Tempting.... ★★★★★

Tempted by Virginia Henley is the garden variety romance. I believe the author felt that there were no boundaries that she couldn't simply gallivant across to what outlandish behavior and/or socially engineered(decline?) which further perpetrate the sheer audacity this book invokes. This bit o' Scottish debauchery is hardly a bastion of proper society decorum or standards. The heroine, whilst not entirely unlikeable, is a regular spoiled spitfire cunningly preserved for the 'canna love ye, 'less yer pure 'nough tae destroy' type of hero; sparing the heroine of any naughty guilt and all that.  Once her heavily scrutinized innocence is acknowledged as genuine, the entire premise of their hatred/sworn-enemy relationship is rocked to its foundation. When a hero recognizes that his assumption of the heroine had been nothing but prejudice--it always strikes me as the insistent chide, 'you had better never enjoyed sex before I came along'. Oh, but fear not--if the Black Ram doesn't make it with Tina, her blood uncle has already offered his firewood for her warm hearth, or her gypsy bastard half-brother could very well roll her out a bed in his travelin' show caravan.

• Oh yes, she went there. Incest is best x2, thus far. (That's deep, dark sarcasm, jus' incase you assume I praise incestial relations!) I'm giddy with anxious depravity to unveil what else lurks beneath what isn't blatant and apparent. In other words, imagine what ISN'T being said?

Mrs. Henley, up to this point, has kept me guessing as to the hero's truest nature, and upon his early admission of undying affection for the heroine--Surprise surprise! --you got me there; I never suspected he would ever confess to such, even under rigorous torture or a proper maiming. I commend Henley, it came unexpectedly!

A few of my notes and paraphrases from Goodreads.com comment review.

(page 113 of 528)

I'm on page 113 of 528 of Tempted: The Black Ram is quite engaging. When he restlessly paces his own castle or charges into enemy territory, the testosterone driven tenacity floating in the air, makes me think...'Oh hell, he's airborne, someone's gonna be pregnant by sheer presence alone.' His sweat should be bottled for liquid aphrodisiac.

(page 354 of 528)
I'm on page 354 of 528 of Tempted: Seriously...if I hear, "God's nightgown' or, "God's bones" one more time, I'll fling daggers. Her shrugging is becoming repetitive, and gives further indication that most of these heroines aren't spirited, wild and rule-breakers; they're immature children. :D 

Amid the explicit discourse of the book and barely-restrained orgy breakouts threatening every page-- I engorged upon each delectable word as if struck dumb by a Viking thunderclap or some sort of visual magpie syndrome-- ill prepared for the shameless lasciviousness it offered in great, unyielding abundance. God's nightgown! When a damsel saunters into an area where males are holed up(even some relatives), you damn well better expect boners to salute full staff in waves like a sporting event's team sweep in the bleachers. 

When the vagina insertion sex-toys were proposed & taken into testfire by the oscillating motion provided whilst you shag rotten on a swing--I nearly scolded--as I dearly consider 'contraptions' a mark of male inadequacy, albeit the hero swept in and declared himself fully capable of bringing her to fruition, instead of relying on such devices. Brava sir, Henley's hero training camp brand is still healing, I see. Hehe.


How can we justify this sinfully delightful piece? Too many coup de grace marring it to be acceptable by everyday romance readers, but in my bodice-ripper circle, it's just the right amount of wicked indulgence to set your eyelashes & toes a curlin'. :]

We have the dirty uncle, half-brother in love with heroine, sex-toys galore, twins-on-anti-climatic-would-be-hero, maid keepin' heroine's father's chamber clean, if you know what I mean. ;)  Lingerie-introducing seamstresses. Gypsy harlot with a penis ring with a legendary appeal(or the highest paid fuck in Scotland), where upon hero prolongs orgasm with interrogation tactics. Pregnancy by proxy! Ancestral (from both rivaling families) ghosts haunting the hero's home...a madman upstairs, a French chef shaggin' the other cook's wife. A then-virginal heroine making a grocery-list like requirement of the only male c*ck sizes she’ll take. A maid educating the heroine like a high-priced courtesan, which included the cleanliness of her ‘young, sweet & fresh” body, and hushing her fears as to the likelihood of exhibiting any stenches during oral sex preformed on her by the hero, and instructed to return the favor, which she rightly did.



 And the last, but hardly suckin' hind teet here, the ever infamous: 
I'm sorry I raped you, but I thought you were a tart. Magnifico.

This isn't romance's sweetheart, but by-cracky, it's a realistic rendition what would most likely immolate a tryst in our own lives! To adequately surmise what the author's visionary was that inspired this piece, I can only quote, "All ye bastards know how tae do is drink, fuck an' fight!"