I found my first Mills and Boon book at age eight. Someone had abandoned a bunch of dog-eared, moth-eaten, mouldy romance novels in a box in the corner of my house. When I landed upon them it was like I had completed my journey to the centre of the earth, chale. The men were always rich and handsome and damaged. The dating was always passionate. The sex was always hot. The women were always beautiful. The stories were always filled …