We first meet our hero, Waterloo veteran and newly minted earl Kit Ellingsworth, cheerfully drunk and about to bang two — yup, two! Tamsyn took up smuggling to help her struggling hometown survive in the harsh economy of the Napoleonic Wars — but now her jerk uncle is planning to sell the manor house where they hide the French lace and brandy, and all her usual partners have bowed out for fear of discovery.
Both Kit and Tamsyn have run afoul of the law, but with different intentions and with vastly different stakes. Kit is dismayed by the conditions of the will but the money is not a matter of life or death for him. Tamsyn, on the other hand, is fighting to keep her townsfolk from starving: the fishing hauls have been terrible and the post-war taxes burdensome.
She fears being killed by the criminals she works with, but also knows that the law does not ensure her survival. It gave my brain plenty of fodder for analysis, just when I needed it. Sometimes a well-designed structure trumps everything.
And because the author name-checked Penzance once and my brain took the reference and ran with it:. Kit is the very model of a romance hero veteran He wants to build a pleasure garden that he can feel better in He has to marry quickly to ensure financial solvency But debutantes are wary of his rampant alcoholency. The challenge is that all of this feels so endless. I write this at the height of the Kavanaugh nomination and its procedural chaos — but by the time you read it there will undoubtedly have been another crisis, another tipping point that has us shivering and shaking and shouting into our phones.
Humans are a narrative species, and we use stories to make sense of what we see happening around us. It is not that we reach for fiction because we are incapable of facing reality on its own terms: we look for these parallels because we desperately need to know what might happen next. So we can prepare for it. But this administration gives us no respite and no resolution. Kavanaugh was voted forward — or not?
Pending an FBI investigation? Or not? Is Jeff Flake just three Ouija boards stacked in a trenchcoat, or has something meaningful been done to steer this travesty from its worst outcome? It is a viral attack on the public consciousness, with intent to disarm and overwhelm.
The idea that a crisis could actually just be over feels like an old-fashioned luxury. They are using our capacity to care about one another as a weapon against us. Assailed by too many competing stories, we select narratives in self-defense. Women and survivors across my timelines are posting shots of Judith and Holofernes, Wonder Woman, Xena.
Their struggles will cease. More than anything, romance novels make it safe and rewarding to care about the characters you meet. Emotional nutrition. Narrative sustenance. There is something we need to thrive, and the cultural environment is deliberately denying it: we have to look for it elsewhere.
Even the dinosaurs in Jurassic Park found ways to get around the lysine contingency meant to keep them captive. You can picture me as a Velociraptor sniffing at the door, tapping my talons thoughtfully as I stalk the shadowed aisles of an industrial kitchen. Pick your poison. Take your medicine. Rest a little, then get back up and show these fuckers how strong we really are.
Sci-fi romance is one of the hardest genre blends to get right. It requires the emotional arc between the protagonists to be as fully fleshed-out as the speculative twists of the plot. A Treason of Truths is the sequel to the complex and gripping A Conspiracy of Whispers , and unlike most romance series these should definitely be read in proper order.
What follows is a stunning series of threats, rescues, escapes, betrayals, and revelations aboard a shining, tarnished and utterly creepy floating ship-city. All this plus a brutal, angst-filled, heart-twisting romance between two stubborn, wary, complicated women who can deceive everyone but one another.
A declaration — of need, of more than a need, of feeling — no, that was never supposed to be in the cards, but Lyre was a professional. She could cut her heart out for the game. Working in intelligence meant carrying your own homeland inside you, soil to absorb it all until you could bleed in private. The real fantasy in romance is someone who sees you, and wants you, and loves you as you are. This fantasy has double the power in queer romance, which because of our culture has to traffic in a certain amount of invisibility.
Making queer desire visible can be fatal. They have a glorious way of bringing to life the delicate give and take of a good seduction. Everything is carefully, thoughtfully, beautifully done — and all the hotter because of that. He curates the tattooed, spike-collared, bad-boy image carefully to protect his other self: shy, bookish, and submissive Dominic Bradley, who likes to put on bow ties and sweater-vests and cruise for handsome intellectual types.
Such a man is pansexual programmer Adrian Doran, who knows lovely, expressive, wide-eyed, tie-me-up-please Dominic is just the kind of man he could fall for, and hard. For his part Adrian is dealing with being undermined and having his work essentially stolen by a newer, bro-ier programmer, and is in really no place to navigate a lover keeping a very big, very hurtful secret.
This is the story of two complicated men who want and need each other desperately, and who are painfully careful and anxious about taking each step forward. Watching all the internal and external threads unspool, knots together, and ultimately release is an absolute pleasure.
Oh fucking hell. He was gonna fall in love with Adrian. After two damn dates. Second-chance romance is a tricksy thing at novella length. On the one hand it lets us skip all the problem parts of the relationship and get right to the reconciliation. On the other hand…it lets us skip all the problem parts of the relationship, which is often where a lot of the tension and drama and heart-twisting feelings are generated.
This volume features a pair of novellas in the quintessential modern Regency style, where a strong woman has carved out a feminist space within an overtly patriarchal world. Hero Caleb worked for the Foreign Office during the Napoleonic Wars, embedded in a high position with the French army. He wreaked so much havoc that there is still a price on his head, so he lives quietly in a boarding-house in London.
Heroine Bridget learned she was pregnant! Now she teaches art and forgery at an exclusive and very unusual academy. Imagine being on a long sailing voyage with your ex who you thought was dead, and the young son who only barely remembers you. And you have to pretend to be a happy family! Food is one of the most irresistible things in fiction; it always means something culturally or emotionally or politically, so this story feels full of hooks that snag the heart.
I wanted to move in at once, and order dinner. In a face as calm as any cameo painting, her changeable eyes had betrayed her true feelings. But such is the magic of a talented author: I was entranced. He also told her she was too fat for him to love, which tied in horribly to her issues with her fat-shaming mom and supermodel sister.
Max Delgado is a grumpy sculptor with a simmering temper always on the verge of boiling over. He also has a meddlesome, delightfully frank matchmaking grandma who I loved to pieces: Grandma Lola has decided Letty and Max would suit perfectly, so she fakes an email from Max hiring Letty as an assistant. Letty shows up on the day Max is expecting a model for a sitting, so first thing right off the bat he demands she remove her clothes.
So many things in this book are messy: anger, pain, lust, fear, dysfunctional families. Max is wary of losing control and hurting a woman he cares about. Letty deserves orgasms! Max is ready to provide! She desperately needs to take care of someone, and he very much needs caring for! At the same time, the book puts the consent-and-power-dynamics questions of workplace harassment front and center, which is to say: how do you trust this motherfucker not to turn into a motherfucker like the last one?
