O ex-fuzileiro naval Max Wright está fora da Equipes SEAL para sempre depois de ter sido quase morto por uma RPG no Afeganistão. Ele se retira para a casa de praia de seu ex-comandante para lamber suas feridas. Ele quer rosnar para o mundo, mas acha difícil rosnar para sua nova vizinha, a linda afilhada de seu ex-comandante, Paige Waring, que também vem com um ridiculamente simpático cão, totalmente indisciplinado. Como uma geneticista de plantas, Paige sempre foi focada em seu trabalho, mas quando ela e seu cão correm em direção a Max, ela reconhece o homem solitário e quebrado por trás do exterior rude. Em sua mente, sensualidade sempre vem com um jaleco branco, e não com acres de músculos bronzeados e uma resistente mentalidade. Quando o trabalho de Paige se torna o alvo dos criminosos e ela é raptada, Max entra em ação. Embora ainda terrivelmente ferido, este SEAL, resistente como pregos entra em sua última missão — e não para diante de nada para salvar a mulher que ama. ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++Former Navy SEAL Max Wright is out of the SEAL Teams forever after being almost killed by an Afghani RPG. He retreats to his former XO's beach house to lick his wounds. He wants to snarl at the world but finds it hard to snarl at his new neighbor, his XO's beautiful goddaughter, Paige Waring, who also comes with a ridiculously likable, totally undisciplined dog. As a plant geneticist, Paige has always been focused on her work, but when she and her dog run into Max, she recognizes the lonely, shattered man behind the rugged exterior. To her mind, sexiness always comes with a white lab coat, not with acres of tanned muscle and a tough mind-set. When Paige's work becomes the target of criminals and she's abducted, Max springs into action. Though still terribly wounded, this tough as nails SEAL goes on his last mission - stopping at nothing to save the woman he loves.
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Daniele Nunes14/12/2012Resenhou um livro
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Lisa Marie Rice
Lisa Marie Rice is eternally 30 years old and will never age. She is tall and willowy and beautiful. Men drop at her feet like ripe pears. She has won every major book prize in the world. She is a black belt with advanced degrees in archaeology, nuclear physics, and Tibetan literature. She is a concert pianist. Did I mention her Nobel Prize? Of course, Lisa Marie Rice is a virtual woman and exists only at the keyboard when writing erotic romance. She disappears when the monitor winks off. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Now isn’t that an interesting bio to have? Isn’t that a thousand times better than saying that I’m a middle-aged, er…woman, no longer in the very, very first flush of youth, who basically sits in front of a computer screen all day in her pajamas? I am so lucky to be Lisa Marie Rice! There is no literary genre anywhere remotely as exciting and thrilling as erotic romantic suspense. It has absolutely everything: red-hot passion, danger, adventure, heart-stopping love. I cannot begin to tell you how much I enjoy sitting down to the keyboard and bleeding…er, writing my heart out, falling in love with my men over and over and over again. Well, why not? My men are brave and smart and built. And boy do they love their women! Their women are much more interesting than new weaponry, sports cars, and even plasma TVs in their eyes, and the fascination will last their entire lifetimes, I promise. It’s sex, of course, but also a whole lot more. My heroes genuinely like and admire their women, though in the beginning this is sometimes obscured by blinding lust. Once that first sharp edge of desire is over and they settle down a little—and that will take several years and a kid or two—they’re so bonded with their women that they couldn’t live without them. And it is so much fun “being” my heroines while writing about them. You may have noticed that most, if not all, of my heroines are artsy in some way, just like me. It just sort of comes out that way. There’s not much calculation when creating my characters: They literally become alive for me and when my character says—I’m a singer or a designer or I love books—well, that’s that. It’s fabulous sitting here in my not-perfect body and becoming the beautiful young woman that that ornery alpha male is glomming on to. Of course, my heroines are also in dire peril, which is not so much fun. And which is why I’m the writer and not the heroine (give or take a few years and a few pounds). One true fact: Looking out of my study across my wonderful terrace I see a bright blue line which is the Ionian Sea. And if I had a powerful enough telescope I could see the Greek temple where Pythagoras taught.
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