Though this is romantic erotica, and while some readers may enjoy graphic sex described in crude terms, it still could have been done with more panache. I realize this is fantasy, but even when I make believe, my fiction needs to stay in the realm of reality. Our heroine, Cassie, is a curator in a Minneapolis museum. She is recently divorced, struggling to make ends meet after her greedy ex took nearly everything. She's grossly underpaid, and takes harassment from her boss, her ex, and every member of her family. Enter our well-endowed hero, Bobby, a bounty hunter whose specialty is retrieving stolen artwork. He comes to town to search for a painting stolen from Cassie's museum, and Cassie picks up extra cash assisting him. Even though these characters are mature, educated adults, the moment they lay eyes on each other, their minds focus directly on primal sex. In short order, meek little Cassie is telling overly rich and successful Bobby just exactly what to do to her, and they burn up the sheets having countless rounds of raunchy sex worthy of Penthouse magazine. We have to endure several pages of this before the story finally starts moving, but then, this book isn't about the story. The author actually seems to have some talent, when not referring to body parts in locker room terms, but it's hard to forgive the way the heroine is a weak victim, except in bed. She has a host of problems that are all solved by a hero who's just too invincible. He gets her a raise, solidifies her position at the museum, punches out her ex, and professes his undying love, in between marathon bouts of incredible sex. Shyeah, right.