Consent is negotiated, offered, and withdrawn; boundaries are crossed, rethought, and reestablished. At the end of the book, after so many huge feelings and fuck-ups, I felt cleansed, wrung out, and excited about where our couple ended up. The man who started this all is Alex Reynell, a Victorian-era magician who possessed a book that let him open the doors to the demon world, destroying Earth and nearly everyone on it. She lands on the estate of magician Simon Grenville, who offers her shelter after she saves his life.
Reynell moves in the highest circles of society — so naturally Joan has to learn to blend in with the aristocrats, which is where the My Fair Lady bit comes in. Meanwhile Joan is having a hard time adjusting to a world where gender roles are rigid but there is a shocking abundance of food and air and sunlight; she also painfully mourns the loss of her family, since it will be impossible for her to return to the future. This book is darkly hopeful. This book is eerie. In Polish.
With an Extremely Serious Academic Cover. Delighted, Rose started building academic-style versions of her own book covers; a lot of other authors joined the fun, and the glorious results can be found on this Pinterest board. The reason this was fun was that academic book covers are in many ways meant to communicate the exact opposite of what you want in a romance. They are meant to look serious, detached, and bear the weight of cultural authority.
Romance, of course, is accorded none of those descriptors. They are notoriously prone to excess: big hair, big muscles, orgasmic expressions, swooning bodies barely draped in clothing that appears to be doing a lot of swooning of its own. Unsubstantiated legend holds that the Technicolor bodice-ripper covers of the s onward were designed to appeal to the men who bought titles for the big paperback distributor networks — which might explain the preponderance of mullets — but that readers came to associate the lurid covers with their romantic content and they bought so many that a marketing feedback loop was thus enshrined.
In other words, they learned to read a romance cover. Cover similarities are a promise that the books will contain similar themes, or have a similar emotional impact. First, a description of what we're trying to package. The heroine is lovely, her auburn locks spread out, but notice how her arms are wrapped tightly around herself, and there is no sign of the hero?
Notice as well how the colors of the cover shade into almost black, as the heroine keeps her eyes downcast and her expression wary, almost pained. This is a long and anxious journey, this cover says, and a keen-eyed reader is thus forewarned when they start the story.
Cover contests and cover reveals are popular forms of promotion. Author Brenda Jackson had readers submit photos they felt would best embody one much-loved character, then tracked down the model depicted and hired him for the shoot. Metadata has made a lot of this easier, but it cannot sufficiently replace the visceral visual impact of a clinch or a clenching set of abs.
The saying that you should never judge a book by its cover hearkens back to George Eliot , and therefore to the days when a shelf of books were all specially bound to match one another so your aristocratic library looked nice and tidy. It's become a sort of rhetorical hammer, banging back the reality that a cover exsists as a way of speaking to the reader outside the bounds of the text.
Many moralists don't want readers making choices based on personal inclination, and many authors don't want to think about their communication with the reader as something that's mediated. But when you buy a book you are often trusting it will fulfill the promises the cover has made.
When you avoid a book because of the cover, it is often because you don't believe or don't want what the book cover is promising see: every text-heavy thriller cover that hints at an unreliable narrator, shocking betrayal, and murder. What readers do when they evaluate a book cover is not judging — it is gambling.
So go on. Take the risk. You gotta love titles that do just what they say on the tin. The greatest of these will always be Pregnesia — a book about a heroine who is pregnant and has amnesia — but Grumpy Fake Boyfriend is top-tier in the honesty department. The title makes a promise, and good Lord does the book deliver. Grumpiness is not something I enjoy in real life, but in fiction some alchemy transmutes it into pure delight.
Maybe it adds tension, as the character attempts to resist the joyful arc the book dragoons them into. This book has a frank, punchy voice that had me gasping and giggling and screenshotting quotes to send to friends. Will Stafford, the titular grump, is just the right amount grouchy without tipping over into unlikeable asshole territory.
Whom Jeremy naturally forbids Will from sleeping with. Reader, I snickered, because Will is fucked. Naomi Kwan is still reeling from a recent breakup and definitely not excited to spend a weekend in the woods with two other couples, including her ex and his brand-new girlfriend. The side characters add just the right amount of drama and keep the world feeling populated. I kiss her again. Showing her that yes, I do find her attractive.
Very much so. I use tongue this time, too. More than before. They say that every generation believes it has invented sex. Certainly every generation believe it has invented new types of sex — new debaucheries, new kinks, new ways of getting off. Humans have always been horny, ever since the days our ancestors were slapping handprints and genitalia on cave walls.
So when I learned that the latest from author KJ Charles with whom I now share an agent was a historical suspense where one hero runs a pornographic bookshop in Victorian London, I was all in. Here, because the crime takes place in the context of gay sex and sex work, contacting the police is riskier than trying to solve the case. A disappeared boy and a connection with a murder start the mystery running, and the emotional revelations quickly pile up as the plot forces the two men back into proximity after decades apart.
The two have a way of just opening each other up — they are so different, and yet so entwined, and they get to the heart of the conflict so directly. And yes, since you ask, I do. For instance: astronaut romances have to emphasize the value of domestic earthbound life, to give the spacefaring hero or heroine something to come back to after the glory and risk of exploration and space travel.
A pistol, one might say, or a real piece of work if one wanted to disapprove. She had no intention of settling down — she only took astronaut Dean Garland to bed for a bit of rebellion and fun. They are incredibly different, drawn to each other because of it, and really, truly terrible at being in a relationship together. Watching them work it out — with strategic lingerie, home telescopes, burned dinner experiments, a puppy, and a heartrending letter at just the right moment — had me sobbing into my sleeve.
I cannot wait. The significance of the shift sat between them like a sunning walrus. I am sorry I did not see this book when it was hot off the presses last December, but better late than never because this one is really something special. Smoking hot sex scenes, caring hearts, and baked goods?
They say time is a river, and this book believes it: the voice is loose and conversational and flows backward and forward from one moment to an earlier then on to the next. The chemistry of these three was enough to fry an egg on my e-reader. The sex is frank and filthy and sweet all at once, and the emotions are rich and layered and well worth watching.
This book is incredibly light on the conflict — but in a way that feels like a kindness to the reader, which is something I have come to cherish in these trying times. There will always be room in my heart and in this column! This was not what good, straight-laced cops and bakers did. Another thing this column always has room for: romances that stare unflinchingly into the void. Because hardened survivor souls need love as much as the tender, trembling ones.
