• Shadowy, mushy goals and motivations which make sense only because the author says they do.
• The ability to hide their thoughts so well that the reader is more often perplexed than not.
• Violent, sometimes sadomasochistic tendencies that have appeared for no good reason.
• Clear, well-defined goals, motivation, and conflict.

If you picked A, B, or C, you’re not going to like the rest of this review. Karen Rose’s Count to Ten is not the book for you. And even though I’ve read far too many romantic suspense titles recently that meet the criteria outlined in A – C, my reviewer’s code of ethics prevents me from recommending books with stock characters and dull, pointless violence.

I know it sounds a little…off, but I was looking for a good serial killer story. If not a serial killer, then a thriller that thrilled. Or a suspense story that kept me awake. I found myself getting less picky as time went on. Yeah, the state of romantic suspense is that lame.

Count to Ten is the story of one man’s desire for justice and his single-minded pursuit of his goal. Oh sure, he’s an arsonist with a tendency to rape and kill in order to achieve sexual gratification, but it turns out (according to Rose) that this isn’t abnormal behavior for a guy like him. He’s an killer with a clear plan for achieving inner peace.

This being romantic suspense, a villain simply isn’t enough. Even Hannibal Lecter needed Clarice Starling, or, put another way, all evil all the time isn’t much fun to read. Thus, we require a hero: Lieutenant Reed Solliday, fire marshal and widowed father of a hormonal teenage daughter. We also require a heroine: Detective Mia Mitchell, recently returned to duty after an on-the-job injury. She’s full of guilt and a life full of baggage. Never fear, it’s all good.

We also need sparks. Pun intended. That’s where things start getting good.

Reed is your basic, hard-working nice guy who is trying to understand the monster who replaced his formerly sweet daughter. Though interested in women (always useful in this type of story), he’s not a one-night stand kind of guy…yet he’s not able to move beyond his wife’s death, so he’s okay with the sometimes sexual fling. He believes in soul-mates, and once his died, well, that’s that. Reed is smart and confident, and he believes that psychobabble provides a medical cover for people who simply refuse to get past the fact that life sucks. He knows for a fact that you can have a lousy childhood and still grow up to be a reasonably together member of society.

In her own way, Mia is living proof of his belief system. The daughter of a cop, she’s still reeling from the discovery that her father – a man who liked his drink and used his fists on his family – bore another child, a son who died very young. She makes this discovery at her father’s graveside…just moments before discovering another living sibling: a sister, or so Mia will confirm if she ever tracks the woman down again.

Reed and Mia are thrown together when his arson investigation reveals a murder victim. Suddenly, jurisdiction changes, and they’re teamed up while Mia’s partner recovers from a gunshot wound (see: guilt, post-father death). As a team, they start rocky but soon click. Though this isn’t a procedural novel, per se, Rose reveals her characters as they do their jobs. They have clear tasks and duties. I don’t know how real fire investigators or detectives work, but I sensed that this wasn’t an author who was faking her way through a character’s career path.

As our psycho, Andrew (he spends most of the novel under an assumed name, but I’m being kind and not spoiling that part), works his way toward his goal – destroy the people who let his brother die and put his rage to rest – corpses pile up. You have a college student here, a social worker there, other victims along the way.

The connection between the deaths isn’t readily apparent, and Rose treats the first murder victim almost as a red herring – a nicely done red herring, I might add – that throws the authorities off the scent. The reader, however, isn’t left in the dark; that would be, in my never humble opinion, overly precious as Rose chooses to write from her villain’s point of view as often as other characters. Don’t you just hate it when an author is so intent on keeping the big secret from everyone that she makes the villain’s thoughts mushy and vague? Me too.

I liked that Andrew was very clear in his thinking, his plotting, his goals. Once he decided his course of action, no obstacle could stop him. His view is that those who slow him down are deliberately obstructing his progress. It’s a bit like clearing a field before plowing. It has to be done in order to do the job right.

But Andrew makes mistakes. He’s a smart guy who doesn’t do his homework very well. You know the type. He makes stupid mistakes. In fact, I think one of the few mistakes that Rose makes in this story stemmed from one of these goofs. At the point when the villain is revealed to the reader (you sort of know, you kind of guess, but then you think it could be someone else because there are lots of creepy options), our intrepid detectives buy into his lame story with alacrity. He was spoon-feeding them what they wanted to hear, and I felt their acceptance of his story hit a wrong note.

