Generally I give 3 stars to books that are entertaining but forgettable. This book, however, was beyond forgettable; it was derivative. It was an HP-by-numbers. Our heroine, Jessie, is a nightclub singer in a seedy section of London. On the anniversary of her brother's death three years ago, she's singing her heart out, trying to ignore the gang of men there waiting to kill her when she's done. Sitting in the back, our hero, Silvio, is grinding his teeth at the live his best friend's sister is living rather than ask him for help. Despite her blaming him for her brother's death, Silvio saves her from trouble in an alleyway and convinces her to accept his help to keep her safe.Even for an HP, the book lacks believability. I didn't buy the premise that a guy could work his way to billionaire real estate developer by age 30 after moving to London at age 10 and spending his childhood as a troubled immigrant kid in a bad neighborhood. Nor did I get the drama behind the heroine being chased by thugs who want her to pay up on her dead brother's debts. The hero pays them off early in the book, but then insists she must play the part of his woman because "money wasn't all they wanted." So, to protect the girl he's wanted since she was 16, he outfits her in fancy clothes and flies her down to Sicily to do rich people things with him. Uh huh.The romantic conflict then hinges entirely on the heroine's insecurity. Listening to her constant whining about feeling out of place and not being good enough for Silvio just grated on me. Condomless, orgasmic virgin sex quieted it down a bit, but the author made sure to throw in a last "I'm going to leave you because a random socialite at a party said you were in love with a pretty actress and I wasn't good enough for you" just for good measure. Yawn.In short: equal parts phoned in, ridiculous and annoying.