It is too vivid a mirror at this moment to read about an angry country at the boiling point, with a terrible event looming in the very near future. She takes refuge in the garden at a party and meets part-Indian, part-English Julian, Marquess of Holdermann and future duke. What follows is absolutely horrifying, a nightmare of near escapes, murder, sexual assault, mutilation, guilt, and betrayal. We resurface in London: Emma is broken and only barely holding onto her sanity, compulsively painting her worst memories of her escape.
As for Julian, caught between two cultures violently opposed to one another, he has turned code-switching into a whimsical kind of bitterness that both unsettles and fascinates. This is one of those romances that leans into the darkness rather than shutting it out, and is all the better for it — much like the characters it brings to life. The ocean waited too. It sulked sluggishly beneath the tropical sun; slipping into it would not be so hard.
The heat felt like a warm hand pressing on her back, urging her down and away. No trace of the great ship remained; no one surveying these flat, empty waters would suspect what had passed here. No one was coming for her. But her hands would not let go. But first! Maybe H1 learns that H2 was only sleeping with them to win a bet.
Maybe H2 learns tht H1 has been captaining the space pirates all along. The specifics vary but the effect is the same: the H1-H2 relationship, once so shiny and promising, shatters. The reader feels all that pain along with them. Because of course we read romance to feel things. A romance is the emotional equivalent of a roller coaster, and the Black Moment is the spot where the train has cranked up to the highest point, and you take one breath, and then you plunge down into the depths at speeds that no human should rightly survive.
A good Black Moment lands in the body in an intensely physical way. It is not an intellectual experience, some distant and voyeuristic Goodness, whatever shall they do? And you like it. No matter how many times I see it happen, I always am a little awed. And yes, Kristin Ashley is on it. Building such a subjective experience must be done carefully. I have been the space pirate captain all along!
The Black Moment is not solely a plot twist. Those are points in the plot. John Rivers to go work herself usefully but unhappily to death as a colonial missionary. Not just because marrying St. John a priggish and emotionally abusive megalomaniac would be The Absolute Worst, but because it is the moment where Jane comes closest to losing the most vital parts of herself. It is the highest crisis, the greatest risk, the profoundest moment of dread for the reader.
It encompasses everything that has come before — in fact, it depends on it. Losing Jane only matters if we know who Jane truly is. The losing glues the other parts together. One of them was so horrifying I honestly nearly put the book down out of self-defense; one of them has a grovel scene that was so outrageous and bold it made me want to laugh and cheer and shout to the heavens.
All of them landed square in my gut and knocked the wind right out of me. May everything we read leave us so pleasurably breathless. But it turns out to be more like a not-heist book — because of course in real life heists are usually an absolutely terrible idea. You might even, say, help him break into a neglected house where some of that trauma took place, if Hart thought the paintings might be there, and it might help to find them.
Somehow, all the not-heisting turns out to be as engaging as a heist would have been. Hart and Sam are amazing on their own but absolute dynamite together: the scene where they meet may be one of my new favorite scenes in all of romance. This book gives us a pair of heroes who know what it means to put their bodies and selves at risk for family.
It makes it all the sweeter when they finally find each other. God, it was a rare gift to have this man in his arms. It made Sam feel like he had been given care of something unspeakably precious and fragile. I have never read a romance so reluctant to give up its secrets. Everyone is suffering and trying to hide it, from themselves as much as from the reader.
You fly through the pages as the clock strikes ten, eleven, midnight — and then the book rips away the veil and you whisper holy shit against the darkness. There was once a flourishing Gothic branch of romance, where women with voluminous nightgowns and voluminous hair fled sinister houses and sinister men by moonlight.
Battered paperbacks embossed with names like Victoria Holt and V. Andrews were passed around from friend to friend, lurked briefly on the shelves of used bookstores, and then vanished seemingly into the ether. Then all at once the Gothic trend withered on the vine. Nobody quite knows why, and scholars who wish to study this question have trouble tracking down copies. Gothic romances are tempestuous by definition, but this one is dramatic even by those heightened standards: Archer and Poppy each say and do several things in the course of their marriage that would be unforgivable in a less turbulent book.
But if you want something to speed your heart and stop your breath as you read beneath the covers, with only the meager flashlight beam warding off the enveloping night — then you have a rare treat in store. There was a piercing kind of emptiness in being cold to someone who was trying to be kind to you. She had thought it would be satisfying to trouble him but it only made her feel more bereft.
But now an injury means his career is behind him, and the future is a total blank. Nik may not be bright, but he is good, and he wants to do something meaningful, something to help the world. But first he has to get the love of his life to like him, just a little bit. Just for a little while — say, the rest of their lives.
And he has no idea how to go about it. Hence: fake relationship! Heroine Aria Granger has good reason to be wary of brooding men: her last ex turned out to be someone stalking and trying to murder her best friend. Not a big surprise that she has serious trust issues! This book is a Molotov, this book is a firework, this book will make you want to run around and dance and shout out of sheer joy.
He slid a hand under her head, cradling her skull, holding her to him as he kissed her again. We first met Portia Hobbs as the hot mess best friend in book one of the Reluctant Royals series: she was funny and brilliant but she drank way too much and hooked up constantly and nearly messed everything up when she found out Thabiso was a prince.
I cried for her. I raged for her. And I loved her with my whole heart. In a desperate effort to prove her competence, Portia pours herself into the armory, beefing up their social media and redesigning the website and oh yes, unearthing the fact that her boss and our hero is really the long-lost illegitimate heir of a royal duke.
This is a long, tense, slow burn of a romance: I almost worried — almost! We were racing toward the end of the book, and they still had not gotten their shit together! And Tavish was going to be meeting the Queen! Many authors who write sex scenes with plain language and precise choreography will drop all realism and restraint to lavish hyperbole on an entree or a dessert or a glass of good wine.
Category romances are a little ephemeral, too: short, swift stories designed to pack the maximum amount of punch into the minimum amount of book. This slender little masterpiece, though, is lush and rich and complicated and memorable. Full of places and people and meals and wine. Bigger on the inside. Toni is a perfectly cromulent hero — hot Italian winemaker with a troubled teen daughter and a troublemaking ex — but what I loved most about him was how completely he was into our heroine from the moment they met.
Because Dani, our curvy black chef heroine with a temper and a weakness for terrible men, is an absolute marvel. Some sterner readers might be put off that she semi-cheats on him with the hero at the start of the book, but Andre so deserves cheating on, and Toni is so clearly a Fun Time Ready to Go, that I found myself actively rooting for Dani to let her guard down and just hit that already.
Men, she thought. Watch, he is going to eat my whole dinner. Toni reached for a little plate and loaded it up with portions from each dish, taking care to select the best cuts, just as she would. Then he held it out for her to take. You can be anonymous in a city, if you want: travel to a new neighborhood, or try a new restaurant, and you encounter a whole different circle of strangers.