However, that was just a moment in a very well-done story. One thing that Rose did especially well was juggle a large cast of characters, some of whom, presumably, were from other books (or at least they acted that way; yeah, I could look it up on the Internet, but why waste a good theory with facts?). She made the secondary cast into individuals – quirks, goals, actions, reasons for, wait for it, being in the book.

Yes, you read that right. Secondary characters who serve as more than window dressing. Shocked? I certainly was. The ones who served to draw suspicion from the real villain were largely successful. Except maybe for two individuals from the creepy-crawly boys detention facility; they did, indeed, have their own goals, but they were lightly covered. Picky, picky, picky, that’s me.

The rest of the cast, from Mia’s best friend Dana to her sister, the incarcerated-for-a-crime-she-did-commit Kelsey, to her partner’s angry wife, a strong and stand out in the busy story. Reed’s daughter behaves like a teenager. His sister is a little saccharine, but she’s also direct and solid. Even the cute kid character, and I swear I’ll deny saying this later, didn’t grate. He was so brave and so scared. You just had to love him.

Did I really say that?

Rose carefully revealed her characters. Each scene offered a little bit more, a new facet. The book I read before this one – a book that I swear I hated to pick up – did one of those cool character info dumps. You know what I mean, two people who know each for years stand around yammering about things that two people who know each other for years never need to voice. I was screaming by page three. The book was so bad I almost reviewed it, but Wendy has this thing about actually finishing the books, and I couldn’t. I simply couldn’t.

So I thank Karen Rose for letting her characters reveal themselves through the story. I like that they had guilt and anger and happiness. I liked that Mia thought she could tough out a no-strings affair with Reed, and I liked that both of them were grown-up enough to step on each other’s toes while caring enough to have each other’s backs. I liked that Andrew was indignant that a mere woman was assigned to find him – his hubris is such that he takes it as a personal affront when there’s no way anyone could know that he hates females. He scoffs at the stupidity of the police department. His battle with the other side is personal, very personal. They just don’t know it; that’s the problem with being an anonymous psycho.

Mia and Reed work deliberately to uncover their villain. They take advantage of Andrew’s mistakes, and the breaks in the case come as he grows increasingly desperate to finish his job. They tie the murders together with logic and deliberate effort. The reader isn’t forced to make a giant leap of logic to catch up with the author’s resolution of the mystery. It’s satisfying, the way all the pieces tie up in a neat little conclusion. You, dear reader, will feel sated. I did. No more serial killers for a while.

And, yes, even the title makes perfect sense. I’ll leave it you to find out why.

You can find Karen Rose here. You can buy Count to Ten here or here.

