Oh, sexy Dexy. What happened? I know you’re kinky. I know you’re a dirty, dirty boy and I love it, but… too much of a good thing ain’t good.
I didn’t sign up for erotica. Did anyone else sign up for erotica? Cuz I didn’t sign up for erotica. Ugh. The entire first half of this book revolves around Dex’s horny thoughts, Dex’s horny actions, Dex and Perry fucking, Dex and Perry talking about fucking, Dex and Perry wishing they were fucking, Dex ogling Perry’s tits 932 times, or Dex noticing how every man in existence now ogles Perry and Perry’s tits. If I had read one more reference to her “heavy tits”, I would have vomited on the book. What happened to my favorite dysfunctional couple? Where are the emotions of all the past books? The sexual tension? Their funny banter? Their funny banter, people! It was pushed aside for generic sex. Sadness. Just sadness.
This series has been like crack to me. Even when it’s been bad, it’s been good and I always want to come back for more (yes, even after this one). I’ve always felt a strong connection to Perry & Dex. I felt zero connection with either character in this one. Zero. It’s a shame, because I’ve come to love them. Dex didn’t even sound like Dex. It was like reading a stranger. More sadness.
EIT fans know that this series has been an emotional rollercoaster. We just never know what side is up. I’ve mostly liked that about this series, but it’s book #7 now. The roller coasting has gotten old. I thought it was all squared away now, but then plot devices are tossed into this one willy-nilly and we get dumped back into the same old “Pex” crap. It was brief, but it was still enough to put me off. Can these motherfuckers just get it together and be together already? Why does some stupid shit have to come up in every single book to tear them apart? Some of the past reasons have been believable. I get them, but in this one it was so contrived. Seriously, enough already.
I don’t wanna like him. I don’t. I WON'T!
The bit of horror in this book was good. I got so excited, because it got really scary really quickly. It could have been GREAT, but there was so little of it, that it did little to make this a better story. The action didn’t really start until about 50% - 55% of the way in with the first half being all generic sex, as I mentioned. Wtf.
The last nail in the coffin was the obvious villain who was obvious. The same thing happened in book#2, Red Fox, which I also didn’t like, but dang, at least that was book #2. That shouldn’t be happening so far into the series, IMHO. These “Scooby-Doo” villains with their obviousness and long, convoluted reasons for doing what they do are not gonna cut it any more.
I hate that I didn’t love this one, but I’m coming to terms with the fact that I have a love/hate relationship with Halle’s writing. I have loved some and I have hated some. I will say that the good ones have been good enough to outweigh the bad. That’s why this series is my literary crack. I’m always chasing the high that I’ve gotten before. I just never know what I’m gonna get, though. Despite this upset, I’ll be coming back for more whenever Halle dishes it out, for I am weak and I know she can bring it.
Why I can't just let go:
From book #1, Darkhouse:
His jaw was wide and round, totally acceptable. A dusting of an Errol Flynn moustache traced his upper lip and his chin was shaded by scruffy beard. He had fathomless, dark eyes framed by brows that were devilishly arched and set low on his forehead. A simple eyebrow ring graced his right eyebrow. It was a very ‘90s look. A man after my own heart, apparently. He reminded me of Robert Downey Jr. in his strung-out drug days.
Be still, my heart.
Be still, my motherfucking heart.