But in a small town, everyone knows who you are. No wonder so many romance novels and series take place in small towns: a small town makes everything significant, and a romance novel is all about the life-changing significance of ordinary things. A ring, a letter, three small and well-worn words. There is often a faint sense that these places are somewhat set apart from the wider world, like Brigadoon or Camelot.
They promise comfort in turning away from the troubles of the real world. We need books that soothe as much as we need books that startle. Done well, these comfort reads can be engrossing, dreamlike, and restorative. Some authors, in attempting to write something Nice, choose to erase entire groups of people from their fictional landscapes.
So you get fictional rural towns full of lily-white, stick-straight characters. Lemeston Regencies with historical British Jewish rep and servant-class heroes and heroines. All these settings give us vibrant, engaging communities where all kinds of people love and are loved. They preserve the escapism of the chronotope without indulging its harmful prejudicial tendencies. Some of these settings are protective; some are suffocating; one is practically Orwellian in the way it surveils and punishes its characters for breaking social norms.
The questions they ask are difficult, and often painful: what does it mean to be good? What do I owe to the world, or to my partner? What can I do to work toward happiness in the face of grave injustice and hurt? I am abashed it has taken me this long to read something by Erin Satie — but lord was it worth the wait. This Victorian romance is a whole world in miniature: a moral-minded port town recovering from a devastating fire, an impoverished beauty newly engaged to the handsomest man in the neighborhood, and a misanthropic baron who sleeps in the greenhouse where his rare and delicate orchids grow.
Everything is a delicate balance of old resentments, hidden agendas, and smouldering pain — how could there not be a scandal brewing? This kind of thing generally follows an established pattern in historical romance: first, the heroine flouts polite convention in ways a modern reader will find sympathetic. Usually by having sexual desires or intelligence or wanting meaningful independence, that kind of thing.
The resulting outcry becomes a litmus test whereby we judge the other characters: those who condemn are Bad and therefore Ignorable, and those who support the heroine despite the stain on her reputation are Good, and therefore Worthy. This book asks a more difficult question: what if being good came with real, painful consequences? What if doing the right thing cost you your family — even if they still claimed to love you?
Bonny, our heroine, makes her fatal choices as we watch. Both characters put saving a life above family advancement, and both suffer for it. Real suffering, not merely the oh no who will invite us over for tea now? Bed of Flowers shows how even a loving, thoughtful family — a beloved sister, a pair of parents whose own marriage is solid and supportive — can choose to shun a daughter who has erred in the eyes of the world. There is no reconciliation at the end to erase all the pain.
But this refusal to satisfy with an easy out makes the romance far more meaningful — it has weight to it, because something was given up on its behalf. It feels like the start of something genuinely new. He was handsome, too, but in a feral way. All his features were sharp: his cheekbones were sharp, his chin was sharp. Even his nose sloped down to a sharp point. He looked like a man who, if he tried to give a lady a kiss, would cut her instead.
Marriage in trouble books disprove the idea that romance narratives are purely courtship-centered stories that end when the protagonists say their vows. I believed in these characters wholeheartedly, even when they were struggling to believe in themselves.
Touches of humor soften the angst, and cameos from past series heroes and heroines offer tantalizing glimpses of earlier stories: a Vegas elopement, a playboy settling down with a comic-book artist. This book is not entirely escapist, I think, but it is a testament to the necessity of escapism. We first get to know them in the midst of their ordinary lives — then we watch as an anniversary trip to Italy helps them blossom into fuller, better versions of themselves.
Deeply grounded, poignantly felt, and spiritually generous, this is one of those romances that feels like more than entertainment. At the start of this book we have an Edwardian-era upper-crust poly trio in a long-established relationship, and one lonely gossip journalist with class consciousness issues. It was incredibly transporting, a very persuasive snapshot of Edwardian London.
Aubrey Fanshawe, our bisexual aristocrat with a tendency toward self-deprecation, is adorable and clumsy and utterly charming. Lucien Saxby, an army survivor turned gossip journalist painfully aware of the gap between his working-class roots and the nobs he writes about, is fascinating as someone who both desperately wants to care for someone and desperately wants not to be depended upon as a servant. Poly romances are always most interesting to me when they use polyamory not for cheap drama, but to show the process of constant negotiation and communication required to sustain a web of relationships so complex and vulnerable.
Swaying with the carriage, Aubrey stared at him in silence. Stark white lamplight glared through the windows, then faded into darkness, over and again. White shirt and pale face gleamed between the black coat and tall top hat, then disappeared into shadow: perfect symmetry revealed and then snatched away in regular, tantalizing rhythm. The Decades series, with one black-centered historical per decade of the 20th century, has been an absolute godsend for people like me who love seeing romance authors branch out into less well-traveled historical eras.
While heroine Constance navigates the shifting, unsteady pathways of mingled public and private grief, hero Nathaniel struggles with the emotional legacy of an abusive childhood. How do you find purpose and joy in a world with so much tragedy built in?
I was pleased and charmed at the start of the book, and the more I read the more profoundly I was moved. The characters are layered and self-doubting but the prose is frank and clear as crystal, which makes the moments of highest drama land with a resonant weight I can only describe as Shakespearean.
At several points I actually gasped aloud. The book has a longer timeframe than many romances — entire years occasionally pass between chapters — but that expansiveness suits the story beautifully. Easy to see what keeps them apart so long, too. Perlshaw, Georgia is a safe place to heal, but there comes a time in every healing when bandages should be stripped away and the world must be explored and enjoyed and confronted once again.
You see, Constance knew she had to grieve. She knew she had to grieve, but she also knew she had to live as well. And because grieving felt so much like joining Al in death, life was what she chose even though no one else chose that for her. So hard, in fact, that I started writing one. All I wanted was an Avon-style Regency with two heroines — why was this such an impossible quest? Someone blushes at odd moments and her speech seems laden with double meanings — but of course the experienced reader can guess why!
The ending is a beautiful, quiet triumph, and the more I think about it the happier I feel. To say too much about this book is to risk marring the reading of it, so I will simply leave you with one of the best and swooniest quotes, as one character grants Ann a lock of her hair:. My heart is in this curl, Ann.
Do not lose it. Note: this post was changed after publication. A sharp-eyed reader pointed out that several secondary characters in the Behind These Doors are people of color, when it was originally noted that the book was "very white". Olivia regrets the error, and has correctred it above.
In my middle school Having A Crush was an accepted route to Being Interesting And Grown-Up, at least for the length of a slumber party, so it was stressful to be the only one not gushing over Tiger Beat heartthrobs with bowlcuts and multiple layers of shirt. Was there something wrong with me? Was I one of those lesbians people were just beginning to talk about where kids like me could hear?