Simon Severton, the Earl of Deveringham, sweeps country-born Lucy Heathpot off her feet with thoughtful poems and sweet words. He married for the usual practical reasons: home, hearth and heirs. In Simon’s mind, Lucy’s job is to watch over the estate and the children while he is off in London saving England from a foreign menace. He forgets, however, to clue Lucy into the foreign invaders part of the program.
What starts as a marriage of convenience turns to something not-so-convenient when Simon develops an affection for Lucy. Right after consummating the marriage, Simon heads off to London on his newest assignment: charm, bed and infiltrate the world an Italian Contessa believed to know the intimate secrets of a French spy. Despite the very public wooing of a woman other than his new wife, Simon somehow believes word will not travel back to his left-behind wife in the country. Wrong. Lucy hears and takes action. A mission for a friend provides the perfect subterfuge for her show up on her husband’s doorstep. Soon after, the marriage becomes even less convenient for Simon. Lucy’s presence forces Simon to choose between bedding his wife and bedding his assignment. Being a bit dim for a supposedly smart guy, Simon tries to juggle both.
Since it’s best to start with the bad news, the most obvious place to start then would be with Simon’s alleged affair. But, even the bad knews has a shining light. Here, Mullins saves Simon from being a full-on cad by presenting a man conflicted. He is booksmart and accustomed to sitting behind a desk breaking codes, not escorting divas throughout the ton. He never wanted the assignment and longs to return to the country and his new quiet life with his lovely new wife. Him sleeping around is not the big problem here. No, the issue – the bad news, otherwise knows as the “wait, what happened there?” moment – comes when Lucy realizes her husband is not being unfaithful… and she gets even angrier. Instead of being happy with the news and Simon’s admission that he is falling in love with her, Lucy pushes her husband away and doubts her ability to forgive him. His potentially unpardonable sin? Lying to her about being a spy, thus being a different man from the one she thought she married. It’s a position that’s hard to reconcile with the time period, the person Simon has shown himself to be up to this point, and the reality of the reason for these two marrying in the first place (the marriage of convenience thing).
This is not the classic (i.e. annoying) romance “misunderstanding” where the parties only need to talk for two seconds to resolve all conflict in the book. However, it is an illusory conflict just the same. Lucy’s misgivings about Simon’s spy career do not follow logically from what comes before. Lucy arrives in London ready to find the truth about her husband’s romancing of another woman and equally prepared to fight for her husband’s affection. Then when faced with the real reason for her husband’s actions, Lucy seemingly stops fighting for him.
This flaw takes the plot in an odd direction. Fortunately, strengths exist here to keep the story from being flawed as a whole. Most of those relate to a palpable attraction between Lucy and Simon, and Mullins’ twist on the usual romance archetypes. Simon, while not the masterspy you would expect in terms of his willingness to do whatever needs to be done for the Crown, is a compelling mix of honesty and cluelessness. His parents’ cold relationship shapes him and what he believes a marriage can and should be – and what sex with his wife should consist of – yet he is open to change and understanding. He is at heart decent, having become a spy as a means of giving back for all that life has given to him simply by his birth. He is worthy and, lucky for Lucy, quite the skillful lover. Apparently he has read about more than farming and codes in those books of his.
Lucy also goes against type to some degree. She is attracted to her husband but is not the first to admit being in love. In fact, where her husband admits his feelings, Lucy remains reluctant to reveal hers. In a refreshing move, even though the sex scenes are heated, Lucy does not morph from virgin to sexual goddess in three pages. Sure, she enjoys herself. She’s not a prude. But, she grows into her sexuality in a believable way throughout the book.
The secondary characters, including the scheming countess and the wounded friend of the hero are not new to historical romance. They are stand-ins of the friends and scheming women usually found floating around the ton in this genre. One bright spot in terms of a refreshing character is Lucy’s American friend, Gin Matthews, who is not bound by the same strict rules as the rest of society, yet is forced to play the society game due to her need to marry. The only complaint is that the end to her subplot is predictable and not particularly satisfying.
Despite the plot pitfalls, this book does work. A light air along with a satisfying attraction between Simon and Lucy move the book from a “wait, what just happened?” miss to what is frequently termed “an enjoyable romp” near-hit. Two Weeks With A Stranger may not wow you with its complexity, but it will entertain you. There is no aftertaste, no extra pounds – just a general sense of being charmed without knowing quite how Mullins managed it.

