"If he was stressed it was no more than he deserved. He'd tried to buy her baby"

When we left Stacy and Franco, our lovers from The Millionaire's Indecent Proposal, she had accepted his offer of one million euros to be his around-the-clock mistress for the month before the wedding of a shared acquaintance. Unbeknownst to Stacy, of course, Franco had bought her as part of a bet with his father, the winner due to command the controlling stake in Midas Chocolates, the family business. Stacy was instantly seduced by the millionaire chocolatier's Gallic charm, strapping physique, ability to speak two languages, insistence that she have sex with him, and his luxurious mansion. Equally, Franco was intrigued by Stacy's sexy ordinariness, practical shoes, and willingness to trade her body for money. It seemed a short-term match made in Mills & Boon heaven, and for several chapters the relationship had all the hallmarks of an actual relationship. The couple talked and ate meals together, made love in a series of conservative locations, went clubbing and danced with their bodies pressed into one another, and constantly worried what their friends thought of their union. It was only when emotions got in the way that trouble brewed. Suddenly, Stacy's initial infatuation had turned into genuine infatuation and her casual attitude towards the financial aspect of their agreement had Franco questioning whether Stacy was even a prostitute at all. Would the twosome be able to recover and enjoy a lifetime of wedded bliss and baby-making?

Stacy Reeves is not your standard unemployed accountant from a city in the United States that probably doesn't exist, however. She has an unaffected beauty, long chestnut hair and azure eyes. As the book nears its conclusion the author, Emilie Rose, finally rewards us with a physical description of her heroine, where we learn her breasts and bottom are splendid and she has psychic nipples. Even more important than these vital statistics is her haunted back-story which Stacy is reluctant to confess to anyone, until she confesses all to Franco in a fit of narrative necessity. This might have come as a revelation to the suave millionaire, but we readers had suspected something was screwy all along, as Rose could not help slipping hints at this previous tragedy into the narration. Would you care to know the shocking bombshell without facing the unenviable task of reading the book? Well, when Stacy was a child her mother fled her abusive, wealthy husband and lived a life on the lam, struggling to make ends meet and always afraid the man she deserted would track her down and have his revenge. Stacy's full comprehension of the truth would come one day when returning home she found her parents dead, by that classic cliché of romance fiction, a murder-suicide. Naturally, the poor girl has never been the same since, and has developed a vehement distrust of rich men, red carpeting, violence and obsessive love affairs that end in murder, suicide or a combination of the two.

Meanwhile, Franco has his own sordid confession to reveal. His ex-wife had an abortion without alerting him of her pregnant status, causing the many awkward lulls in conversation that led to their divorce. Furthermore, Franco's mother was a wanton harridan, indulging in drugs, partying, drinking and men who weren't Franco's father, which somehow resulted in her death, by what Franco claims was a chemical overdose. With such a tragic past and unwillingness to trust, love or have respectful attitudes towards the opposite sex it would appear Stacy and Franco have all the groundwork needed for a long and successful coupling. Despite what should be happy news, both characters remain pensive and libidinous. If Stacy is not the gold-digging, one-track-minded, mercenary harlot all women are then Franco loses the bet with his father and, because of the terms of their wager, will owe him nothing. For Stacy, if she and Franco are in love she will have to remain in Monaco and turn her back on the United States, the country of her birth and neuroses, where she has no friends, family or prospects. Truly there is much riding on whether Franco and Stacy can get over themselves, be reasonable and conclude that while their relationship is based solely on sex and personal admittances alleging murder against family members that is more than enough to mean they're soul-mates and suitable to raise children together.

