by Louré Bussey, contemporary (1999)
Arabesque, $4.99, ISBN 1-58314-029-8
What a naughty title. Or maybe I have been reading the newspapers too often. Anyway, A Taste Of Love, interesting perk-me-up title notwithstanding, is boring with a capital B. It's like a patchwork of all the boring formulas one can think of in a romance sewn in a threadbare stitch.
Nia Lashon - Mum has lots of bad ex-boyfriends so now she will never be like Momma and never EVER trust men, those users, etc etc etc - helps put her siblings through school. So you know she sashaying around night clubs serving drinks isn't because she's a ho, no way. She's saving the family, and she is miserable while she's at it. I can't blame her. With no social life, no wonder.
Every heroine needs a dilemma that will need the hero's wallet to come to the rescue. In this case, Nia finds herself jobless when her club burns down. She gets a new job as a chambermaid, only to be - ta-da, attacked by a fiend! A sex-mad rich fiend! No, that's not the hero. Roland Davenport is rich, but he is sensitive and kind. He wants to help with her career in warbling music and he wants to examine her panties closer.
Does she appreciate it? No, and she makes it clear most vocally. Men are not to be TRUSTED, EVER! Got that, NEVER EVER! (But she is really attracted to him, oh dear). And so the whole thing goes, until finally, the plot engine gives a loud belch and die on me around midway of the story. Then comes the Evil Other Woman giving the dead engine a push. Only to push it deep down into an inane tale of misunderstandings. "See? He is with that s!ut! Men CAN'T BE TRUSTED AND I FREAKIN' KNEW IT! WAAA! I want my Mommy! Oops, forgot I'm supposed to hate my Mommy."
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