As a legislator, Rep. Susan Combs (R-Austin) screws Austin nearly every
chance she gets. As an author of a romance novel, Combs creates characters who
show even less restraint. Published in 1990, Combs’ slim book, A Perfect Match, is full of
furtive glances and consummated passion. Ross, the mysterious, macho bodyguard,
is charged with guarding Emily, a cryptanalyst from the National Security
Agency who knows too much. Sparks fly from the get-go. Even Ross’ pistol
cleaning technique drives Emily bonkers. “His movements were economical. His
hands, long-fingered and powerful, were precise and deft. His touch on the
burnished metal was gentle as he stroked it with the cloth. Emily had a sudden
vision of those same hands on her bare skin, caressing her with a lover’s
touch. She almost jumped. What on earth was the matter with her? This was the
second time her imagination had produced erotic images.”
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.)
This article appears in June 9 • 1995 and June 9 • 1995 (Cover).