Category has become something of the bastion of contemporary romance of late with Harlequin steadfastly serving up several lines that cater to variations on the contemporary theme. The trouble with this refuge is twofold: First, category isn’t always the best the genre has to offer and second, the term contemporary becomes a bit relative when cracking open a category romance can, often times, feel like stepping through a time warp straight to 1985 (or beyond).
So, these are the options facing bookstore-going readers: blood-sucking fiends or slouchy socks? Fortunately, there’s a third choice this month. For February, Harlequin’s Blaze offers up Jill Monroe’s Hitting the Mark, a contemporary that is firmly grounded in the mores and culture of twenty-first century life. That alone might be reason enough to declare Hitting the Mark a success, but this book does one better than simply avoiding the Jane-Fonda-workout-tape-and-scrunchies era: it delivers a deftly rendered story, one that rises above the thirty days of shelf life it’s given.
Hitting the Mark is largely a character driven romance that does not, the back cover description not withstanding, have an event/action motivated plot. Heroine Danni Ford is the daughter of a conman, and is, in fact, the descendent of a long line of conmen. Despite her genetic predisposition to scam and cheat, a stint in juvie (not only has this heroine done time, she did the crime too – scamming a casino) convinced Danni that the straight life is for her. Danni’s story begins (at least chronologically) when she bumps into Eric Reynolds in a Reno, Nevada Laundromat. She cons him out of five dollars, then asks him to have coffee, and their romance is off and running. They verbally volley and parry, they date, and they encounter real life stumbling blocks and conflicts. Danni’s past crops up between them, as do issues of trust (on both sides), and the trepidation that comes with allowing another person to see one’s emotional nakedness. Those trust issues are tested and retested as Eric learns the truth about Danni’s past and Danni learns that Eric is the chief of security at a casino (which forces Danni to test her trust in herself).
Monroe shines with the emotional bedrock she mines for Danni. Danni is both likeable and relatable for her foibles (both past and present) and Monroe weaves a fear into Danni that is endearing. It is typical for a heroine to have any number of overblown and ungrounded fears, but in Danni’s case her fear is tightly wrapped in, what for her, is the unknown: normal, non-scamming life and exactly what that might entail.
In addition to Danni and Eric’s story, Danni’s friend Cassie and her first love, Dirk, emerge as a second romance. Cassie and Dirk are reunited when their long ago made sex tape winds up on the Internet. Cassie was good and hurt by Dirk college-age decision to test their love by dating other people. It was a crappy thing for Dirk to do – and entirely believable – but it’s something he’s regretted ever since. Dirk’s vow to win Cassie’s forgiveness and restart their relation is a bit easy, but Monroe balances that by avoiding the magical absolution and healing that is so often seen in romance. Even after Cassie realizes that her feelings of love for Dirk have never gone away, she also says, Hey you hurt me badly and I’m still hurt, even if I love you (or words to that effect). It’s smartly played.
Into all this goodness, there is a step that raises questions. That bit about when Danni’s story chronologically begins. The distinction needs to be made because the book actually starts with a prologue flashforward to the story’s climax. By its nature, a flashforward tells of future events and this one is no different. In it, Danni has learned the truth about Eric – he’s an F.B.I. agent who used her to get close to her father in hopes of solving a large casino heist – her heart is understandably broken when she learns her trust was misplaced – obviously mislaid in Eric, but also herself. It is a bit disappointing to begin this story – perhaps any story – at the point most dreaded. The principles have already gone through those exciting butterflies-in-the-stomach portion of the romance and what is left if the heart wrenching part. Once the prologue is over and the story begins, Monroe quickly overcomes this with the excitement and heat Danni and Eric generate. But, the choice of the flashforward hangs over the story simply because a compelling reason for it isn’t evident. For example, Monroe works hard to keep Eric a mystery. Not only does this tactic succeed, but keeping the truth about Eric off the page allows for Danni’s mental wonderings about him and insecurities about their relationship to ring true without giving the reader the opportunity to lord their knowledge over the heroine. However, this hard work and triumph is undone by the fact that the beans have already been spilt.
Hitting the Mark is a compelling read, one that is often thought provoking and demands more attention than is normally required by category romance. The prologue by no means sinks the endeavor, but rather, more accurately creates a “huh” moment. Overall, Monroe is an author discerning romance readers will appreciate for the lack or artifice, contrivance, and cliché in her narration.
You can vist Jill here and purchase this book here and here.

