If this were the first Johanna Lindsey book I had read, I would have never picked up a second.
This whole book was sick. Both Dimitri and Katherine are contemptible characters. They genuinely disturbed me. Rape, abduction, and enslavement do not a relationship make. If I was slipped a date-rape drug and was then violated for an entire night, my first coherent thought would NOT be about how much the rapist looks like a golden Adonis. I don't care how attractive he happened to be. Why must romance authors continually create female protagonists that become mindless puddles of lust whenever the 'hero' comes around? I wasn't a bit surprised when Lindsey conjured up a Stockholm Syndrome-styled happily ever after at the end.