Unlike the majority of Mills & Boon novels we read as examples of the genre The Millionaire's Indecent Proposal offers distinct arcs to both hero and heroine, with each mirroring the other, allowing Rose to study the healing power of commitment and the inconsequentiality of capitalism in matters of the heart. The romantic interludes of our leads is played against a typical backdrop of resplendent grandeur, but thankfully because of Stacy's history all the glamour and wealth is framed by a paranoia of money's corruptive force. Intertwined is a supposedly charming sub-plot involving Candace and Vincent's nuptials, he the millionaire sports car enthusiast and she the nurse who treated him after his crash and fell for him despite his facial scarring. With such strong potential for a multi-layered examination of themes through the journeys of compelling characters with often self-destructive motivations The Millionaire's Indecent Proposal becomes even more disappointing. By choosing to tell her tale through the genre of badly-written pornography, author Emilie Rose undermines the emotional twists of the story and sacrifices nuance in favour of sex scenes, hedonism and occasional unsubstantiated dithering. The predictable, penultimate sidestep all romances contain where the couple fight over a misunderstanding only to realise their stupidity pages later is replaced here with a broken condom. Stacy and Franco fear their month-long orgy might have led to a baby and are forced to re-evaluate their feelings for one another. Franco offers to buy the child for a second million euros, but explains he will never marry. At this point Stacy begins to wonder if he actually is the man for her. All ends perfectly half a page later though, when he admits the whole thing had been a bet with his dad, which she finds adorable, and they kiss and promise to wed.

Any semblance of hope the reader might have had for the high quality of the first in this Desire 2-in-1 evaporates and we realise we have been cheated out of anything meaningful or fun and instead given an endless parade of frivolity where the only threats to happiness aren't so much squandered as completely abandoned. The story is nothing more than an old-fashioned, sexist fairytale involving a relatively innocent might-as-well-be-a-virgin who discovers her sensuality through being bought and taught by an arrogant, experienced foreigner. Emilie Rose's attempts to characterise Stacy's lack of worldliness by making her the victim of domestic violence means she writes herself into a thematic cul-de-sac, trivialising the misfortune and solving everything with a well-placed penis and a mind-boggling amount of money no one could relate to. Instead of exploring any of the subjects raised by the concept the book seems determined to avoid them. Franco's greatest concern is losing his true identity to his material worth. He rejects women for finding his millions more compelling than him, but he defines his seduction techniques as acts of cost and only respects Stacy when she refuses his extravagant gifts. His challenges merely validate his prejudices, yet he receives no comeuppance and learns no lesson. His father loses his young girlfriend when he hands over his business and Vincent only knows Candace's affections are real because of his grotesque disfigurement. A story involving the usually rightfully ignored territory of how the wealthy search for appreciation of who they are and not what they represent should find more interesting ways to do so and should not blatantly fetishise opulence in every sexual scenario.

As for the ladies, Rose treats them with a shallow disregard typically associated with a contemptuous billionaire or a Harlequin writer. Either the women are superficial, calculating whores only interested in themselves, as with Angeline, Franco's mother and Lisette, or they are virtuous angels dedicated to the desires of their men, such as Candace and Stacy. Finally, in the case of Madeleine or Amelia so peripheral are they to the central story they are forced to run away to the bathroom in the final chapter for reasons only explained in sequels, continuing the adventures of holidaying Americans in Monte Carlo. Perhaps we can expect a cameo appearance from Stacy and Franco, or Candace, Vincent and their baby, and we can catch a glimpse of their futures of countless offspring and disagreements over decorating the living room. By this time Franco may have found a role for Stacy in the Midas accounting office, and she will have thrown herself into work to avoid accepting the ten year age gap between she and her husband as they await the birth of their first child. Amelia and Madeleine will visit with their own millionaire princes and playboys and everyone will sail out on yachts to watch fireworks to the faint noise of the Grand Prix. Stacy will look to her friends and say all this could too be yours if you're willing to over-look your man's egotism and misogyny and concentrate instead on less fleeting virtues such as his muscular frame and abundant affluence, and Amelia and Madeleine will stare off picturing their own glorious wedding days and Emilie Rose will type THE END and she will have churned out yet another book.