Throughout Garwood’s current contemporary series, the various law enforcement-minded Buchanan brothers have found the loves of their lives, usually as said loves are the targets of deranged killers. You got a better way to meet chicks? I thought not. Showing up in the periphery of the stories has been Nick’s partner in the FBI agent biz, Noah Clayborne. Also showing up is Nick’s brainy, computer geek sister, Jordan. In the previous novel, Slow Burn, brother Dylan Buchanan hooked up with Jordan’s best friend, Kate MacKenna, setting off the chain of events that make this book possible. See, I told you it would all come together.
Okay, so at Kate and Dylan’s wedding, Jordan meets a not-so-very charming eccentric MacKenna relative who tantalizes her with stories of the ancient Buchanan/MacKenna feud (this wedding comes complete with seriously bad historical mojo) and lost treasure. Right after that, Noah tells Jordan that she’s, basically, boring. Stuck in a rut. So naturally, she follows the mysterious MacKenna to Serenity, Texas to find out the story of this feud and maybe solve a mystery or two.
Before you can say “hey”, the dead bodies start piling up. Jordan, by virtue of having one them stowed in her trunk, finds herself on the wrong side of a jail cell. Luckily, she’s already called the FBI – the cavalry is coming, though I suppose since Nick and Noah fly to Texas, they can’t really be called cavalry. Nick soon leaves the scene, but Noah sticks around to protect Jordan and, well, you know. Fall in love with her.
Mid-review confession time: I have a weakness for Garwood’s ditzy heroines. Sure, sometimes she takes it a little too far, but when she’s on, she’s great at the funny, loopy, goofy characterization that make her heroines memorable. Jordan started out with all kinds of promise, but, alas, promise went unfulfilled. Garwood seemed confused about how she wanted to play this story – either harkening back to her historical style or latching on to her grittier, suspense style – and Jordan suffered for the lack of a plan. I couldn’t get a grip on her.
This uneven characterization made it hard to relate to Jordan. Is she a klutz? Is she really taking the fact that a dead dude is in her trunk in stride? Is she hot for Noah? And is she a computer geek who is never more than three feet away from her laptop? Though we see her solving petty little computer problems, we don’t see her engaging in her life’s work. And at the end, she boldly announces to Noah that she’s not giving up computers. Whoa there, missy. Like, was that even a possibility? Was that even discussed? Was that even – really – the reason for Noah’s challenge?
Ostensibly, Jordan’s goal is to move out of her comfort zone – and she certainly does that – but I wasn’t sure why that mattered. Despite Noah’s challenge, I never got the sense that Jordan was unhappy with her life. Even with the advantage of several books of back story, I still didn’t fully comprehend why she got on a plane and headed for Texas. With all due respect to Texas, this course of action rarely makes sense to me anyway.
Noah, unfortunately, suffered from his advance press. He’s been identified as a womanizer, serial playboy, you-name-it (Jordan calls other women “Noah Clayborne Groupies” and decides she won’t be one). Of course, most of this takes place in other books or the night before this book begins. Even this mostly hearsay and rumor. Garwood has been building toward romance of Noah Clayborne since book one of this series (Heartbreaker) by trying to make Noah mysterious and sexy and worth the wait. I always found this to be a little forced on the part of the author, and didn’t believe that Noah lived up to the (supposed) hype. The lack of “getting to know Noah” in this book didn’t help matters much.
This is the same fate suffered by Noah’s ancestor, Cole Clayborne. He came off mysterious and sexy in For The Roses, but when Come The Spring was published, readers felt let down. It was as if Garwood couldn’t find a romance (or heroine) to match the man she sees in her mind.
As with Jordan, Garwood seemed confused about the “type” she wanted for her hero. His antecedents were alpha males with buttery soft spots for the heroines. And huge protective streaks. Man, a good Garwood hero makes sure his little woman is safe and sound. This is often the source of conflict between her heroes and heroines. An overly protective alpha male coupled with a headstrong, smart female leads to fun battles of the sexes. And works better, I think, in a historical romance.
