This originally self-published novel—replete with confusing point-of-view shifts, buppie stereotypes, clichéd phrases, improbable plot lines, shallow materialism and perplexing descriptions ("Unexpectedly, her twenty-six-inch waist moved forward. Her shoulders and thirty-six-inch hips jerked backward, in unison"), and a penchant for italics—barely reaches the amateur level. Morrison (who quit her 18-year government job to become a writer) starts off with an adequate premise: Jada Diamond Tanner, a flashy, sexy, high fashion photographer, has found her soul mate in Wellington Jones, a wealthy financial adviser with a sparkling personality and a mysterious past. The two share a passion for great sex, but the steamy scenes read more like hardcore porn than a showcase for romance or eroticism. Enter Melanie Marie Thompson, another sexy fashion photographer, who has her heart set on marrying Wellington, despite his already being engaged to Jada. The author is unable to play out a credible story and instead cobbles together unlikely scenarios. Would independent, possessive Jada, who really has the hots for her man, honestly consider a three-way romp with Wellington and the scheming vixen whom she knows is after him? And would Jada's jealousy truly play a major role in Wellington's decision to marry Melanie? Melanie is nearly killed in a car crash, forcing her to have a miscarriage, conveniently freeing Wellington from his commitment to her. There's also a subplot involving Wellington's scheming adoptive mother, and the book's inconclusive ending threatens a sequel. Morrison adds insult to injury with a "poem," a discussion guide and a primer on how to find your very own soul mate. (June)
Forecast:Literature dissipates; so do sales.