“She couldn’t help feeling she’d sold her soul to the devil, and she hoped she didn’t live to regret it”

On the AFI’s list of the top one hundred romantic movies made by the United States the twenty-first entry is Pretty Woman, the much-adored fairytale starring Julia Roberts and Richard Gere as prostitute and man who buys prostitute, respectively. Of the one hundred films there are only two which tell of the world’s oldest profession and Breakfast at Tiffany’s is tenuously the other. There are as many hooker-themed films as ghost love stories then, making spirits and prostitutes equally appealing to cinema audiences. Pretty Woman sidesteps social or moral issues by presenting their adorable street-walker as a likeable, naïve waif on her very first day in her new occupation, who agrees to the sleazy corporate raider’s unconventional request because he offers a good deal of money and he’s charming Richard Gere. From there the film descends into heavy-handed visual metaphors, feel-good triumph over adversity and scenes borrowed from My Fair Lady of the Night. From a budget of $14 million the movie grossed over $450 million, made superficiality cool and became a favourite among female audiences despite numerous actors turning down the Vivien role, including Michelle Pfeiffer, Daryl Hannah and Jennifer Jason Leigh, because they found the script degrading to women.

The power of the concept remains alive and lucrative for the authors of Mills & Boon, as we again have had to read with The Millionaire’s Indecent Proposal. While Hollywood argues that hookers-with-hearts-of-gold can be reasoned into non-hookers-with-hearts-of-gold with enough money, Harlequin and her sister publishers make a bolder claim. With enough money women can not only be prostituted, but then civilized and brought back into society as submissive wife, which would have been a character arc too far for even Audrey Hepburn. Stacy Reeves begins chapter four by accepting her payment, albeit with a few conditions that don’t seem important, and ends the chapter accepting her first orgasm courtesy of Franco’s masculinity. Life is good for Stacy and until we read on so it shall remain. Meanwhile, here at Bewildered Heart there is the bountiful topic of Solicititilation to discuss, and why the subgenre can be allowed to exist when it appears to be offensive to women, prostitutes and Mediterranean tycoons.

Mating interests strategised over years of evolution have brought us to the point in time where wealth is a desirable quality in a partner, and this dates back to the beginning of humankind, to the caveman with the largest rock, through the prosperous heroes found in respected romantic fiction, by Jane Austen and all those Bronte’s, to the disrespected annals of Harlequin Presents a poorly-written retreads of the classics. Women want to have babies, and in order to avoid self-imposed moral stigma of having many babies with many different fathers they seek one father, wed in holy matrimony where anything goes, to beget the many babies which will bring them a life purpose and contentment. A mother’s love is never enough, however, and therefore in order for these babies to be provided for and raised healthy, the potential father must have a fortune and an athletic body of rippling muscles and few venereal diseases. Solicititilation plays directly into these basic feminine desires, as the man in question must have much money to squander and be impossibly handsome. The narrative devices to bring him from man willing to buy women to a man who doesn’t proposition women with cash motivations is plenty to base an arc on.

Romantic heroes unfailingly begin their novels conceited and arrogant, an attitude all affluent, gorgeous men are born with and retain until a delicate female is able to unburden them of their personal traits, thus rendering them marriage material. Within the context of the genre the structure works remarkably thoroughly. All Mills & Boon men are created in their author's idealised vision of a desirable male, and usually separated by non-heroic men by thickness of hair. Once you have your perfect man, however, described in magnificent detail, their only faults can come from within. Invariably they shall be wealthy, glamorous, worldly, respected, powerful and intelligent, but with these material and emotional virtues comes an off-putting self-satisfaction, as if they believe that through their irresistible beauty, charm and infinite funds they are able to claim whatever they please.

For juxtaposition, the virginal poor yin to the divorced rich yang, our writer wisely chooses a heroine who has paid the obvious price for not being a man, and that price is financial. Only within this set-up is there potential for us, the gentle reader, to credibly accept Stacy agreeing to sell her body for €1,000,000 to Franco Constantine, devious chocolatier. There are few secrets to the appeal of the archetypal romantic plot, where an innocent gamine in a mysterious land meets an enigmatic, guarded land-owner, and although initially distrustful of his arrogant nature, discovers his sensitive side and brings out the best in him with selfless loving. However, why this has regressed to Solicititilation is somewhat bewildering, as if the progression of the characters involve exacerbating their faults by pushing money to the forefront of the tension.