Noah is certainly alpha, but how? He carries a gun, he’s big and strong, he commandeers Jordan’s bed. But I’m not sure what makes him a hero (I know what I am told about Noah, yes, but show me, show me, show me). I think the scene where they’re heading back to Austin after the third body is found sums it up. Long car ride, lots of time to talk, and most of the discussion is summed up in a single paragraph. Rather than telling me that Jordan is telling a funny story, tell the funny story, you know?
What I’m saying is, give these characters something to do with each other now that you’ve given them a whole book. Noah and Jordan aren’t really working together to solve this mystery. In fact, there’s a whole ‘nother team working the case. They spend a lot of time traipsing from crime scene to crime scene and sitting on Jordan’s hotel room bed, but when push comes to shove, the build-up of the relationship is largely off the page. And then it’s presented as fait accompli — the whole Buchanan family is clear on the situation, while the reader is still scratching her head.
And that, my dear friends, is because Garwood couldn’t decide if she was going romantic suspense or straight romance in the mold of the historical novels that sowed the seeds for this one. She slides mini-chapters into the text to allow us to get into the minds of her criminals, thereby aiming for the suspense camp. But she offsets this by having Jordan pore over the MacKenna relative’s historical research; Jordan ends up reading bedtime stories – of ancient, bloody Scottish battles – to Cole. Presumably, these tales will have something to do with a future novel (the treasure is still missing, you see) because they didn’t add a thing to this one.
One big problem I have, generally and specifically, is that neither Jordan or Noah had a personal connection to the murder mystery. Jordan knew the first dead guy, the second guy fixed her car, and was, well, punched by the third. Those are not personal connections; Jordan and Noah simply don’t have a stake in the chaos surrounding them. They’re disconnected from the action. The fact that they’re not engaged in the story means the reader isn’t, either.
The core mystery is interesting. Garwood gives us a character who disappeared from his old life and is fighting to keep his past a secret. She does a good, if not-wholly believable job, of adding a second layer of villainry: the local blackmailer (who has a lot of equipment that, well, he couldn’t afford and didn’t seem bright enough to operate). The seamy underbelly of seemingly-tranquil small towns always makes for fascinating reading, though this feels forced into the story. There’s a missing treasure somewhere in Scotland that takes up a lot of energy, only to go unresolved (why is there bad blood between the Buchanans and MacKennas? Who knows?). Oh, and Jordan’s father, a Federal judge, is presiding over a racketeering case and is under constant guard.
The big question of this novel is why did it need to be written? Why did Jordan and Noah have to be featured in a full-length (hardcover) book? What is it about their love story that is so unusual, so compelling, so ultimately emotionally fulfilling that an entire series has built up to this moment?
I don’t have answers to those questions. I’m still puzzling over the first sex scene. I mean, one second, it’s just good friends hanging out in bed together, in a non-sexual sort of way. The next, Cole’s jumping Jordan’s bones. Where in the world did that come from? I honestly think something was cut from the manuscript – something that would tie this whole thing together.
If you’re going to read this series, I think you need to read it all, pretty much in order. That way, all the characters and their relationships make sense. The Buchanans and spouses comprise a big, rambling mess of a family – and I mean that as a compliment because the interactions between brothers and sisters feels natural and are, if you want my opinion, the best moments of the book.
Otherwise, you can find Julie Garwood here. You can buy Shadow Dance here or here.

