You know, the book you can’t put down because you have to see just how bad it gets.
Since a good chunk of what I read is romance, the train wreck usually comes in the form of sex. Gratuitous. Fluff. Often misplaced. Sex.
It’s not that the scenes are badly written.
It’s more that the scenes are unrealistic.
If you’re on the run from a madman, are you really going to wax poetic about your partner’s ass? Is he really going to get a hard-on when he’s about to cross the rickety bridge across the gorge, when he’s afraid of heights?
I had one recently.
I think it was supposed to be a romantic suspense. The suspense was good. The villain appropriately crazy. The heroine appropriately strong after dealing with this psycho for most of her life yet nicely flawed in her feelings of being unlovable. The hero appropriately alpha with a hunted past. And, of course, I knew the hero and heroine would connect up. I expected heat between them.
But it was all wrong.
And I could not put it down for the life of me.