Smart Bitches Trashy Books | All of the romance, none of the bullshit.

Best Contemporary
Match Me If You Can by Susan Elizabeth Phillips
Hot Tamara by Mary Castillo
Breaking Point by Suzanne Brockmann
Black Ice by Anne Stuart
Wedding Survivor by Julia London
Ex and the Single Girl by Lani Diane Rich
Mouth to Mouth by Erin McCarthy

Best Historical
Smuggler’s Bride by Darlene Marshall
Mr. Impossible by Loretta Chase
Siren by Cheryl Sawyer
It Happened One Autumn by Lisa Kleypas
The Secret History of the Pink Carnation Lauren Willig
The Veil of the Night by Lydia Joyce

Best Series/Contemporary
Ultra Violet by Ellen Henderson
Her Body of Work by Marie Donovan
The Orchid Hunter by Sandra K. Moore

Best Series/Historical
Lady Silence by Blair Bancroft
Dedication by Janet Mullany

Best Romantica/Erotic Romance
“Skin Deep” by Jasmine Haynes, from Twin Peaks
Take Me by Bella Andre
Dragon’s Fire by Tielle St. Clare
Promises Prevail by Sarah McCarty
Off the Record by Matthew Haldeman-Time
Bound to Trust by Jaci Burton

Best Erotica
Mercenaries by Angela Knight
24/7 by Susan DiPlacido
Crossing the Line by Stephanie Vaughan

Best Paranormal: Vampires, Werewolves and the Supernatural
Haunted by Kelley Armstrong
Dark Lover by JR Ward
Undead and Unappreciated by MaryJanice Davidson
Erotique by Alessia Brio
Waxing by Megan Powell

Best Paranormal: Fantasy/SF/Other Worlds Romance
The Compass Rose Gail Dayton
Heart Choice by Robin D. Owens
Poison Study Maria V. Snyder
Brighid’s Quest by PC Cast
Unmasked by CJ Barry

Lucy Armstrong, a successful director especially known for her work with dog food commercials, is called down to the Savannah River swamps to finish the last four days of filming an action flick after the original director keels over from a heart attack. Lucy is perfectly happy to direct dogs; dogs are better-behaved and a hell of a lot more predictable than actors. But her sister Daisy, the script supervisor, wants her working on this film, and what’s more, Daisy’s five-year-old daughter, Pepper, really, really wants to see her. And really, nobody says no to the cute kid, especially in a romance novel.

The sinking feeling in Lucy’s gut intensifies when she finds out that her ex-husband, Connor, is also the stunt coordinator for the film. The sinking hits rock bottom once she actually takes stock of what a monumental mess the whole project is. Daisy is almost literally sleepwalking, Pepper is anxious and starving for attention, Connor is acting like even more of a shifty asshole than usual, key personnel have quit, most of the crew doesn’t seem to know or care about what’s going on, the few who do care are actively hostile, and people are strangely reluctant to hand her a complete copy of the script.

And when her lead actor hires his own body double and stunt advisor, a taciturn but OMGHOT Green Beret named JT Wilder, all hell breaks loose--or, at least, key pieces of equipment do, and when you’re on a movie set, that’s close enough.

JT Wilder is on leave when he decides to pick up some easy money by being a nimrod actor’s stunt double. Shit, he’s jumped out of plenty of helicopters into REAL enemy fire; this should be a cakewalk. What he didn’t count on was being dragged into a CIA operation involving international terrorism, money laundering and ancient jade penises. Complicating things even further is the movie director, who looks far too much like Wonder Woman for his peace of mind. And there’s that one-eyed alligator hovering around the swamps surrounding the set....

The whole story takes place over four days. There’s not a timeline so much as a time squiggle that’s then squished into something vaguely dot-like. A LOT happens, and very fast. An inhumanly fast pace isn’t normally a problem with an action book, because hurry-up-and-wait, while no doubt more realistic, makes for a boring read. It’s all very entertaining, but I feel like plot and character development were shoved to the wayside as a consequence.

And for a romance novel, that warp speed isn’t so good. For myself, I really, really enjoy watching the love develop and the tension build. Four days from “Hello, you’re kind of hawt,” to “Happily Ever After”? That’s not romance, folks. That’s creepy. That’s JT-having-to-issue-a-restraining-order-because-Lucy-won’t-stop-stalking-him wacky. The love story is even more strained when you consider that JT and Lucy get almost no time alone at all because they’re both working on a movie set, and the romance doesn’t even start looking like one until about halfway through the book. Yes, JT’s a motherfucking hero, and Lucy gets to watch him do all sorts of hot, hero-ey sorts of things like save the day and shit, but they don’t really get to sit down and interact meaningfully--interaction that doesn’t involve their squidgy bits, at any rate.