Liz Talbot, 47, mother of twin girls Sarah and Riley, 23, daughter to Sally, ageless, and ex of Ted, is a baker struggling to recover from the no-carb craze. The No-Bagels Emporium is not just any bakery, but an Upper Montclair, New Jersey institution, one Liz took over from the grandparents who raised her while Sally did her thing as a Radio City Rockette. Specializing in artisan bread – sourdough, baguettes, ciabatta, pagnotta, etc. – Liz, a true foodie, also provides gourmet items such as bourbon pecan cinnamon rolls.
Along with her formally trained baker and pastry chef Shemar, and with the help of her friend Celia and high school work-study students DeVon and Desharee, Liz is doing all she can to keep afloat, including preparing for the upcoming Fine Arts and Crafts Show where she will have the opportunity to display her wares to investors.
When Ted, the ex, suddenly dies, having failed to update his will (in which Liz is specifically named) and leaving her millions in assets tied to Talbot Advertising, Liz sees a light at the end of her tunnel of financial problems . . . a light that is summarily extinguished when she discovers there is more to her inheritance than seven figures.
She also inherits a partnership with Ted’s widow – Brandi, the “husband-snatching chickie-babe” responsible for the break-up of Liz and Ted’s marriage. Brandi, who dots the “i” in her name with a heart. Who owns a string of tanning salons. Who within weeks is on Liz’s bakery’s doorstep to point out that Talbot Advertising’s balance sheet has taken a nosedive since Ted’s death. Just what Liz needs. A second struggling business. No, what she needs is a break.
She gets one when attending a wedding with Celia. While in the hotel bar, Liz strikes up a flirtation with a stranger, and ends up in his room for a delicious encounter that lasts until the wee hours – and has her panicking the next morning over what she’s done almost as much as over being late to the crafts fair. It’s at the crafts fair where she discovers the identity of her mystery man. He’s Marcus James, a food consultant for Nabisco who might very well be the answer to her bakery’s future – or might very well be that and more if their anonymous affair didn’t make for a huge conflict of interest.
Liz finds, however, that no matter her bakery and sex life issues, she can’t turn her back on Talbot’s – not when so much of her past, and now her future, is tied up in the business. Stepping in to save the company will be saving herself, and the bonus she’ll negotiate for her return will help ease her debts. When she and Marcus reconnect, he wonders why she isn’t using her advertising background to market her bakery if that’s where her heart truly belongs. He never caters to her or soft-steps to spare her feelings. It’s a wake-up call Liz sorely needs, one she appreciates honestly without throwing his observation back in his face as a lesser heroine might do to create faux conflict.
In short, these are mature people, likable people, and characters worth reading about – ones who can bitch and moan in one breath, and get over it in the next. No mountains out of molehills. No misunderstandings in lieu of conflict. In fact, Liz’s practicality and determination to face her problems proactively is what makes her such an appealing protagonist, and what makes the story a winner. When she approaches not only her daughters but her mother as well, insisting they all take stock of their adult lives, the reader sees the family support system at work. The dynamic is realistic, avoiding the often clichéd dysfunctional fare. Neither is theirs a fairytale of perfection resolved with a slick deus ex machina.
If there is any part of the book deserving of the chick lit label, it’s Castoro’s abundant references to name brands, labels and designers. Never bemoaning the fact that she is now sporting a wardrobe from The Gap instead of Albert Nippon, however, Liz’s first person voice is engaging, self-deprecating, and relevant. Her thoughts pick up where her dialogue leaves off, and often with such witty irreverence the passages demand being read again. Even so, the pacing, the emotional resonance, and Castoro’s deft juggling of multiple plot lines makes the story zing.
The book is not a romance by genre standards. The focus is on Liz, her family, her businesses, and her life as she deals with Sarah’s fear of the bar exam, Riley’s appearance in a off Broadway play featuring “full-noodle frontery”, Sally’s dramatic machinations, and her growing attachment to Marcus. In the end, however, ICING ON THE CAKE serves up the perfect recipe for a compelling, yummy, and yes, one-sitting read.
You can visit Laura here and purchase this book here and here.

