Rugby Romance Novels Aimed At Lonely Female British Rugby Fans
Do you like rugby?
Do you like romance novels?
If you answered “yes!” to both of these questions, English romance novel publishers Mills and Boon have the books you have been looking for!
Mills and Boon have teamed up with the Rugby Football Union to produce a series of romance novels aimed at women who love rugby.
RFU licensing and marketing manger Jane Barron said, “A partnership with Mills and Boon is a fantastic way to encourage even more women and their families to get involved with the game.”
Because of course, nothing says family fun like sitting around reading mildly pornographic literature.
The first title, to be published just in time for this year’s Six Nations tournament, is The Prince’s Waitress Wife. Some of the other rugby romance titles include: The French Tycoon’s Pregnant Mistress, At The Argentinian Billionaire’s Bidding, The Ruthless Billionaire’s Virgin, The Italian Count’s Defiant Bride, Blackmailed into the Greek Tycoon’s Bed, The Virgin Secretary’s Impossible Boss, and The Sheik’s Lovechild.
If titles alone are not enough to warn you not to read these books, here are a couple of excerpts:
A passage about a tryst shown on the jumbotron during a game:
She was kissing him in the window, in full view of the cameras covering the game and the crowd.
Cameras that were now focused on them.
“Oh my God.”
Her hand covered her mouth. She glanced at him in desperate panic.
“They filmed me kissing you. And it’s up on the giant screens.”
Her voice rose, her cheeks were scarlet, and her reluctant glance towards the stadium ended in a moan of disbelief.
“Oh God, I can’t believe this, it looks as though I’m, and my hair is all over the place and my bottom looks huge, and, everyone is looking.”
His eyes on the pitch, Prince Casper watched with cool detachment as his friend, the England captain, hit a post with a drop-goal attempt.
“More importantly, you just cost England three points.”
“That tackle was by the Italian hooker, is that right?”
Suddenly aware that the sun was shining down on them, and she was far too hot, she released a few buttons on her jacket.
“I can’t believe they named a rugby position after a prostitute.”
“They are called hookers because they use their feet to hook the ball in the scrum. They’re a key…”
His voice tailed off in the middle of the sentence, and all his attention was suddenly focused on the delicate lace of her camisole.
“Sorry, what was the question?”
Award-winning literature, this is not. British men must really be letting their women down if they have to turn to this garbage.
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