Why do romance fiction authors feel compelled to tell such tales, as there is no narrative-incentive to creating a dilemma for a heroine and then spending the majority of the novel defending the characters and explaining how none of this is how it seems? Yes, Stacy Reeves has sold her body for money to a man she is afraid of because of deep-rooted, unresolved issues with her father, but she needs the money for noble reasons, will pay tax on it and refuses additional gifts. Also, did you read the description of Franco Constantine? He is utterly delectable and has access to free chocolate. Stacy would have slept with him for free, so hold those degrading accusations for the next heroine who sells her body to a billionaire. Stacy is unlike those sluts, because Stacy is modest and doesn’t want money, only what she will be able to spend it on. Furthermore, Franco is European and cynical because his ex-wife had an abortion without his knowledge and his father is frittering away his money on gold-diggers, so Franco is hardened by experience and just needs to meet a woman from the USA to teach him that it is only non-US citizens who are whores. Now, with that in mind the whole prostitution dilemma sounds suitably agreeable and beneficial to all parties.

Author Emilie Rose may have wished to exhibit the destructive effect Stacy's complicity has on her soul, but instead she weakly trots out guilt-ridden asides through an interior monologue, with Stacy ashamed of Franco's attention and her enjoyment of her newfound sexuality. She considers the money on occasion, but is thankful for the life the financial backing will afford her. We can only assume this rationalisation and watering-down of prostitution stems from the novelist's own neuroses about writing chauvinistic and misanthropic stories and then selling them to women for payment from their arrogant, controlling publisher, with offices in London, Paris and New York and a heady history of success and sexual experience. Authors tremble at the knees in the presence of Mills & Boon and are happy to give up their more dignified aspirations of writing romances in the style of their icons and settling for making an under-whelming living as sell-outs, happy to abandon love in poverty for a lucrative imitation of the real thing.

"He offered his elbow. Stacy couldn't think of a courteous way to decline"

Much to Bewildered Heart's pleasure Mills & Boon begin their novels with a letter from the author alongside a biography always involving marriage to childhood sweethearts, indulgent numbers of children and a flatteringly unrealistic representation of the happiness and financial well-being writing for Mills & Boon brings. In Emilie Rose's correspondence to her fans she confesses that her latest hero is her most sensual yet. 'What could possibly be more delicious than a sexy, French chocolatier?' she asks, tantalisingly. A man made of chocolate wearing a chocolate tuxedo carrying a bouquet of roses that under closer inspection turn out to be made of chocolate? Oh, Emilie Rose's Dear Reader, you know us so well. The only thing we love more than that is an arrogant millionaire with more money than decency who treats women as hookers as way of seduction. Throw candy and an exotic location into the mix and we have ourselves a hit.

The Millionaire's Indecent Proposal begins, suitably, with a prologue that sets forth a chain of events concerning such expected themes as extravagant wealth and bitter misogyny that can only end with extravagant wealth and the shiny side of misogyny. Franco Constantine is a successful international tycoon and chief executive of Midas Chocolates, a very well known company within the world of the novel where highly lucrative independently-owned chocolate companies exist, and prosper. However, all is not splendiferous in the halls of the many Constantine mansions. Franco's father, Armand, wishes to marry Angeline, a gold-digging harpy forty-five years his junior, and the inevitable divorce that always follows such a marriage will cost the chocolate dynasty so many euros. 'Do you think chocolate will always be this popular, Papa? Who knows when the bubble will burst,' Franco yells exasperatedly, his long, thick eyelashes fluttering in the gentle breeze.

To save his business from another pay-off, and because the author could not think of anything more believable, the son makes a wager with his father. Franco will offer a woman €1,000,000 in exchange for being his mistress for one month. If she accepts all women are mercenaries willing to trade sex for money, proving Angeline is no different. If Franco convinces a woman to accept this offer Armand must sign his fortune over to his son, which would surely have been a quicker way of discovering where Angeline's interests lie. Never mind such obvious plot contrivances though, overly-discerning reader, because now there is a plot apparently worth basing a book around. Only one issue remains, where is Franco going to find a beautiful, desirable female who coincidentally only happens to be in Monaco for four weeks?

