Saturday, January 21, 2017

GOOD GIRL by Lauren Layne **Sale Blitz**



"a delicious bite of Southern seduction with chemistry that sizzles." 

- Rebecca Yarros



GOOD GIRL
a Love Unexpectedly novel
Lauren Layne
Released May 17th, 2016
Loveswept


New York Times BESTSELLER • Lauren Layne brings all the unpredictable heat
of Blurred Lines to
an all-new cast of characters! Country music’s favorite good girl is hiding
away from the world—only to find 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.
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.

ON SALE .99 CENTS

EXCERPT:

Jenny

“Sweetie . . . ,” Amber says in a gentle voice that has me tensing.
I love Amber to death, but she’s not usually one for sweet-talking. She’s more the type of friend who will actually tell you that a certain pair of jeans absolutely makes your butt look big.
I go very still, wondering if I’m going to need more chocolate chips for this. “What? Tell me.”
“Have you ever hooked up with Shawn Bates?”
I make a face. “Yuck, no.”
“But you’ve hung out?”
“No. I’ve met him, like, twice. Maybe three times.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
My heart is pounding now, because there’s an urgency in Amber’s voice that I’m not used to hearing. “I don’t know. The Grammys, I guess. We had our picture taken together, I think.”
Shawn Bates is one of those ridiculously good-looking guys who’s also been blessed with a decent voice. He won best pop vocal album three years in a row.
He was up against me for album of the year. I can’t imagine he was thrilled about losing, but he was friendly enough. A little skeevy, but maybe that’s because I only know his reputation. And I, of all people, know not to believe everything you hear.
“Do you have your laptop handy?” Amber asks in that scary quiet voice.
Oh, crap. Instinctively I know this is bad. Really bad.
I stand, heading into the kitchen, where I left my iPad, Dolly trotting along at my ankles, happy and oblivious with her little chipmunk in her mouth.
“Which site?” I say as I turn on the tablet.
“Any of them.“
As it turns out, I don’t even need to go to a celebrity gossip site. I was reading Google News this morning with my coffee, and it’s still up on my browser window.
Only this time . . .
This time I am the news.
I stare blindly, clicking on the top article, my eyes reading the headline about a dozen times before my brain finally registers it: “Does America’s Favorite Good Girl Have a Secret Seductress Side?”
Below the headline is a picture of me and Shawn at the Grammys, both of us with awards in hand. My head is tilted back in a laugh, and even though I know my happiness comes from winning the award rather than my proximity to Shawn Bates, I have to admit that I look semi-smitten with the guy.
His eyes are locked on my cleavage, his smile far more intimate than it has a right to be considering that our conversation lasted only a split second longer than the picture itself.
At the time, I’d thought the shimmering pink dress the perfect combination of sweet and sexy, but looking at it now, with this headline, it seems garish. My smile’s too wide, my posture too open, my smoky eye makeup too much . . .
“Jenny. Talk to me,” Amber says.
“It’ll pass, right?” I say, still unable to look away from the photo to actually read the article.
Amber doesn’t reply, and Dolly lets out a sad little whimpering noise before sitting on top of my foot as though trying to shield me from what’s to come.
“It’s just another stupid rumor,” I say. “The tabloids are getting exceedingly bold. I can sue, right? And Shawn can sue, and we’ll—”
“Shawn confirmed it,” Amber says.
My ears buzz. “What?”
 










Lauren
Layne 
is the New York Times bestselling author
of more than a dozen romantic comedies. She lives in New York City with her
husband (who was her high school sweetheart--cute, right?!) and plus-sized
Pomeranian.


In 2011, she ditched her corporate career in Seattle to pursue a full-time writing
career in Manhattan, and never looked back.


In her ideal world, every stiletto-wearing, Kate Spade wielding woman would carry a
Kindle stocked with Lauren Layne books.



For a
list of all her works, please be sure to check out her official website!







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