Romeo by Gail Faulkner

I think this was a fantasy of mine growing up. A dark, handsome hero and a delicate, tiny heroine—everything else being equal—unencumbered by ordinary responsibilities. I think my fantasy tales even had similar life-threatening medical issues to make the heroine more delicate. So for me, Romeo was kind of like stealing back to the daydreams of old. It was an indulgence I enjoyed very much.

Of course it had a bit more heat than my teen fantasies did—a good thing, as I’m a couple of decades beyond those sweet, take-me-away daydreams. Faulkner’s hero is mouth-watering; her heroine the perfect compliment to him physically.

Emotionally, the heroine provided the best scene in the book and by far, the best “I’m-tired-of-being-typecast” heroine speeches I’ve heard in a long, long time. You will cheer out loud when she lets her hero—who is trying oh so hard not to be overbearing—know that she will match him (maybe even best him) in the I-want-hot-sex-now department. It’s a great scene.

And Romeo is a sweet and hot read.