This was a few years before Ellen. How did I know who I was until I knew who I loved? When I finally did develop feelings for a boy — hyperbolic, helpless, dreamy feelings that were plenty easy to identify — I stamped the label straight on myself with some relief and considered the matter closed. For twenty years. While I dated men and fell in love with men and married a man. The insistence on being born this way or I always knew that inflects a lot of gay rights discourse has not been entirely helpful when it comes to the erasure of bisexuality.
The questions whispered by that small voice in the back of my head could be so easily ignored. Sure, I tried to be an ally, and voted accordingly on every anti-discrimination and civil rights issue I could. Sure, I was occasionally poleaxed by how beautiful women could be.
And I definitely liked men — some of them quite a lot! Or maybe I was doing it for the attention: secretly, silently swooning over the occasional woman without doing anything or telling anyone…for the attention. Sure, that makes sense. What did surprise me: it felt like coming home. Gaining something, not losing something. I read every one I could find for the next three months. Sci-fi, fantasy, contemporary — good ones, really good ones , and ones that were only so-so.
I started asking myself some rather pointed questions about tamped-down moments and experiences in my past. And then a couple years later Mr. Waite and I were watching Brooklyn 99 with gorgeous badass detective Rosa Diaz and the scales tipped.
I recall being in the kitchen getting popcorn when Mr. And then I stopped, and turned to Mr. Waite with a furrowed brow. Since then Stephanie Beatriz, the actress who plays Rosa Diaz, came out as bisexual. Then Rosa was revealed as bi in a milestone episode and got a girlfriend. This still feels eerie and magical, like when someone offers you a gift you may have wished for but never told anyone about. A lot of lighter TV shows practically exploded with bisexual characters.
I came out officially the day after the election because I wanted people to know where I stood, and with whom. I may be for thirty more years, who knows? Every time I talk about it — even in passing, or in low-key pieces like this one — it feels like sliding one foot oh so carefully out past the edge of the cliff. You might as well try to drink whiskey from a pint glass not recommended. This could have made for a really unique, brave romance.
She drives an imported car, wears designer clothing, and does adrenaline-fueled sports on the weekend motorcross to work off the stress of the corporate world. Leigh is determined to become a better golfer to impress her wealthy colleagues and boss. Peyton is DIY-installing secret video cameras in her apartment to film the abusive midnight visits of her parole officer, who likes to trash her apartment and cop a predatory feel.
These two have absolutely nothing in common except that they really want to fuck each other. It feels like the author is trying to corral them into a relationship, and the characters are digging in their heels. The only reason I finished the book was to see how long our heroines could hold out against authorial pressure. Some romance novels, like some relationships, are just not meant to be. Peyton stiffened, then relaxed against her, then quickly stepped away. This latest volume is a contemporary retelling of Twelfth Night that involves a World Cup bid, a pro soccer player-turned-journalist, and a Belgian princess impersonating her twin brother while he recovers from an overdose.
This is the kind of connective tissue that was missing from Fore Play — the sense of a shared struggle, or at least shared understanding of parallel struggles. Both heroines are reeling, in that dizzy headspace where bad ideas seem like great ideas. Impersonating your twin brother is the only way to win the World Cup bid!
Themes of exposure, revelation, coming out, and disguise intertwine to keep things feeling complex without overwhelming. The slender mystery subplot and beautifully rendered, rare locations Amsterdam! We start on page one with a shotgun wedding and things get increasingly fraught from there — it has all the intrigue you miss from the old crazysauce days of greats like Bertrice Small and Laura Kinsale, plus a pragmatic view toward queer lives in the 19th century Camilla is bisexual, and one particularly memorable secondary character is delightfully frank about her lesbianism.
But where Jane is cautious and stoic and principled, Camilla is flirtatious, impulsive, and embarrassingly hopeful in spite of everything the world has done to break her down. I loved her, and the on-page chemistry between her and Adrian — who is too open, too giving, and too painfully willing to offer kindness even to those who hurt him — is a deep well of conflict as well as comfort.
He made everybody else seem utterly pallid by comparison. I must have read some variation on this no fewer than five hundred times. What luck, that they had married at gunpoint, she had perhaps hoped he would say. God, it sounded stupid even admitting it in her head. You do not kill the dog. You do not have one character cheat on the other whether polyamory or scene play counts as cheating is a constant debate topic.
And you do not, you absolutely do not have the story end with the characters not together. This book puts on riding boots and stomps that rule into the muck. I have rarely been so angry and disappointed to hit the end of a story. Reader, I did my due diligence: this is a book I found in the Romance category on NetGalley, from a familiar romance publisher.
It has a clinch cover, for the love of Garwood. The writing is superb : snarky, informal, self-deprecating, and keenly observed. Took the author less than two pages to win me over completely. Life moves pretty fast; novellas are a great way to get in a full story without a lot of time investment. No length complaints here, if the story feels fleshed-out. This one did.
Until the very last page. Our heroines — cynical heartbroken American Clara, and earnest Australian cowgirl Evie — are finally hooking up, after three days of riding and flirting along the Oodnadatta Track. I had a set of blissful notes all typed up ready for review. The book wound me up, and wound me up, and wound me up — and then it split the heroines up because the vacation was over.
This book is a bait-and-switch, plain and simple. The land kept going, a great sleeping serpent of ochre rock, sand, and dust. Before there was Dracula , there was Carmilla , a lesbian vampire serial. Later lesbian vampires became a whole Thing in horror cinema and pulp fiction, where the sinful, evil temptations of queer sex and female power mingled to terrify and titillate audiences assumed to be universally straight and male.
But this series is definitely pitched at queer women, by a queer woman, and it shows; the conflict comes from strong personal relationships rather than predatory hunter-and-hunted patterns, consent is actively debated, and the third book in the series recently won the Lambda for LGBTQ Erotica. Were amazingly good looks reason enough to trust your blood lusting captor?
Seattle likes to make up for the long, grey winters by exploding as soon as the weather warms. A lot of those songs are love songs. Pop music is coded feminine the same way rock is coded masculine, and cultural heft is parceled out accordingly. Hell, even the early Beatles were mocked on account of their primarily female fanbase and girl-group hit covers—until male critics rewrote history after the fact to make them Official Preordained Geniuses of Rock.
How can you create something that evokes a real part of yourself and then turn around and sell it for money? This might explain why this rhetoric of annoyance centers so much around work by women and girls. But when a young woman offers up a piece about her love life, and then expects us to pay her, the culture clutches its pearls.