The Stranger I Married is the story of “London’s most scandalous couple.” Notorious for their strings of lovers and, uh, wicked wits, Lady Isabel Pelham (aka Pel) and Gerard Faulkner, Marquess of Grayson decide that marriage will offer the social cover they need to carry on with their wild ways. What with one thing and the other, love is the last our characters desire, and this marriage will keep their hearts safe – they are good friends who would never cross the L-word line.
Then something horrible happens, Gerard runs away from home (for four years!), he returns with a newfound desire to make their marriage real, and the game is afoot.
Where to begin? Pel is the widow of a charming rogue who seduced and married her. Well, you know, she’s the daughter of a duke or something like that. More on that later. Her husband was a bit of philanderer and Pel, broken-hearted and hardened by his perfidy decides to indulge her sexual appetite while avoiding commitment. She dumps her paramours and moves on before things get too intense (or, I suppose, too boring). Other than sex, Pel does not seem to have any particular interests or hobbies. Good thing this novel largely takes place in the bedroom.
Gerard, who lost the woman he apparently loved with all his heart and soul, is your basic paint-by-numbers marquess. Rich, handsome, good with this fists, rides well, beloved by his tenants for his willingness to work side-by-side with them. Did I miss anything? At some point during his four-year vacation, he decides he wants to woo his wife, and he returns home, ready to take up the duties of a real husband. Granted, he doesn’t bother to visit his tailor prior to his return, so therefore must postpone the actual public efforts until such time he is suitably attired. Yeah, he stays at home while she deals with the scandal of his return. Great guy.
All of this puts our story into the camp of “wounded souls finding happiness with each other”. Pel, who sees Gerard as the same type of man as her deceased hubby, will refuse to believe he’s changed. Gerard, who, uh, wow, give me a sec, oh, lost his true love, will allow himself to feel for another woman. They will acknowledge the error of their prior thinking, stop with all the philandering and wickedness, and live happily ever after.
Probably it’s because I’m a stickler for things like character development, but a key flaw of this novel is that all the bad behavior attributed to Pel and Gerard happens off the page. Let me say that another way: the character flaws that are required to be present in order for me to believe that both our hero and heroine change are missing from the actual story. I am told that Gerard sleeps with anything that moves. I am assured that Pel is sexually adventurous in a monogamous sort of way. And the horrible, tragic, life-shattering event that sends Gerard into the wilderness for four years? Barely developed.
I mean, I know there are all sort of romance rules and whatnot about sleeping with other characters within the confines of a romance novel, but, c’mon, if it’s a key character flaw, show it.
This is really, really important. Gerard is apparently devastated by the death of the woman he loves, a woman married to another man, a woman who is now his lover and about to have his child. This grand passion occupies, oh, three or so pages of the novel, including a sex scene. Yet it’s the impetus for Gerard’s leaving, becoming a better man, returning, and, somehow – and this part is beyond me – falling in love with his wife. Likewise, Pel’s lovers keep falling head-over-heels for her, and marriage is the best way of keeping them at a distance. Day races through the novel’s set-up in what I believe is an attempt to focus on the romance, but the romance is flawed because the inciting event(s) are treated with cavalier disrespect.
In order for me to buy into this story, I needed to believe that Gerard is a changed man. Day tells me he’s different. My gosh, Pel takes one look at him after his four long years away – by the way, he didn’t write, he didn’t call – and immediately sees a different man. More mature, less happy-go-lucky. Personally, I didn’t see much of a difference, but, in my defense, I knew nothing about how he was before. In short, Gerard appears to have a goal without the requisite motivation. Pel, poor thing, seems to have the opposite problem.
As you correctly surmise, with weak characterization comes weak conflict. The primary conflict of this novel is Pel’s refusal to make her marriage to Gerard real. When the romance is the key conflict, things are not good. Pel’s resistance is founded upon her lousy first marriage, but, you know, it’s hard to believe that she’s so scarred. There’s a lack of specificity to her pain that makes it seem forced upon the character and reader. Remember, all the bad stuff in her life happened long before this novel began. She’s been a widow forever. Likewise, Gerard’s broken heart is missing the necessary concrete details that would make the contrived secondary conflicts believable.
Because there isn’t really any solid reason for these characters to stay apart – they are, after all, married – Day test drives a laundry list of potential earth-shattering problems. She inserts the stock “conniving other woman” conflict, the “jilted lover” conflict, the “evil mother-in-law” conflict, even a half-hearted attempt at the “older woman/younger man” thing. When none of those find traction, a trumped-up “Gerard is afraid that Pel will die in childbirth like his dead love” conflict is introduced. The last always irritates me when I read it in novels. Let’s get real. It takes a pretty myopic, clueless hero to ignore the fact that, all around him, more women are giving birth than dying. If you’re going to throw up a Hail Mary conflict, build it, make it strong, make it worthy of the effort.
There is one area of conflict that Day suggests is present, yet doesn’t explore. Pel and Gerard entered into their marriage with the agreement that they’d be free to carry on as before. You know, lovers galore. During Gerard’s absence, Pel keeps up her end of the bargain. She is, frankly, a blight on the Grayson honor. Her moral shame is such that I was stunned that she would dare show her name in public. Then again, she’s the daughter of a duke and, well, wields commensurate power.
Yet Day glides past this conflict without a second thought. She misses the opportunity to show Pel’s character by forcing her to face her critics. Almost equally egregious is the fact that she fails to use her setting to its full advantage. Regency-era ballrooms and house parties and meetings in the park are all opportunities for Day to show us the rapier-sharp wit Pel supposedly possesses…and to show the cruel gossip and pettiness that supposedly dog her every move.
Yes, dear friends, this book is a RINO. That’s right, a Regency-In-Name-Only. Unless you count the joy of tossing around Regency-style language (a valet here, a dowager there), the time period has no relevance to the story. In many ways, the same book could have been set in modern day Los Angeles or outer space without missing a beat.
Day wastes her era and setting, choosing instead to obsessively chronicle sexual activities of her characters. Gerard could, sure, exhibit his emotional growth in a variety of ways, like through conversation. He chooses to fight his battle by having sex with his wife every moment he can. Apparently, the best way to show maturity is by sporting a constant erection. Somehow, sexual satisfaction becomes a stand-in for emotional connection.
Oddly, all the sex is less-than-erotic because this couple doesn’t talk or have much interaction outside the bedroom. Given that this is one of the “hot” books you hear so much about, the low steam factor is disappointing. Rather than having Gray prove that he’s a big boy in the bedroom, I would have preferred less sex with better quality — and a whole lot more relationship development.
You know how sometimes you have a really good idea but can’t seem to execute? So you flounder and end up with something that isn’t what you wanted? That’s what this book feels like. The idea – as exemplified in the cover copy – was intriguing enough to get me to buy the book. The finished product, however, doesn’t seem to know what it wants to be when it grows up. Is it a hot, sexy read (not really)? Is it a deeply emotional, healing story (not really)? Is it a historical Regency (no!)?
A final whine: why the first person title for a third person story? Just asking because, well, if I don’t, who will?
You can find Sylvia Day here. You can buy The Stranger I Married here or
here. You can disagree (or agree, that’s fine, too) with me in the comments below.