I had read this author’s other book, Cop Appeal, and apparently I’m reading the books out of sequence. That seems to be the story of my life, always out of sequence. Well it didn’t make much difference how I read them, since they are both full of sex. Sex here, there and everywhere. Now that I’m so called single again, I just keep picking up those kinds of books. I mean the sexy ones. I think it's indicating something Freudian is going on upstairs. Hmmm, non sono il sesso privato, penso!
The day I started to read this book, I decided to stay in the office for my lunch. The office was empty of all the attorneys. I have peace at last from those who like to stress over such things as pens, the cost of paper clips, and quality paper. Anyhoo, the office was so wonderfully quiet, and I’m swimming in every moment of it. So what does a good paralegal do, put her feet up on her desk, lean back and eat a good pastrami sandwich. Definitely, not one from my cousin’s deli.
Of course, I can only put my feet up when no one is looking. If the office manager decided to hang around, I’d have to go to the park and sit on a bench and battle rats with wings, pigeons. But not today, I'm enjoying life, reading and eating lunch in my little cubical, when I hit the really intense sex scene. Right at that pivotal moment, a sudden snap, crack and huge POP, and the back of my chair broke off. I work in a law firm, do we smell law suit? Probably not. They’re will be a suit, but it will be the firm’s lawyers going after the chair manufacturer, for money, not for me.
Anyhoo, as I was tumbling backwards, like Alice down the rabbit hole, everything went in slow motion. My sandwich flew up, flinging lettuce, pastrami, and my whole wheat role in every direction. I was picking lettuce out of an open file cabinet for days to follow. I mean, suddenly there I am, on my back looking up at the ceiling with those little holes in the panels. Hey, there's a stain up there! A leak over my desk!? Even one of my, oh so cute, vampy trampy wedges, freaking came right off and was sitting neatly on my desk as if it was on display at Macy’s. My kindle had flipped right out of my hand, and went spinning away like a top across the floor, stopped at a polished black loafer, about a size 12.
Hmmm... I looked up to find my eyes traveling up the long jean covered leg of the firm’s investigator, Sean. There I lay in the rubble of my chair, sandwich, with pastrami firmly imbedded in my hair, and my kindle at the toe of a very tall, very blonde, very blue eyed babe. I had yet to say anymore to then, “Hi,” and then would run away to hide in my cubical like a pimpled face fourteen year old giggling girl. I didn't really giggle, but I did hide. He's just too cute for words. There is that Freudian thing again.
Of course, I can only put my feet up when no one is looking. If the office manager decided to hang around, I’d have to go to the park and sit on a bench and battle rats with wings, pigeons. But not today, I'm enjoying life, reading and eating lunch in my little cubical, when I hit the really intense sex scene. Right at that pivotal moment, a sudden snap, crack and huge POP, and the back of my chair broke off. I work in a law firm, do we smell law suit? Probably not. They’re will be a suit, but it will be the firm’s lawyers going after the chair manufacturer, for money, not for me.
Anyhoo, as I was tumbling backwards, like Alice down the rabbit hole, everything went in slow motion. My sandwich flew up, flinging lettuce, pastrami, and my whole wheat role in every direction. I was picking lettuce out of an open file cabinet for days to follow. I mean, suddenly there I am, on my back looking up at the ceiling with those little holes in the panels. Hey, there's a stain up there! A leak over my desk!? Even one of my, oh so cute, vampy trampy wedges, freaking came right off and was sitting neatly on my desk as if it was on display at Macy’s. My kindle had flipped right out of my hand, and went spinning away like a top across the floor, stopped at a polished black loafer, about a size 12.
Hmmm... I looked up to find my eyes traveling up the long jean covered leg of the firm’s investigator, Sean. There I lay in the rubble of my chair, sandwich, with pastrami firmly imbedded in my hair, and my kindle at the toe of a very tall, very blonde, very blue eyed babe. I had yet to say anymore to then, “Hi,” and then would run away to hide in my cubical like a pimpled face fourteen year old giggling girl. I didn't really giggle, but I did hide. He's just too cute for words. There is that Freudian thing again.
P.I Sean picked up my kindle, with a very sexy scene blaring out like sirens from Fireman Frank’s hook and ladder. Damn, why me, again.
What a gent. P.I Sean helped me up. I realized I had a wardrobe malfunction with a broken skirt zipper. So what does P.I Sean do? He rounds up safety pins for me. I was smitten, even though I had to walk around the office for the next few hours with a skirt just three tiny safety pins from falling down around my ankles. Sigh...
Oh, but I digress. As I said this is the first of the books that is about two cop buddies, Ty and Luke. I didn't care for Luke in the second book, (which I read first) and didn't like him any better now. Ty seemed a bit more honorable, although he didn't do much to get a kidnapped journalist heroine out of the hands of a biker gang. What does a self respecting deep cover cop do, have sex with the kidnap victim. Not my idea of a hero, still Claire didn't seem to resist much. There was electricity between them, but that was the best part. That's just a fond memory in my life. The electricity. Oh that reminds me I need to pay my power bill, or it will be no electricity anywhere in my world.
Still I went back for more. The writing is crisp and drew me in, where I couldn't resist and really wanted to see Claire and Ty find some normal happiness, away from greasy big hairy guys on noisy motorcycles. I finished the book on the subway on the way home. There is no doubt this is a very hot read. It's erotica in full bloom. I guess in some cavity of my cerebral cortex I'm being reminded I was dumped for guy.
Because, I started reading at lunch and finished it on the subway, I gave it a #6 1/2. Which pretty much means I read another one of Ms. Meyers novels.