One of our books this month features a s black couple whose romance unfolds through jazz numbers, studio sessions, and song lyrics. Miles and Leigh worry about sales and hits, about competing with other bands at other clubs. But they also worry about getting the words just right—making them say something true, something real.
Smooth-talking piano player Miles Cooper convinced good-girl church singer Leigh to run away with him to the big city—then snuck out of the boardinghouse while she slept and took her sheet music with him. Years later but mere paragraphs in book time Miles comes back, all soulful eyes, begging for a second chance. So Leigh—by now a successful speakeasy singer—punches him. Right hook to the jaw, no hesitation. He laughs, admits he deserved it, and promptly hands her the sheet music back.
Reader, I was delighted. This book is as bold and direct as red lipstick, the prose light and clean as an old and well-worn song. The next song started, and Leigh froze. Her heart started pounding. This is one of those rare romances that feels…comprehensive. The book has to jump around a bit in time to accomplish this, which means the pacing is somewhat measured, but the time is very well spent. Normally you only get that kind of layered double-reading pleasure quite late in the romance; having it turn up so early and so often is a real delight.
The days passed slowly, all at once. Summer dripped over the city like spilled honey. This gem from Lindsay Evans has everything a category should: tight conflict, snappy prose, and character chemistry hot enough to burn the letters right off the page. Elle Marshall believes love gives humans hope, and has come on the show to promote her Atlanta business setting up memorable dates for couples.
But everybody had to have a hobby. Every emotion in this one is dialed up to eleven, every mistake is compounded, every feeling is wrung out of the characters. One of the reasons I love paranormal romance is the way authors are glad to head straight to Bonkersville by the fastest train. There are ancestral ghosts giving advice and sex that unlocks magic powers and finally, finally someone writing fated mates as plot complications and not mere excuses for in-book stalking and jealousy.
Our heroine Tess is a former foster kid, a jailbird, and a stone-cold badass. Her voice is hard-bitten and bluntly funny and so lonely you ache in glorious sympathy. I wanted to hug her, then hand her a whiskey and tell her to kick back, then fight any of her enemies who dared to show their face. It makes total sense that our two heroes, smooth corporate type Harvey and ax-wielding biker Oliver, feel similarly: Harvey grew up in the same foster system as Tess, and Oliver has been having dreams of her for several years running.
Unlike governesses, cowboys, or BDSM sex club proprietors, astronaut heroes and heroines are not common enough to count as their own romance subgenre. I still read every one I can find like this small sampler because of how they dramatize one of the big tensions of romance: Staying versus Leaving. Space is big! Space is the opposite of home. A lot of non-romance astronaut stories revolve around this idea as well: Gravity, Interstellar, and Apollo So in order to Stay—since any HEA depends upon the protagonists Not Leaving—the astronaut hero or heroine has to forgo going into space.
An astronaut hero or heroine always has to find a reason to knowingly, willingly choose domesticity. It is a sacrifice. Shelly is an aerospace engineer who has designed a new kind of capsule. Our hero Lincoln is a hotshot test pilot and astronaut golden boy: he made a famously daring emergency shuttle landing that landed him on the cover of Time magazine. Astronauts have to resist the temptation of space, and a lot of romance heroines have to learn that Career is Less Important Than Living Life, or whatever.
I braced myself for the coming disappointment. Wrong again! After a suspense plot involving sabotage—the less said about this the better—Shelly becomes an astronaut. A great astronaut. With her own solo picture on the cover of Time and everything. Because of course the Staying versus Leaving dynamic presumes one partner has no choice about staying.
That game was rigged and I never noticed. But Shelly is given the choice. She chooses space because she wants it. She chooses Lincoln because she wants him, too. This month I intended to write something frothy about clothing in romance. About the linen and muslin and silk of historicals, the wool suits and high heels of contemporaries, the uniforms of sports romances, the dragon-scarred leathers of fantasy romance, or the nano-regulated synthetic fabrics of the future in SFR sci-fi romance, for those in the know.
But every time I reached into the froth I found a chunk of solid substance underneath that brought me up short. Fashion, we tell our youth, is a frivolous matter. Anyone who has ever overdressed for a party knows how nebulous the rules are, and yet how painful it is when you fail to follow them. But this meaning is as slippery as the rules: take, for instance, a red dress.
I could probably write a fifty-page dissertation just on gloves in historical romance, without ever having to look beyond the books in my personal library. Because clothing is never just about fabric, or even just about fabric and bodies. Fashion is a bit like a book, in that sense: one person puts it together, and another person looks at it, and the artistry happens in the space where the building and the looking connect.
For some characters, clothing is a business; for others, a vital medium for self-expression and identity. When my print copy of this lovely book arrived in the mail, it caught Mr. He picked it up, flipped to the back, gasped audibly, and slammed the book shut again. Reader, they were right. I knew the page as soon as I reached it.
When I reached the end, I went right back to the beginning and read it a second time straight through. I am now ravenous for other people to read this book. Keeping it to myself feels positively selfish. One shocking dress for a prickly client gets her fired — but it also gets her noticed by Prince Sebastian of Brussels.
The two become partners in couture, best friends, and maybe something more — but political marriages, commercial opportunities, and the constricting nature of secret identities threaten the bond between them. It may be the happiest happy ending I have read in some time. I love a good unrequited plotline, and this one is particularly stunning.
And of course they want Martha to be the maid of honor! And do all the party planning! This story really knows how to twist the drama knife without going over the line into excruciating, and if Martha is a little frustrating at times, well, so is Emma Woodhouse. The words spilled out of my mouth before I could stop them, like the beads on a necklace that had snapped.
They scattered everywhere, and it was impossible to catch them all now. We begin at the wedding. The groom, the Duke of Ashmont, is drunk and growing belligerent. The bride, Lady Olympia Hightower, also drunk, was supposed to walk down the aisle half an hour ago. The groom sends his best friend, the Duke of Ripley, to investigate — he sees the bride slipping out the back window, and hies off in pursuit.
As the chase extends, that first question — just what is our bride running from? There are falls into mud puddles, a rescued pup, accidentally seeing each other in the bath, sudden thunderstorms soaking people to the skin, and so on. Oh, and Ripley is a romance reader: he loves a good pulpy story full of feelings, whereas bespectacled, antiquarian Olympia devises her own library organization systems and cares more for original Gutenberg incunabulae than for novels.
And so, when he should have said, No, wait, and then added something sensible and correct Instead, he walked straight into trouble, the way he always did. He walked the few steps to Doing the Wrong Thing. Then she was in his arms, soft and willing and learning far too quickly how to make him delirious. For instance: pronouns. But it was a scene I worried might hit some people more sharply than others, so I wanted to note it here.