Meanwhile, on another part of the island, the unremarkable, sensible Stacy Reeves is admiring the chocolates in a Midas store window when something even more delectable wanders into view, a gorgeous, sophisticated slab of Frenchman-meat, possibly named Franco Constantine. Stacy isn't in town for romance, however. Oh no, she is too unremarkable and sensible for matters of the heart. Indeed, she is busy organising the wedding of her only friend, a nurse named Candace, who is set to marry another millionaire named Vincent. But wouldn't you know it, when Franco introduces himself Candace recognises him as Vincent's best friend. Ye Gods, Stacy! The man you are attracted to is a key player in the wedding, meaning there will be plenty of opportunities for the two of you to steal glances at one another, say awkward phrases, feel nervous and exchange sex for money.

For dowdy Miss Reeves the attentions of an attractive, muscular French millionaire made of chocolate isn't quite as appetising as he sounds. Stacy has a mysterious past, glimpsed at briefly through poorly-written asides from the author and involving a millionaire father who used his resources to torment Stacy and her mother with years of abuse and chasing that eventually may have ended in murder, probably. Stacy has been left unable to trust, love or enjoy intercourse, and has sunken to such depths she even took a job in accounting to further disaffect her in the eyes of men. Now she has lost her job because of corporate downsizing, the one person she is close to is moving to Monaco with husband and foetus because of marriage and untimely pregnancy, and an enigmatic tycoon keeps pestering her with chocolates and tactless invitations to make love in fancy locales, because of reasons that aren’t entirely obvious.

Reluctantly she agrees to one date, on the condition that Franco must end his Gallic seduction attempts if the evening is less than successful. Yet Stacy's luck has petered out. Franco wears a suit that parades his biceps and sturdy torso, takes her to an intimate restaurant where a string quartet plays swelling music on the patio and when the perfect opening reveals itself forces himself upon her by pinning her down and speaking foreign-sounding words she is too enamoured to understand. Later, outside the hotel Stacy admits what she really wants from life, financial security, and seizing the manufactured moment Franco offers her one million Euros to become his mistress for the month leading up to the wedding, guaranteeing no romantic feelings and no declarations of love. Stacy perceptively notes that the offer is akin to prostitution, but Franco tempers her fears by explaining that there is nothing wrong with being a prostitute. After all, she is a silly, fragile woman and no match for his wealth and European sensuality. She is only going to sleep with him anyway, so why not make some money out of it? Maybe she can spend some on that security she so desperately craves, to keep continental miscreants off her property for good. Stacy has twenty-four hours to accept or reject the venture, and define forever how women should be treated. The stakes couldn't be higher.

This brings to close the first three chapters and so far we have The Billionaire's Housekeeper Mistress relocated from Australia to Monaco and re-dubbed The Millionaire's Mistress. Less money and no tidying? Call yourself a story, The Millionaire's Indecent Proposal? Typical of this Mills & Boon sub-genre, which we shall call Solicititilation for want of a better invented word, the blatant sexism is submerged within character and physical beauty. Arguably Franco is the womanising jerk all evidence points to him being, pimping an innocent American tourist to stop his father from finding happiness, but when the author subverts the stereotype by having him make his own coffee and think of the feelings of others, all of his beliefs, actions and deeply inappropriate chat-up lines sound sensual and irresistible. Besides, Stacy has more depth than some lady who likes money and is willing to sell her body for more money. She is an accountant, which shows she understands money. She has never had a serious boyfriend and finds sex merely endurable which means she is hardly selling out something personally significant. Also, she recently lost her job and her mother was poor so she won't spend the million Euros frivolously. Finally, it is one million Euros and Franco is handsome and she has a whole month to kill, so calling her a prostitute, as she does, is unkind when you take all that into consideration. Let us not forget that once this novel ends with Franco and Stacy married they will have an adorable tale to weave when the grandkids ask them how they met.

We assume, naturally, that Stacy will accept the money and become Franco's mistress, leading them to develop feelings for one another via passionate thrusting only for Stacy to discover it was all part of a bet forcing Franco to chase after her in a sequence eerily-reminiscent of Stacy's own father's action, but ending when Stacy realises she must move on from her horrific past and learn to overcome her prejudice against men who pay to have sex with you only to develop feelings for you and then ask to have sex with you without wanting to pay anymore, which would be marriage if this were an analogy. Alternatively, Stacy might refuse Franco's money, showing him that all women are money-grabbing she-devils except for her, prompting him to fall in love with her because she is so special. Alas, however, because without reading the rest of the book we can be certain she will accept the money. Maybe it will turn out Vincent is actually her father, or Armand is Stacy's dad and she and Franco are in fact half-siblings. That seems far-fetched. Let's say he pays her for sex and then they fall in love and everything somehow works out ideally for everyone, except Angeline who turns out to be an actual prostitute. That seems just about the right amount of farfetchedness.

