Erotic images fly off nearly every page of Combs' 222-page work. Ross, the professional soldier who'd seen covert action in Afghanistan and Berlin, battles throughout the book to maintain his esprit de corps. But when he finds Emily's bra and panties drying in the bathroom, the sap begins to rise and "[h]is mind [swims] with the image of bare damp skin." And when Emily stretches, Ross must fight for control: "Her shirt had risen when she'd stretched, exposing inches of soft skin. The woman knew how to drive him mad."
As for Emily, she was at one point "still shaken by the intense sexual arousal she'd experienced when he'd stared at her... He was making her breasts hard, she realized in stupefaction. With just a look." Emily notes Ross' "powerful shoulders" and "superb backside," and Combs at one point writes that Ross "oozed sexual magnetism."
In between lusting for each others' body parts, Ross and Emily puzzle their way through an international whodunit. There's lots of talk about espionage, but by page 102, Emily can't stand the tension. She invades Ross' bed. "Her pajama bottoms slid away with a quiet rustle. Suddenly she was bare. He thrust his leg between hers and a deep heaviness throbbed in her belly... She needed him to fill the aching void at her center."
But they didn't do the dirty deed. No, the first coitus maximus doesn't occur until page 126. By that time, Ross and Emily have known each other about three days.
Now wait just a darn minute. Ross and Emily aren't married. They aren't supposed to be filling any voids until after the wedding, but here they are in the sack and the book's only half over. What happened to abstinence? I thought all good Republicans only believed in sex after marriage. In fact I'm sure of it.
(It seems Combs does too, except when she's writing steamy novels. Last month, Combs voted for an amendment to SB 1, the re-write of the state education code that promotes abstinence. The amendment, by Rep. Warren Chisum (D-Pampa), says that any course on human sexuality must devote "substantially more attention to abstinence from sexual activity than to any other behavior" and "emphasize that abstinence from sexual activity is the only method that is 100 percent effective in preventing pregnancy [and] sexually transmitted diseases.")
Ross and Emily, however, don't talk about abstinence. They don't even think about abstinence. This pair could put rabbits to shame. As for condoms, forget it.
In between interludes of unprotected sex, there are passionate kisses. Emily gets kidnapped. Ross rescues her. More furtive kisses. Emily's hotel room gets bombed. The dynamic duo foil an international terrorist. Ross leaves her. Three weeks pass. She confronts Ross in his apartment.
By the last page they're - where else? - back in the sack. "At last he slid into her welcoming warmth... He could feel her mouth and hands tormenting him, as he struggled for control... Then he took them over the top."
Combs earned $6,000 from Meteor Publishing Corp. for writing the book. It's her only published novel. "But," she says, "there's hope yet. I want to write a whole bunch of books."
Wow. I can barely wait. In fact, I have an aching void, a desperate hunger, for the next installment of A Perfect Match. n (Andrea Barnett provided additional research assistance for this story.)