This is strange, because reading the book, you get the feeling that both JT and Lucy are, well, sane people who think things through, more or less, before acting. They’re both assertive, organized and logical, which makes some of Lucy’s romantic decisions by the end of the book somewhat puzzling.

What disappoints me even more is that previous Crusie novels have featured protagonists who fall in love incredibly fast, and I bought into those scenarios with little problem. Both Manhunting and Getting Rid of Bradley, for example, have the hero and heroine falling in love rather quickly (though not four days fast); however, in those books, the hero and heroine spend significant amounts of time alone together. So, this sort of thing can be done, but it just wasn’t convincing in Don’t Look Down.

Other conflicts in this book, especially the tensions between Lucy and Daisy, were resolved in what feels like a similarly slap-dash fashion. (Be warned: Here Lie Spoilers, so highlight the area for the Supah-Secret text): One moment, Daisy seems to be nursing a burgeoning barbituarate habit and some very interesting resentment towards Lucy and her heroine complex, and the next, BAM, they’re more-or-less peachy keen. Crusie is usually stellar at handling tensions like these, and to see this go nowhere made me a bit of a sad panda.

The other parts of the book worked quite well. The secondary characters are memorable and worth noting. Pepper, in particular, is adorable and believable, and I’m speaking as somebody who has a pretty low gag threshold when it comes to the portrayal of cute children in fiction.

The action/suspense portion of the book is a blast, and somewhat more convincing than the love story. I know nothing about the military, guns, tracking enemies or killing people, but I have a sneaking suspicion Bob Mayer does, and it shows.

Overall, the book is a rather insubstantial bit of fun, which is a shame because Crusie always managed to sneak a lot of interesting subtext into her books, even the ones I didn’t particularly care for. This time around, there wasn’t sub-text so much as hurriedly resolved emotional issues. It’s still worth reading, and I enjoyed it, but it lacks that punch that makes it a true keeper.

Candy: Hey, anyone want to test whether hot water can kill the herpes virus by sharing the jacuzzi with this germ-laden species of manhood?

Anyone?

Anyone?

Bueller?

Sarah: High Intensity? Is that a joke? Is the High Intensity we speak of the degree to which this man is farting in the pool? The High Intensity ass-acuzzi?

I mean, look at him! He’s all, “Did someone step on a duck? That noise sure wasn’t me!”

Candy: Is “renegade” some sort of euphemism for “cold-blooded psychopath with crazy eyes and really, really bad bangs?” ‘Cause I probably have a couple of family members who’d qualify as renegades.

Not that I can blame him for wanting to snap this chick’s neck. LOOK AT HER. Her picture has got to be next to the dictionary definition of “annoying prat.”

Sarah: In about three seconds, deSalvo will have snapped Angelina’s neck all the way around twice.

And is it me, or is her abdomen really square and unbalanced in a scary way?

Candy: The term “riding lessons” in conjunction with this cover makes me think of the four horsemen of the Apocalypse, and if the two assclowns on the cover could embody one of the horsemen, it would have to be Pestilence. Damn, y’all. I feel like I need to wipe my monitor down with bleach after displaying all that rampant skank on it.

I also like how the heroine is smacking her forehead on the cover. You just know she’s thinking, “Dammit! Even a CG-ho with a raging case of the clap could’ve done better than this sorry collection of pixels! Standards, gotta have better standards. Next time, I’m better off shagging one of the guys from Final Fantasy, even if his hair is prettier than mine.”

Sarah: Oh jeez. Aside from “Riding Lessons,” which is just too raunchy-twee to be believed, can we just discuss the “hot flash?” Because it is clearly between her legs.

Look at his bug-eyed expression: “Merciful heavens, she’s got ACTUAL FIRE shooting out of her cooter!”

His horror makes for a disappointing erotica cover, because, clearly, he ain’t puttin’ his man hose in her towering inferno.

Candy: Are uneven abs a side-effect of steroid abuse? Just wondering. And we all know that NOT AT ALL phallic spear he’s holding isn’t compensating for another well-known side-effect of steroid abuse. Nope. Not even remotely.

Sarah: Spare them the deSalvo, but whap ‘em with a Cassie Edwards. Woo! That Candy, she plays hard.

But I have a question. Where is this gym where all the Edwards savage Native Americans are working out? Because that’s a whole lotta mantitty and uneven washboard ab for a man who does not have a gym, and whose culture probably does not include hour long trips to the woods to bench press trees, do sit ups with boulders, and then bathe in the stream with a straight razor to scrape off the man fur, while leaving a hot, hot, HAWT five o’clock shadow on his face.