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Goodreads description

Documentary producer, Pearl Robinson, is a beautiful and smart 40-year-old divorcee but has not had a date for over two years. When she meets Alexandre Chevalier, a young French, Internet success story, she's stunned by his charm, beauty and sophistication, and startled by her strong feelings and desire for a man fifteen years her junior.

His looks, wealth and worldwide triumph with his social media site, HookedUp, means this powerful billionaire can get any woman he chooses, but there is something about Pearl he finds irresistible...

The couple begins a passionate affair and Pearl's body is awakened in ways she never imagined possible. She is consumed by him and his magical touch. But jealous family members, Pearl's insecurities and other external forces are threatening to pull them apart.

This three-book series, Forty Shades of Pearl, Shadows of Pearl and Shimmers of Pearl follow the couple's tumultuous and heart-rending relationship.

Will Pearl's shadowy past and Alexandre's dark secrets meld them together as one, or split them apart once and for all?(less)
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Book Review

The pearl trilogy was originally recommended to me a while back by a follower to add to my what to read after fifty shades list. Mrs. Richmonde took all three of her books and made them into one.
1.40 shades of pearl
2. shadows of pearl
3. Shimmers of pearl

Mrs. Richmonde gave a different play on the character roles in this one. Instead of older alpha male and younger submissive, She gave her readers young alpha male and older submissive female (cougar). Needless to say when I read this from the blurb I was excited.

Pearl is a 40 year old still trying to find herself. She is a documentary producer who get the assignment to interview the owners of the hooked up corporation. Well missing her chance she goes for coffee and runs into non other than the owners Alexandre and his sister Sophie. Needless to say the chemistry at first sight was there for pearl and Alexandre.

I had a love and hate relationship for pearl and Alexander characters. Pearl was sweet fun loving etc but there where times when I wanted to scream and say stop over thinking. Alexander seemed perfect on the outside, good lawd yes this man was oozing yumminess. The way he said the word pearlette, smh. But just like pearl he had his demons. For so many parts in this book their relationship ran hot and cold because they were letting their past dictate things. Yes definitely a few hair pulling moments for me.

The secondary characters made the drama and suspense of this book. Crazy ex semi disabled girlfriend, quiet bashful niece, homosexual sister/brother, therapist BFF and homosexual movie star/super flirtatious/let me seduce you. Yup I'd say mrs. Richmonde covered just about all personality categories and it made the story so much more crazy and fun to read. Oh I forgot murdering mom! Nope I'm not kidding.

I enjoyed this book. Unfortunately it started out slow for me but once it picked up towards the middle (second book) with all the drama/secrets/lies I couldn't turn the pages fast enough. I was cheering for team pearl/Alexandre. This book was HoT and sexy. Mrs. Richmonde gave the reader a little of everything from loving vanilla moments to girl on girl soft BDSM.

Good job mrs. Richmonde on this series.

Book rating 3.5 stars/C

** I was provide an ARC of this book for an honest review.**

Cheers,
Dr. Books

http://www.amazon.com/The-Pearl-Trilogy-ebook/dp/B00CHFGP78

http://ariannerichmonde.com/

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Excerpt:

WHEN PEARL AND ALEXANDRE FIRST MEET.

It’s both a comforting and disconcerting fact that there’s a franchise coffee shop on practically every corner of NYC. You don’t have to go far to feed your addiction. I shuffle through the door, now back in my sneakers – New York City sidewalks do not favor high heels for any period of time. You can tell how long someone has been living in New York by their footwear. Comfort first. Heels are for visitors. Or women from New Jersey.​
I stand in line and ponder over the rich choice I am presented with. A wave of guilt washes over me as I mentally tot up the money I’ve spent on superfluous coffee breaks over the years – money needed by charities, for water wells somewhere, for a child’s education. Stop! Life isn’t fair. Yum, Mocha Cookie Delight...coffee blended with mocha sauce, vanilla syrup, chocolaty chips, milk and ice. Or a Vanilla Cappuccino - coffee flavored with vanilla and blended with milk and ice – and fewer calories.​
A man’s voice interrupts my chocolaty train of thought. ​
“So how did you enjoy the conference?” His accent is foreign, his voice deep and melodic.​
I look up, feeling now dwarfed in my flat sneakers, petite against his tall, solid frame. The first thing I notice, at eye level, is the definition of his pec muscles underneath his sun-faded, pale blue T-shirt. He’s tanned; I see he has a name tag just like mine from the InterWorld conference, which reads: Alexandre Chevalier. My gaze rises higher and I observe a pair of penetrating peridot-green eyes rimmed with dark lashes, friendly yet intense, looking down at me. His hair is dark, his face unmistakably European - yes, dare I say it, he even looks French, the profile of his nose strong, the jaw defined. He’s so handsome I feel a frisson shoot up my spine. He’s smiling at me. My stomach flips. I’m speechless with surprise.​
“Your name tag,” he clarifies. “Were you at that conference around the corner?”​
“Yes, I was.” I can’t say any more. I feel like a teenager. My mind is doing acrobatics, trying to figure out why his presence makes no sense at all. This man must have borrowed the tag of the real Alexandre Chevalier. Why?​
He’s at the front of the line, now, talking in French to another woman. She looks familiar. I feel an inexplicable pang of jealousy. Absurd! I don’t even know him. Get a grip! But then realize−​
“I’ll pay for whatever this lady’s having too,” he tells the woman serving behind the counter, and he pulls out a wad of notes. I notice a stash of hundred dollar bills which he is trying to surreptitiously stuff back into his jeans’ pocket, without drawing attention to himself. ​
He turns back to me and looks at my name tag. “For Pearl,” he adds, rolling his tongue around the R of Pearl.​
My name suddenly sounds beautiful, not like a pseudonym a hooker might use, which is what I was relentlessly teased for in high school. ​
“Pearl,” he says again. “What a beautiful name. I’ve never heard that before. As a name, I mean.”​
“Well, my parents were kind of hippies. Thanks for the compliment, though. I’ll have a....a...um, I’ll have a vanilla cappuccino, please. You really don’t have to do that - buy me my drink, I mean.” ​
I fumble about in my ‘handbag’ - although it seems more like an overnight bag - and try to locate my wallet. I’m not used to strangers buying me drinks. My fingers can’t seem to find my wallet, anyway. I often fantasize about inventing an inside handbag light that switches on automatically whenever you open it – I’d make millions – they’d be sold at supermarket checkouts nationwide. My bag is pitch dark inside, I can see nothing. ​
“And what’s your name?” I ask, still not believing that this man before me is Alexandre Chevalier, the twenty-four year-old nerd in the hoodie, as he appeared in the online photo. This Alexandre is sophisticated – looks way older than that. Even though he’s just in T-shirt and jeans, he’s stylish. Very Alpha Male - yet oozing je ne sais quoi. I could describe him as ‘beautiful’ but he is so much more than that. There is an aura surrounding him of power and sexuality yet blended with an unassuming sort of friendliness as if his good looks are accidental somehow.​
He laughs. His teeth flash white and are almost, but not quite - perfect. An almost perfect, ever so slightly, crooked smile - disconcertingly sexy. “Very funny,” he replies tapping his long fingers on his Alexandre Chevalier name tag. “Oh, this is my sister, Sophie.” ​
The Sophie sounds like Soffy. His accent is disarming me. I think of those classic, 1960’s French films - Alain Delon movies - yes, he does have that air about him - a young Alain Delon - mixed with the raw, untamed sex-appeal of Jean Paul Belmondo in his prime – What was that film? Ah yes, À Bout de Souffle - Breathless was its translation. That’s how I feel now… ​
Breathless.