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GOOD GIRL
Lauren Layne
May 17th, 2016
Loveswept
In this
steamy novel from the USA Today bestselling author of Blurred
Lines, country music’s favorite good girl hides away from the
world—and finds herself bunking with a guy who makes her want to be a little
bad.
steamy novel from the USA Today bestselling author of Blurred
Lines, country music’s favorite good girl hides away from the
world—and finds herself bunking with a guy who makes her want to be a little
bad.
Jenny Dawson moved to Nashville to
write music, not get famous. But when her latest record goes double platinum,
Jenny’s suddenly one of the town’s biggest stars—and the center of a tabloid
scandal connecting her with a pop star she’s barely even met. With paparazzi
tracking her every move, Jenny flees to a remote mansion in Louisiana to write
her next album. The only hiccup is the unexpected presence of a brooding young
caretaker named Noah, whose foul mouth and snap judgments lead to constant
bickering—and serious heat.
write music, not get famous. But when her latest record goes double platinum,
Jenny’s suddenly one of the town’s biggest stars—and the center of a tabloid
scandal connecting her with a pop star she’s barely even met. With paparazzi
tracking her every move, Jenny flees to a remote mansion in Louisiana to write
her next album. The only hiccup is the unexpected presence of a brooding young
caretaker named Noah, whose foul mouth and snap judgments lead to constant
bickering—and serious heat.
Noah really should tell Jenny that
he’s Preston Noah Maxwell Walcott, the owner of the estate where the feisty
country singer has made her spoiled self at home. But the charade gives Noah a
much-needed break from his own troubles, and before long, their verbal sparring
is indistinguishable from foreplay. But as sizzling nights give way to quiet
pillow talk, Noah begins to realize that Jenny’s almost as complicated as he
is. To fit into each other’s lives, they’ll need the courage to face their
problems together—before the outside world catches up to them.
he’s Preston Noah Maxwell Walcott, the owner of the estate where the feisty
country singer has made her spoiled self at home. But the charade gives Noah a
much-needed break from his own troubles, and before long, their verbal sparring
is indistinguishable from foreplay. But as sizzling nights give way to quiet
pillow talk, Noah begins to realize that Jenny’s almost as complicated as he
is. To fit into each other’s lives, they’ll need the courage to face their
problems together—before the outside world catches up to them.
Noah
“What time did you say this chick was
arriving?” Finn asks around his cigarette.
“Tomorrow morning,” I say, rapping my
toe against a funny-looking floorboard and wincing when it buckles.
“Huh.” Finn exhales and looks out the
window.
I know that tone. “What?”
“Seems she might have gotten here
early,” he says, a second before the quiet afternoon erupts with the sound of
my dog losing his mind, mingled with the shrill piercing yap of a much smaller
dog.
“Seriously?”
Finn shrugs and nods. “There’s a girl
outside.”
“Shit,” I mutter as I head toward the
stairs, dodging the two broken ones.
Ranger’s about as good a dog as they
come, wouldn’t hurt a fly. But he’s a big dog with a big bark, and one serious
weakness: gleefully humping smaller dogs. He’s a rescue, and though he was
fixed after they brought him in, he’d already gone through canine puberty, or
whatever. He’s still got the fierce urge to hump, although it’s more habit than
hormones.
I exit out the front door just in time
to see my big brown Lab leap forward, his clumsy paws finding the shoulders of
a blond girl who lets out a shriek, holding a cat above her head like that
scene from The
Lion King.
“Ranger, no! Down.”
I run forward, my hand finding the
collar of my dog and yanking him backward as I search the ground to find the
source of the small-dog barks still piercing the air.
Then I register that the sound is coming
from above, and realize . . .
The cotton ball isn’t a cat.
That orange piece of fluff is a dog,
and Ranger is
apparently in love.
“What the heck is wrong with your dog?”
the girl says as she slowly lowers the puffball from over her head, cradling
the hideous little monster against her chest as it continues its high-pitched
bloody-murder yips.
“At least my dog is actually a dog,” I
say, staring in horror at the pointy face of a canine that could fit in one of
my hands. “I’ve seen dust bunnies bigger than that thing.”
“Dolly’s a Pomeranian,” she says,
setting a hand on top of the monster’s head. “She’s supposed to be this tiny.”
“Well, Ranger’s a Lab. He’s supposed to
be this normal.”
“He attacked me,” she says, giving
Ranger a wary look as his tongue hangs out the side of his mouth, his eyes
locked lovingly on Dolly.
“He didn’t want you, he
wanted the . . . dog,” I say, forcing myself to acknowledge that the creature
in her hands might be part of the canine family.
“For what, dinner?”
I don’t respond, because now that the
crisis is averted, I’ve managed to shift my attention from the dogs to the
girl, and . . .
Holy shit.
I’m not sure I’ve ever been
sucker-punched by equal waves of lust and disdain before.
Jenny Dawson is hot as hell.
I knew that going in, but up close she’s
even more mouthwatering. Her white skirt is short and tight, her legs long and
toned.
She’s wearing some billowing pink top,
so I can’t get a good look at what’s happening there, but it doesn’t really
matter. I’ve always been a legs man, and I can’t stop looking.
The legs are a 10.
The face is a 10.
And the long blond hair spilling over
one shoulder definitely begs to be spread over a man’s pillow. My pillow.
And yet even as my cock says yes, my
brain is saying hell no.
Gorgeous as she is, she screams diva
from the pink toenails to the sky-high stiletto sandals and all the way up to
the carefully made-up face.
I just turned my entire life upside down
trying to get away from a woman exactly like this one, so this is definitely a look, don’t touch situation.
But I’m looking. I’m definitely looking.
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Play | iTunes | Kobo
Lauren Layne is the USA Today
Bestselling author of more than a dozen contemporary romance novels.
Prior to becoming an author, Lauren worked in e-commerce and web-marketing. A
year after moving from Seattle to NYC to pursue a writing career, she had a
fabulous agent and multiple New York publishing deals.
Lauren currently lives in Manhattan with her husband and plus-sized Pomeranian.
When not writing, you'll likely find her running (rarely), reading (sometimes),
or at happy hour (often).
Bestselling author of more than a dozen contemporary romance novels.
Prior to becoming an author, Lauren worked in e-commerce and web-marketing. A
year after moving from Seattle to NYC to pursue a writing career, she had a
fabulous agent and multiple New York publishing deals.
Lauren currently lives in Manhattan with her husband and plus-sized Pomeranian.
When not writing, you'll likely find her running (rarely), reading (sometimes),
or at happy hour (often).
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