Albert Camus

Don't walk behind me; I may not lead. Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow. Just walk beside me and be my friend.

Friday, June 9, 2017

NOT bad enough - The Bad Luck Bride (The Brides of St. Ives #1) by Jane Goodger

"This story revolves around love, wealth, position, and murder. I loved this book and found the author's dialogue to be witty and entertaining. Her characters were multi-dimensional and likable. I usually don't read this era of British romance but think that I have not only become a fan of the author, but also the genre. I highly recommend this book to all lovers of historical romance."- Dona, Goodreads


Release Date: June 13th, 2017

Welcome to St. Ives, the charming seaside town where even a down-on-her luck bride might find her way back to love . . .

As if being left at the alter for the third time isn’t bad enough, Lady Alice Hubbard has now been dubbed “The Bad Luck Bride” by the London newspapers. Defeated, she returns to her family’s estate in St. Ives, resolved to a future as a doting spinster. After all, a lady with her record of marital mishaps knows better than to dream of happily-ever-after. But then Alice never expects to see Henderson Southwell again. Her beloved brother’s best friend disappeared from her life soon after her brother’s death. Until now…

Alice is just as achingly beautiful as Henderson remembers. And just as forbidden. For the notorious ladies’ man made one last promise to Alice’s brother before he died—and that was never to pursue her. But one glimpse of Alice’s sorrow and Henderson feels a powerful urge to put the light back in her lovely eyes, one lingering kiss at a time. Even if it means falling in love with the one woman he can never call his bride . . .


 For the next six days, I manage to think about Aster a little less. I only jack off to the thought of her ass in the air and my hands in her hair three times. It’s an improvement over last week.
       All of my hard work is promptly undone when I let myself into the apartment Wednesday night and find Aster alone on the couch. There’s a pizza box on the cushion next to her, her bare feet crossed at the ankles on the ottoman. The visual of coming home to Aster hits me stupidly hard, and I tell myself the heat I’m feeling is just the contrast from the cold air outside. That the want tugging at my insides is just hunger.
       But it’s not.
       “Hey,” I make myself say. I turn around and take off my coat and boots, trying not to show how happy I am to see her.
       “Hey,” she replies. “Sorry for just being here like this. Jerry was supposed to meet me for dinner but he got stuck at the lab and I’d already ordered the pizza.”
       “Totally fine.”
       The kitchen and living room are divided by a small counter, so I can still see her as I fill a glass with tap water and down it in three swallows.
       “Do you want some food?” Aster asks. “Jerry’s going to eat at the lab, and he said to tell you to help yourself if you’re hungry.”
       I try not to appear too “hungry” when I look at Aster and wonder what else Jerry is willing to share.
       I should tell her no. I should say I ate and go into my room and close the door and put on headphones and forget she’s here. But I’ve never been good at resisting temptation, even when it’s wearing an oversized Holsom sweatshirt and faded jeans and seems to be legitimately enjoying Bridget Jones’ Diary.
       “I’ll have some pizza,” I say, grabbing a napkin from the counter. “But you’ve gotta change the channel.”
       “This movie’s a classic.”
       “It’s not.” I take the spot on the far end of the couch, the pizza between us. I can practically feel her scrutinizing my white button-up shirt and dark pants, far from my usual attire of jeans and old concert T-shirts.
       “Did you have a late class?” she asks.
       I grab a slice of pizza. It’s pepperoni and mushroom and it’s still hot. My mouth waters and I take a bite, glancing at Aster. It’s not a secret that I have a job, but it’s not something I advertise. My job at the library is in stark contrast to the tattooed knuckles and bad attitude.
       “I was working,” I say around the food. “At the library.”
       “Oh. I didn’t know.”
       “I never told you. Change the channel.”
       She picks up the remote and scrolls through the options in the guide. “I’m just being nice because you’re new,” she informs me.
       I grin. Aster’s being nice because she’s a nice person. “And when I’m not new? What happens then?”
       “All this hospitality goes right out the window.”
       “It’s as terrible as it sounds.”
       “Does Jerry know you’re cruel?”
       “Nope. He came with me to see Bridget Jones’ Baby in theater.”
       I groan and stuff the rest of the pizza in my mouth. If that’s what it takes to get a girl like Aster, maybe I’ve been jerking off to the wrong girl. “Jerry needs some guidance.”
       She smirks. “Are you going to be that guide?”
       “If I ever find him watching Bridget Jones by himself, I’ll have to step in. No real man watches that movie willingly. And he only watches it for a girl if there’s a blow jo—” I catch myself way too late. Aster’s blue eyes widen and she freezes, a piece of pizza extended toward her pretty mouth. “I’m sorry,” I say hastily. “I forgot who—”
       Then she laughs. And laughs. And laughs.
       She drops the pizza back into the box she’s laughing so hard.
       “Poor Jerry,” she wheezes, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. “I just had to buy his popcorn.”
       I snicker, relief making me weak and stupid. “It’s none of my business,” I say, even though I want it to be my business. I want to take Aster to a chick flick and make her pay for it with filthy sexual favors afterward. I want to find out if she’d be offended by it.
       “I think you’ll be a good influence on Jerry,” she says after a second. She’s focused on the TV again, settling on a Big Bang Theory rerun.
       I almost choke. “Did you say a good influence?” Not once in my life has anyone ever called me a good influence. I’m not sure I’ve ever even been called good, period. And I’m not sure how to feel about it.
       “Yeah,” Aster says. “He’s so focused on school that he sometimes forgets to have fun. Maybe you’ll rub off on him.”
       “What do you do for fun, Aster?”
       She glances at my knuckles and rolls her lips contemplatively. “Lots of things.”
       I try not to curl my hands into fists, try not to show her how I have to work so fucking hard not to reach over there to touch her, just to see if I can.
       I might have been wrong about the money. I might even be wrong about the blind kids. But Aster’s a nice person, a good person. She’s not going to fuck me if she has a boyfriend.
            So the boyfriend will have to go.

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About the author:
Jane Goodger lives in Rhode Island with her husband and three children. Jane, a former journalist, has written seven historical romances. When she isn’t writing, she’s reading, walking, playing with her kids, or anything else completely unrelated to cleaning a house.

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1 comment:

Ally Swanson said...

I enjoyed reading the excerpt. This book sounds like a very interesting and intriguing read! Looking forward to checking it out!