Five authors have written one hero into five different romantic tales. For this next week you get an exclusive introduction to these male leads by seeing their five unique replies to one Valentine Questionnaire. Meet a cowboy, an FBI agent, A Highland Laird, a real estate developer and a vampire all by the name of Valentino.
I’ve read these replies. Some of these guy wouldn’t know romance if they had to spell the word with Alphabet Soup. Please heroines of these Valentino stories, kick these boys in their toys!
At 38.5 weeks gestation, my twins were estimated to weigh upward of 8 pounds each and baby boy wouldn’t keep his head down. So I had a c-section.
What is sexier than sex on a stick? Sex on a stick that purrs and has momentously hugelicious control issues; in walks a manimal named Darkness and suddenly I need a shower, chocolate, intravenous injection of dilaudid and my mom talking in my ear to distract me until the hot flashes go away. From the second he was mentioned back in what, was it Moon’s book–maybe it was Shadow’s, I was all heavy in the breath for him. I love my men to be morally ambiguous; I want them to be like my coffee, black on the inside with a good dose of potential evil. Darkness isn’t called Darkness because he cuddles puppies and kisses babies; this cat likes playing with his dinner before he eats his prey. Eat me Darkness, play with me, eat me! Please mom, don’t read that! 
Back in November I got a surprising email that served to inflate an almost impossibly large bloggerly ego. I used to get a plethora of email requesting me to read this, do that, post info, kiss babies and enlarge my penis. Often I had blog tour instructions telling me to: put my right arm straight in front of me with my palm down, bring my left arm straight out in front of me, also with my palm down. Flip my right hand over. Flip my left hand over. Touch my left shoulder with my right hand. Touch my right shoulder with my left hand. Slide my hands up under my hair and over my head. Put my right hand on my left hip. That should be followed by my left hand to my right hip. Then put my hand on my big booty… yeah, I’m sure some of you can see that some tours felt like I was doing la Macarena.
This is a do-over review; Becca Brooks is amazekittens and I wrote the original review for this book when I was at a supa-low-stress-puppy-kitten point of bad, badness. This book deserves a more coherent review. To be fair, I don’t know what the hell I was trying to say or what anything I was babbling meant when I read the first review again (It’s not there anymore so don’t look for it)… let’s thank my psychiatrist for higher dosages of happy pills so that I’m no longer crying into my pillow and my reviews are a little more in the tongue of the human species. Huzzah, Dr. Joshua Golden!
You know that author you love but always tangles you up in knots and spits you out with every book, do you have one of those? I do. Lexi Ryan does that to me. She’s my crack. My meth addiction. She’s my heroin. I need her and she effs me up everytime I read one of her books. God I love her… can I have her book babies? This is a dysfunctional relationship. I understand that, but I don’t want it to be right.