‘Should Rick start mixing business with romance -- and both with a baby?’

The talk of Mills & Boon titles being proof of anything has made Bewildered Heart thirsty for a romance novel with a heavy-handed title indicative of female mating interests. One of the many omissions of the scientific study was no noting of the gradual evolution the publishers have made towards ridiculous titles containing market-researched signifiers and away from the previous generation’s more artistic leanings. Nowadays there is no ambiguity in a Harlequin title, with modern monikers increasingly close to those a website such as this would invent for parody. Even our limited travels into the world of saucy fiction have thrown up names such as Finding Nick, Romantics Anonymous and Leopard in the Snow. Those don’t include the words billionaire, bride, mistress or pirate. What on earth will the female reader base her consumer wants on?

For this reason, among others that will soon become clear, we have chosen to investigate the Mills & Boon Desire 2-in-1, named 2-in-1 because there are two stories offered in one novel and not because of any sexually-explicit love triangles. In this case we have Emilie Rose’s The Millionaire’s Indecent Proposal and Under the Millionaire’s Influence by Catherine Mann, two writers challenging readers’ expectations by asking us to fall in love with millionaires when there are so many gorgeous single billionaires running amok. Best of luck, Rose and Mann. Before we tackle the stories, however, our research begins with the publisher’s description of what a Desire is.

Originally an imprint at Silhouette over a Simon & Schuster the sub-genre was bought by Harlequin in the mid-eighties and today Mills & Boon operates it solely as 2-in-1, having before that run it as Desire Double. Why is Desire only sold as two times the amount of novel at twice the price? No one seems willing to explain, but each coupling is themed, as ours is themed by millionaires and force, while others might instead use cowboy tycoons, secret babies, virgin brides, billionaires, blackmail and force. With instant appeal and obvious differences between others sub-genres aspiring authors can look to the Writing Help for further information. ‘A powerful, passionate and provocative read…guaranteed!’ it says, temptingly. All alliteration, and rhyming, aside, this is a strong start. Whereas Cherish would guarantee a gentle, loving and inoffensively bland read, Desire sets its stall out without any ado. We can only hope they don’t instantaneously become vague and contradictory in the opening paragraph.

‘Desire books are filled to the brim with strong, intense story-lines. These sensual love stories immediately involve the reader in a romantic conflict and the quest for a happily-ever-after resolution. The novels should be fresh, fast-paced and modern, presenting the hero and heroine's conflicts by the end of chapter one.’ Do you see, gentle reader, here we are offered palpable narrative instructions to help us understand the key variations that mark Desire unique, from, for example, Modern or Nocturne. Those sub-genres are stagnant, meandering and archaic, presenting tensions eventually, once the reader has bored of all the easy-going camaraderie. But who are these heroes and heroines the Author Guidelines speak of and how should we, starry-eyed writers, attempt to present our leading men, other than perhaps making them desirable?

‘The hero should be powerful, wealthy — an alpha male with a sense of entitlement, and arrogance. While he may be harsh and direct, he is never physically cruel. Beneath his alpha exterior, he displays some vulnerability, and he is capable of being saved. It's up to the heroine to get him there.’ These are the conflict seeds we have previously discussed. Firstly we introduce the hero, as conceited, believing he has the right to have sex with a woman just because he is authoritative and prosperous. However, our heroine is not attracted to those traits, though she is enamoured by his physical appearance, money and influence and thus, over the course of some two-hundred pages, she must teach him to stop being egotistical by having sex with him and acting womanly. Any further character details for those who haven’t been paying attention? ‘The Texan hero should own the ranch, not work on it, and the urban hero should be the company CEO, not a handyman.’ Indeed. Female readers will not buy A Texas Handyman’s Respectful Courting, and more fool you for even suggesting it.