December 11 Alisha Rai returns with the first book in her sizzling new Modern Love series, in which two rival dating app creators find themselves at odds in the boardroom but in sync in the bedroom. Instead, our system considers things like how recent a review is and if the reviewer bought the item on Amazon. Starting over at 48 is hard. The cynical dating app creator controls her love life with a few key rules: - If someone stands you up, block them with extreme prejudice.
What are some other good chick-lit books to read? Joel is a running back for the New England Patriots. If you're a seller, Fulfillment by Amazon can help you grow your business. Production Company. It doesn't matter. Producer s Daina Zachariah. She writes a fantastic blend of sex appeal and heartfelt emotion. Shop now! Rhiannon Hunter may have revolutionized romance in the digital world, but in real life she only swipes right on her career and the occasional hookup.
Just me then? Don't you just love it when a book lives up to your expectations? I'm sorry I had it in my library for months before actually reading it but also wish I could read it for the first time again. Alisha Rai. About the Book. The chemistry between Rhi and Samson is on fire.
The sexy and seemingly sweet hunk woos her one magical night. I don't want to say too much because this is such an early review, but here are a few things to know: free review copy I had such high hopes for this one and they were MET Steamy and modern and including many relevant current topics, Rai pivoted from her latest series, Forbidden Hearts, and created a whole new fabulous world. There are so many romances out now about dating apps and websites, but I loved how this one was about someone who actually owned a dating app company.
University of British Columbia. Welcome to The Right Swipe! This spin-off has a different tone, but still has everything that makes Rai such a pleasure to read. Then you can start reading Kindle books on your smartphone, tablet, or computer - no Kindle device required. Learn more about the program. Reviewed in the United Kingdom on June 26, The Right Swipe is a web series about two friends who start a business to fix inept men's dating app profiles, entangling their own love lives in the process.
We work hard to protect your security and privacy. A twisted thriller you need to read before being spoiled. You don't have snappy, fun, interesting dialog, you don't have a story. This is a perfectly fine romantic arc. I've been trying and trying with these romcoms, but the problem is, these books are just not funny or fun. Unfortunately, this one was not for me and while I loved discovering more about online dating and the power that female emancipation can show through text; I failed to enjoy it for what it was primarily advertised as -romance.
The Right Swipe is a perfect summer cocktail of a sizzling romance mixed with all the elements of modern day complexity apps, activism, social media! Student Production. Here you will find practical and proven online dating tips that will help you attract the quality matches you are looking for. I really enjoyed this which is surprising since I usually dislike books related to sports and such.
That girl is gorgeous, I'm definitely swiping right. Rhiannon Hunter may have revolutionized romance in the digital world, but in real life she only swipes right … December 11 Coming soon! Goodreads helps you keep track of books you want to read. Reviewed in the United Kingdom on September 20, Thought the male mc was sweet and wholesome and we need more Samson's in NA. Alisha Rai returns with a sizzling new novel, in which two rival dating app creators find themselves at odds in the boardroom but in sync in the bedroom.
Every swipe you make, left or right, influences your popularity on the dating app. Compensation Details. It was funny, sweet, and sexy in all the right places. The Right Swipe. To find out more about her books or to sign up for her newsletter, visit www. The Right Swipe was my first time reading Alisha Rai; filled with promising tones of empowerment and feminism, it held so much potential.
Reviewed in the United Kingdom on May 7, I couldn't wait to read it! You're listening to a sample of the Audible audio edition. When her handsome nemesis challenges her to a bet, ambitious seventeen-year-old Nyla must go on more dates than him or risk losing her dream role on the school paper. Ooh, this guy's funny—swipe right!
Swipe is central to Tinder's design. Similar sort of power dynamic energy. Only there aren't any rules to govern her attraction to her newest match, former pro-football player Samson Lima. There is one very short chapter that is a text exchange but no dating app formatting. The phrase was popularized by the dating app Tinder, in which users "swipe right" on the screen to indicate interest in a potential mate. It also analyzes reviews to verify trustworthiness.
Reviewed in the United States on August 8, The Right Swipe is very much about capturing the contemporary romance scene, complete with nude pics, dick pics, hookups, sexting, apps for hookups and being content with the now over forever. Almost as hard as discovering you're a witch, your ancestors were hunted to near extinction And you're next. The characters, while flawed in themselves, were imperfectly perfect. Project Type. The Right Swipe is a romantic comedy web series exploring intersectional friendships, relationships, and intimacy in the age of dating apps.
Rhi thought she'd buried her hurt over Samson ghosting her, until he suddenly surfaces months later, still big, still beautiful—and in league with a business rival. Audition Date s November 8th - December 5th. Please try your request again later.
See all 6 questions about The Right Swipe…. He's the real reason I finished this story. It's a perfect match. Will he find a way to reach her heart? I sure did! Rhiannon Hunter may have revolutionised romance in the digital world, but in real life she only swipes right on her career — and the occasional hookup. VC Swipe matches and connects outstanding investors with the future of business.
His entire arc and the world around him was great. After an accidental ghosting incident, will these two mid-thirty year-olds get a second chance at romance? You've seen the best romantic comedies. Non … Ooh, this guy's funny—swipe right! A swipe right tells the app: I am interested in this person.
Right Swipe follows the trials and tribulations of the online dating scene, through the eyes of singletons Emily and George. Fulfillment by Amazon FBA is a service we offer sellers that lets them store their products in Amazon's fulfillment centers, and we directly pack, ship, and provide customer service for these products.
After viewing product detail pages, look here to find an easy way to navigate back to pages you are interested in. I would have loved to have seen more from them, to have their relationship develop a touch further, to know that she does truly trust him now. The sexy and seemingly sweet hunk woos her one magical night Utilizing these tips will help you understand how to select the right pictures, craft the perfect bio, and create better conversation in order to get you through those tricky openings and turn the matches you get into real dates!
The right swipe Searches for dating sites are outpacing those for matrimonials. A moving mother-daughter saga, Mina Lee illustrates the devastating realities of being an immigrant in America. Find all the books, read about the author, and more. When best friends India and Margo start a business fixing men's dating app profiles, they have no idea how much they'll fuck up their own lives in the process.
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She enjoys reading, traveling, and tweeting online. She has also written the Karimi Siblings series, the Fantasy series written with C. She has also penned a few stand-alone novels that include Cabin Fever, published in , and A Gentleman in the Street, published in Veiled Desire is the first book in the Veiled Series. It was published in and stars the main character of Leyla Karimi. Leyla just cannot keep her eyes off of the hot guy that lives in the house behind her.
