Pathforgers Publishing, $4.99, ISBN 978-1370802067
Romantic Suspense, 2015

In another edition of “author throwing bestselling buzzwords together” and “this is why people don’t take romantic suspense seriously”, Alexis Abbott introduces Dimitri Brokov who is:

• Russian — this one was published before it became haram to find Russian guys sexy, so don’t send the author hate mail
• Billionaire — a given as even a janitor in a romance novel has at least one billion dollars stuffed in his boxer shorts
• CEO — okay, as he is a billionaire after all
• Russian mobster — wait, what?

Can one really be a billionaire CEO and a mobster without having to be like Batman and live a double life? 

Oh, and DaMobsta Brokeass also has tattoos, etc, because the author really, really wants people to buy this thing. I’m surprised that she showed restraint and not have DaMobsta also be an ex-Navy SEAL and the president of some MC that holds orgies at some top secret super exclusive sex club every Friday evening.

Since stepsibling sex is also one of the bestselling formulae at the moment, the heroine DaSista Brokeass is his stepsister.

The last person in the world I ever expected to hear from again is my wicked witch of a step-mother.

Yet here I am, sitting in her fancy office’s reception area, flipping through a magazine as I keep eyeing the receptionist who promised me for the tenth time that Rebecca will be right with me.

My legs are covered with goosebumps; the summer heat outside is sticky and damp, so I dressed light in a skirt and a tank-top, but now that I’m in her office building, I feel like I’m stuck in an icebox. My nipples press against my bra uncomfortably, and I’m trying not to shiver.

I have to appear strong, Confident. All the things I’m not.

Jesus HR-Approved Genderbent Racebent Christ, even the story reads like every other generic by-the-“I NEED A BESTSELLER SO I AM GOING SPHERICAL BALLAST OUT WITH THE CLICHÉS”-number story of this kind.

Our heroine is tasked, quasi-blackmailed, or whatever into working with DaMobsta so that she can spy on him, and instead of saying no like any sane person, she of course goes ahead and does it while acting like her womanly parts have become melting pudding in his presence because he makes her feel like a little girl again — a perpetually lusty and horny little girl, judging from how she is acting, which then makes the “little girl” part ten thousand times more disturbing.

“We’re siblings, Dimitri. Maybe not by birth, but by chance.”

That doesn’t stop him, not even for a moment.

“All of the best things feel wrong the first time, Sarah. I don’t hold it against you for getting scared.”

“I wasn’t scared!” I’m lying again.

“Don’t think I forgot how wet you were against my hand, Sarah. Don’t you forget how sweetly you moaned as I kissed your body, and how much you were begging for it before you suddenly remembered the time. You were eighteen, it’s not like you had a curfew. And it was summer, no school.”

Exposition dump passed off as “sexy conversation”, how nice. And it’s not even the kind of exposition dump I find tantalizing, more like the kind of dump one associates with a toilet bowl.

So, DaMobsta has telegraphed the fact that working with him means constant sexual harassment, which is totally hot because he is hot. 

However, because the author has some word count to meet, he starts staying away from DaSista, so anyone hoping for some sexy forceful hand grope on one’s privates is going to have to wait a bit until the author announces with a booming voice, “Release the coc.. kraken!” and soon DaMobsta and DaSista are shagging non-stop, up and down, and left and right. I suppose this could be sexy, but just like everything else about this story, the sexy parts feel very by the numbers.

What does DaMobsta being a Russian mobster has anything to do with this? How about his tattoos? Is there even a point of having DaSista working for him other than an excuse for her to work under him later on? 

Who cares, really. The author doesn’t seem to. This book is written just to cash in on trends, and the author isn’t even being subtle about it. 

So, get this one if you want to send some money the author’s way, or if you can’t get enough of uninspired reheated slop and don’t mind the fact that the author is counting on this to make you give her money. Or maybe do it if such calculated desperation makes you feel a tad pity for the author.

Just don’t do it expecting something even a little different, or else you will be left high and dry waiting for the party to start.