Bantam, $7.50, ISBN 0-553-57604-6
Contemporary Romance, 2001 (Reissue)

I love the title, because… er, it’s embarrassing because irrationally lusting after Buffy’s Riley Finn is so uncool but, sigh, I miss Marc Blucas on TV. Yes, I hear menopause calling, thanks for telling me. Anyway, let’s head back to topic before I humiliate myself any more. Riley in the Morning is Sandra Brown’s 1985 Loveswept reissued for the author’s personal humiliation.

Seven months ago Brin Cassidy walks out on her husband Jon Riley because… er, I don’t know. She says that he is too overpowering or something, but she falls back into his arms when he displays the same obnoxious behavior, so no, I don’t know why she walks out. And no, I don’t care either.

Today, Brin hides in a friend’s fabulous mansion and surrounds herself with stereotypical gay men to plan a party. Riley crashes the party, mauls Brin’s kitties in full public view, and Brin goes “Oh, I can’t resist! He’s huge! I can’t… fight!” and it’s back to doormat city all over again.

The funny thing, when Brin first meets Riley (yes, this story has flashbacks too), Riley is behaving like a Grade A Asshole. Brin has to implement spectacularly simple steps to placate everybody. Brin was the new producer in sexist pig Riley’s morning show Riley in the Morning, by the way. After a courtship which consists of basically Riley mauling and sucking at her face and kitties and she shivering like a diabetic missing her insulin shots, they marry.

So she walks out, he comes back in – oh yeah – and she’s back in again too.

Jon Riley as a character is ridiculous. If the author is basing him on anybody in her showbiz past, boy, she must be basing him on that grouchy evil alien on some B-grade movie. Riley has no character, only offensiveness as he makes over-the-top sexist remarks that is supposed to make me shiver in excitement. The only one shivering is dumb Brin, who, apparently, is in love because she’s addicted to some Riley meat.

Needless to say, this whole story is nothing but throbbing loins, impenetrable male mulishness, and oh yeah, kitty-manhandling is supposed to be sexy. Ouch. Riley’s fans must be a legion of brainsucked groupies. Anyway, Riley in the Morning… well, “Riley” must be the new code word for the worst puking session one can ever experience.

File this under “The Best Contraceptive Man Can Offer”.