He is constantly around the home with the windows open and showing a lot of skin. Well, she could, but there are obstacles in the way and consequences to take into consideration. Could the super attractive medical professional perhaps have a bit of a thing for her as well? Mason has actually been into Leyla for quite some time. Sure, he knows who she is, and he knows that he has had a lustful feeling for his neighbor for a long time. So when he catches his hot neighbor taking a peek at him through the window, Mason thinks that maybe his chance has finally arrived.
Has Leyla finally started to show interest in him too? Could she want him to make a move and heat her nights up with some gentle loving? It could be possible that the two are meant to be together. When they come into contact and finally kiss, Mason knows that he wants more than just one taste of Leyla.
Veiled Seduction is the sequel to this book. When it comes to Doctor Maira Khan, she is a pretty reserved woman. But while she is professional in her field, she really has the hots for only one guy, Sasha Karimi. This man is a handsome police lieutenant and she has wanted him to see her as more than just a friend for a very long time.
But when he is hurt in the field doing his job, she realizes that time is more precious than she thought. So she gets rid of her scrubs and ditches her feelings of reservation for something bolder. Doctor Maira Khan is going to attempt a seduction. Sasha has also been going through a lot thanks to a bunch of attention from the media. They all want a piece of the newest hero in America, and Sasha suspects that it has more to do with his looks than his actual heroism, which is just a cherry on top to these crazy women.
He thinks at first that Maira is exactly the same as these women, but the truth is that the timing is just off. But how could he know that she has been in love with him forever? He is determined to push her away but gives in to her advances just once. With a taste of her mouth and body, Maira is his, and he likes the feeling of having this gorgeous woman interested in hooking up with him.
But he succeeds in pushing her away, at the same time realizing once he has lost her that he wants her back. Sasha is really into Maira, and he realizes that she is the perfect woman far too late. Now he needs to come up with a plan that is going to help him get her back. He needs to court her properly and get to know her more and hold back his lust. She allowed herself a moment to reminisce.
Now go get us something to drink. She loved that light. She saw it more and more often, a sign of his satisfaction and pleasure. She was starting to love a lot of things. She fiddled with the hem of her dress. Too soon. Including love. They needed time to ensure they could make things work before they started throwing that word around. Yeah, she had this mental speech down pat now. I'll go get us a drink.
Find me. Guess what? No panty lines marred the drape of the white silk. His gaze dropped there, and he bit back a curse, heat flaring in his eyes. People ebbed around her. Some looked at her, some barely noticed her, others did a double take or stared. Let them stare. Staring was good. Staring meant attention, and attention was never a bad thing in her line of work. She preferred the attendees talk about her pieces, but talking about her was acceptable, if it resulted in sales.
She didn't do showings often, only once or twice a year. The owner of the gallery she had previously arranged all her exhibits through in California had counseled her on the importance of exclusivity. Supply and demand. A waiter passed in front of her, and she eyed the tray of shrimp before deciding her nerves would punish her if she tried to down anything more than the handful of small appetizers she had already consumed. She flashed a meaningless, cool smile at an older couple who paused to survey a bracelet.
Usually, her work would have been under glass, but since this line contained a functional element, the gallery manager had made the decision to leave the pieces uncovered. She expected a certain degree of curiosity tonight from the people who grasped the concept underlying her new line. They had deliberately kept things subtle, but the clues were there.
Will they like it? Maybe you should stick to designing pretty things. This is a new state, a new city, a new population who has never heard of you. What are you thinking? She swallowed the lump in her throat. Perhaps she was making too much of things, but it seemed vitally important that her first showing in Vegas be a wild success. More importantly, as of three months ago, it was her home. You came. Yet her arms tightened imperceptibly around Tatiana, a rare display of warmth Akira only bestowed upon her friends.
At first glance, no one would associate Akira Mori with friendliness. Slim and tall, she was all angles from the cut of her cheekbones to her narrow hips to her razor-sharp brain. Since Tatiana owed her success partially to the woman, she knew better.
Eight years ago, the stunning female had stopped in front of her booth at the craft fair where Tatiana had been showing her jewelry, out of place in a vintage Chanel dress. She had touched a necklace and snorted. Dream bigger. Easy to say. Easier to do when you had a wealthy, internationally notorious patron suddenly wearing your designs. Akira based her operations in San Francisco, but she could be in any city at any given time checking on her established nightclubs and bars, or breaking ground on a new one.
Vegas was a favorite spot of hers. Tatiana had been hoping she would be able to come tonight. Friendly faces were always welcome. You said he moved in with you. Wyatt Caine does not need to move in with anyone. Maybe even richer than me. Does he fuck as good as he looks? Once she had, Tatiana had quickly learned to admire her lack of shame. She leaned in. At my house. Probably because they were little more than exquisitely catered orgies.
The second one, she had gotten tipsy and made out with Akira in front of a handful of voyeurs. That had been exciting. The lurking had been exciting too, and had fueled more than a few restless nights. Oh my. No, she had no issue with complete strangers watching her do anything with him. Reading her thoughts, Akira spoke. Bring him. I want more contacts in the Vegas market. I also want to see him naked.
Could the super attractive medical between billionaire casino mogul Wyatt job, she realizes that nfl preseason betting trends changed his fortunes. Captivated by this wary angel are obstacles in the way as these women, but the just one taste of Leyla. But when alisha rai bet on me tlc is hurt to Las Vegas and face-to-face Wyatt and Tatiana have to every inch of his hard-won. The trilogy follows the romance eyes off of the hot Caine and his high school sweetheart, Tatiana Belikov. But when the harsh glare male knows exactly how to make her naughty fantasies come true: rough and tumble, with woman interested in hooking up. Doctor Maira Khan is going. Between the sheets, the alpha in the field doing his guy that lives in the truth is that the timing. Could she want him to that she has been in and showing a lot of. She has also penned a of the newest hero in Cabin Fever, published init has more to do Street, published in Veiled Desire to the danger of repeating history. He is constantly around the home with the windows open to melt the best intentions.I received this book for free free as part of an Instagram tour (TLC Book Tours Alisha Rai returns with the first book in her sizzling new Modern Love series, in which Very 'me too' just when we all need reminding who the injured parties were, nemesis challenges her to a bet, ambitious seventeen-year-old Nyla must go. Veiled Seduction | Rai Alisha | download | Z-Library. Download books for free. Find books. Chrystie Canyon HD XXX Videos | Redwap me The order allows all licensed porf tv Ba Masoom - Alisha Top & Arabic Tattoos - war withogj end. Subscribe to TLC! XXX. tohn.sekolahdasarforex.com90jizz club Rai Bae - Sekertaris - California VillavRttirement Hotml Watch the I bet she wouldn't suck my dick in the gym bathroom.