Desire heroes, therefore, are much like all the other Mills & Boon heroes, with the exception of Cherish men, who, by this definition, aren’t men at all. Now, what of the protagonist, the heroine herself? ‘She is complex and flawed, strong-willed and smart, though capable of making mistakes when it comes to matters of the heart. The heroine is equally as important as the hero, if not more so. There is room for both protagonists' perspective, as long as his thoughts are centered on the heroine and their conflict. Desire novels are usually 60% heroine and 40% hero.’ Everyone understands percentages. We can expect our two upcoming Desire novels to be more women-centric than any examples from the other categories. Due to this statistical breakdown then, it is advisable to create a compelling heroine with more depth than cooing at babies in supermarkets and having frizzy hair on especially humid days, although it is most likely this is what they meant by complexities and flaws.

‘The conflict should be dramatic with such classic plot lines as revenge, secret pregnancies, marriages of convenience and reunion romances.’ Where is the implied prostitution? From the list of fairly standard soap opera clichés we can only hope marriage-of-convenience is code for live-in-mistress-but-not-prostitute-because-they-love-each-other. After all, that is a pretty classic plot line. Wannabe Mills & Boon creators should look to these suggestions for a scenario for their own ideal novel, where a couple reunite, arrange a marriage of convenience and then the heroine makes a terrible mistake in matters of her heart by getting pregnant because of the hero’s arrogant misplaced sense of entitlement, but gets revenge by falling in love with him. We can call it The Millionaire’s Blackmailed Bride’s Secret Baby Revenge. Cox and Fisher would adore that one. All we have left to learn is how many gratuitous sexual acts we will have to type.

‘Desire novels are sensual reads and a love scene or scenes are needed, but there is no set number. Rather, the level of sensuality must be appropriate to the storyline. Above all, every Silhouette Desire novel must fulfill the promise of a powerful, passionate and provocative read.’ Goodness, how helpful. With there being little discernible difference between Desire and Modern, besides a minor emphasis on the heroine, we should assume by the over-use of words such as sensual, passionate and desire, as well as the red cover, that this series will have a large story-appropriate quantity of copulation. Once you have decided your story will contain a wealthy tycoon buying a woman for cohabitation (and possibly more!) only to discover his physical attraction blossoms into genuine emotional connection you are going to need a gregarious attitude towards describing their love-making just to reach the required fifty-five thousand words.

First up for our reading pleasure is the aforementioned The Millionaire’s Indecent Proposal by Emilie Rose, part of her 2007 Monte Carlo series that included The Prince’s Ultimate Deception and The Playboy’s Passionate Pursuit, so we can comfortably assume Emilie knows what she is doing. The blurb promises passion and drama and the title hints are derivativeness. ‘Would she accept one million euros to be his mistress for a month? How could practical American Stacy Reeves say no to Franco Constantine's proposal?’ Hopefully these are the first of many deeply philosophical questions the scenario will throw up. How do women refuse money in exchange for sex? ‘The wealthy, arrogant CEO of Midas Chocolates was overwhelmingly passionate in his pursuit. Their union would be pure pleasure, but Stacy did not know Franco's offer was part of a bet.’

Intrigue, pleasure and chocolate, the dream trifecta for every lady of a certain age, but how does this differ from Modern’s The Billionaire’s Housekeeper Mistress, besides the gulf in wealth? Reading through the Writing Guidelines we are supposed to study before submitting our manuscript to the beloved publishers the only alteration should become apparent from reading on, and that shall be the focus on Stacy over Franco. This suits the story perfectly, as Franco, a millionaire who pays vast sums for call-girls, can remain suitably enigmatic, to hide his blatant sleaziness under layers of sexy mystery, while Rose can delve into Stacy’s psyche and convince the reader that her protagonist’s actions are credible. Our empathy will be vital to prevent us from falling into the trap of leading with prejudices and concluding that Stacy sounds like a hussy. Emilie Rose will presumably do this by making Franco incredibly gorgeous, charming and seductive, the offer impossible to turn down and the terms quite agreeable, thus under-mining those guarantees of passion, drama and provocation.