When it comes to romance novels, I was a bit of a late bloomer. I believe it was my sophomore year of college during those two months-ish when I was living in an apartment far away from everyone I knew (before I moved into the TroCoHo, the most awesome house EVER) and I didn't have a TV. I spent a lot of time reading, mostly random books I had been given or bestsellers. And then one day I was at the drugstore and I came across The Calhoun Women by Nora Roberts. And I was single and replaying my own escapades in my head wasn't quite cutting it and there was no one around to judge me, so I bought it. And then I bought the second one the next day.
The great thing about these books is that they encompassed several different kinds of lady fantasies: There is the tomboyish girl, Catherine, who starts out making smart remarks and snarking at the polished businessman and they have heated arguments and are breathing all heavily with pent-up aggression and then whoops! they start making out. And there is Amanda, the professional, practical girl who gets seduced by the burly, calloused construction worker even thought she knows she couldn't possibly be attracted to him, he's far too dirty and masculine. And Lilah, the free-spirited, long-haired hippie chick who draws the bookworm guy out of his shell and into her bed after nursing him back to health. And, finally, there is Suzanna, the sad and wounded divorcee who falls for the overprotective cop even though she never thought she could love again.
Cliche? Perhaps. But titillating? Oh my, yes.
And I've also read, um, this entire series. If things like plot inconsistencies and misspelled words bother you then I don't recommend them. But if you can get past this they are quite entertaining
with snappy dialogue and delightfully light and fluffy plots. Hot vampires with raw animal passion who actually get it on (as opposed to a certain other vampire series which is a gigantic tease)? Yum.Romance novels didn't give me an unrealistic perception of sex at a young age. Movies, TV, books without graphic descriptions of sex, gossip, magazines, and my own overactive imagination game me plenty of unrealistic ideas. Romance novels just gave me bedtime (and bathtime) entertainment and an inventory of naughty-part euphemisms... my favorite of which might have to be "throbbing member." Throbbing? Um, is it infected?
