Recipe for novella perfection: Take one Mia Devine and one Lucas Fournier, marinate in a brine of sex, sass, and sentiment for an hour and a half, slap it on a kindle, and voila! Yanked! Served hot, with a side of swoon. [5/5 stars]
I suppose I was introduced to romance at an early age. When I was around 10 years old, I happened upon a highlighted and dog eared copy of “The Joy Of Sex” on my mother’s bookshelf. I was shocked. I was fascinated. Maybe it was the 1970s power muffs, maybe it was the mustaches, maybe it was phrases such as “tongue bath”, who knows. As a teen, hiding Danielle Steel and VC Andrews paperbacks, I think I was drawn to reading romance/erotica because I felt like I was reading something I wasn't supposed to. Something forbidden. As an adult, I enjoy the truth of love. The triumph and tragedy. The build and the break. I'm drawn to stories with grit, and substance, and meat on their bones. The format breakers, the unusual. I’m always searching for that next great read. The story that burrows deep into your guts, and changes you.