not for me...

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maryella Avatar

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It's not you, it's me. Or well, maybe it's also you a little. This book is the worst of what romance has to offer a feminist. A bright, capable, accomplished heroine sexually harrassed by her employer, who she then sleeps with, falls in love with and eventually has an "HEA" with after three glorious weeks of non-stop fucking. Oh, after he finally admits he has his head up his butt because he was mean to his dead wife. Spare me the hero whose mansluttish ways are directly derived from the dead woman in his past. If any of this were interrogated within the text, I wouldn't have hated it quite so much. But it's all utterly unexamined bullshit. Not an auspicious start to the Dare line, which I had hoped to adore given the demise of Blaze. Don't get me wrong, there's plenty of sex. Too bad I wanted to drown both of the protagonists: him for being an unmitigated ass and her for putting up with his crap so I couldn't properly appreciate it. Even without the horror of the naked hero sexually harrassing the heroine in his bedroom/office in the opening scene in the wake of the Weinstein revelations, this would have been a meh book. I upgraded it to two stars because I only found one typo. He couldn't even grovel properly. No thanks.