If this is what Harlequin editors think is good enough to publish, the stuff they reject must be horrific.This book was just plain bad. Not only was the dialog so disjointed and weird that I double-checked my sandwich for stray marijuana, but the sex writing was... unique. There's the purplest of purple prose:He caught her colorful thrills and delicate spills on his lips and delivered them to hers, let her taste her essence, which only made her crave his. They peeled each other bare and touched, tasted, breathed each other in until they blended so perfectly that her leading him to her and his going inside was inevitable.They made their own rainbow.The bizarre metaphors:“Sweet cakes with foam.” He smiled against her nipple. “Which has a bite to it.” He suckled, and then chuckled as he teased with his nose. “Not the kind I was hoping for.”And my favorite: He gave a pained laugh as she rose over him like Nessie, pushed her hair back and settled on his lap with an added bonus.WTF?