New Release and Review: Good Girl by Lauren Layne

Good Girl

By: Lauren Layne

Releasing May 17, 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.

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.

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Jenny Dawson is a new Hollywood star thanks to a five-minute cameo appearance in a new film. Yet, her rise to stardom is through her music...country music! With the world at her feet, she quickly experiences the ugly side of fame when she's accused of having an affair with a famous married actor. To escape the negative publicity, she seeks refuge in a place that holds happy memories for her...in rural Louisiana.

Noah Maxwell's life changed forever when he met his father for the first time aged fourteen. He's suddenly plunged into a world where he has everything he wants. However, as he's gotten older, he's realised that something is missing from his life. Something that money can't buy. When he's asked to rent out an old house he's inherited, he's reminded of his desire to stay away from high maintenance women like his new tenant, only to find out she isn't the woman he thought she was!

Their first impressions of each other may have been a little negative.

Noah: "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."

Jenny: "...And then he had to go and open his mouth. It would figure that the first guy I'm attracted to in a good long time turns out to be a total jerk..."

The undoubtable seeds of attraction are firmly sown as Jenny and Noah learn to live around each other in the old mansion. Both sharing a similar humble background whilst trying to escape lives that they don't fit in with. It isn't long before neither can deny the overwhelming lust hanging between them. Noah unconsciously aids Jenny to push sexual boundaries in a way that he himself couldn't have believed possible...zip ties! Yes, Jenny is a good girl in a not quite innocent way but she's also curious and eager to learn!

I've always enjoyed the first person dual point of view and I love it when a favourite author shakes things up a bit. Good Girl certainly fills that criterion. The old antebellum house is a surprising backdrop for Jenny and Noah's story, yet it feels like a breath of fresh air. Its presence is full of future promises just like its a reminder of the past.

The writing is what I've come to expect from this author and doesn't disappoint. There's the usual funny, witty banter between the protagonists and the secondary characters, which have always been entertaining and relevant in all the previous books I've read by her. The heat factor has been ramped up a notch in this novel but isn't gratuitous. It's very much an integral part of Jenny and Noah's story, just as both are craving a more honest world that's more familiar to them, away from the obvious trappings of wealth and fame.

Lastly, a special mention to Dolly and Ranger. I was initially sceptical to your presence, but I admit your inclusion is unexpectedly light-hearted and fun.

***arc generously received courtesy of Loveswept Publishing via NetGalley***

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?”

“This morning. Coming out of the gym, the vultures were all over him. Instead of keeping his mouth shut, Shawn said, and I quote, ‘Look, I’m not proud of my actions, but I can’t be the first guy to get pulled into Jenny Dawson’s vortex, and I’m sure I won’t be the last. At this point, all I can do is look forward and try to make amends.’”

“What is he talking about?” I squeak, my eyes closing as I pull hard on my ponytail in frustration. “Make amends for what? My vortex? Is that a thing?”

“It gets worse,” Amber says, her voice miserable.

“I don’t know how that’s even possible.”

“He’s not the only one who’s confirmed the story.”

I blink. “Someone else is also delusional?”

“Yeah. His wife.”

“Oh my God,” I whisper.

I don’t know much about Shawn Bates’s wife, but pretty much everyone knows their story. Childhood sweethearts who started dating in middle school, they got married right out of high school, shortly before Shawn got famous.

There are always rumors that he’s cheating, but like I’ve said, I don’t put much faith in rumors.

One thing I know for sure is that if he is cheating, it’s not with me.

“She posted a tearful selfie on every single social media platform along with a big old statement about how she and Shawn are going through a rough patch, but their love is stronger than any country-singing home wrecker.”

“I’m not a home wrecker.”

“I know that, J. But you have that song, and there’s that picture—”

“The song was euphemistic!” I say, referring to my first hit single, a song I wrote about all the things that can come between a couple once the honeymoon period’s over: the TV, bills, iPhones, work. Those are the home wreckers.

Not me.

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).-

 

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New Release Spotlight: Smut by Katrina Halle

What happens when the kink between the pages leads to heat between the sheets?

All Blake Crawford wants is to pass his creative writing course, get his university degree and take over his dad’s ailing family business. What Amanda Newland wants is to graduate at the top of her class, as well as finally finish her novel and prove to her family that writing is a respectful career.

What Blake and Amanda don’t want is to be paired up with each other for their final project but that’s exactly what they both get when they’re forced to collaborate on a writing piece. Since Amanda thinks Blake is a pushy asshole (with a panty-melting smirk and British accent) and Blake thinks Amanda has a stick up her ass (though it’s brilliant ass), they fight tooth and nail until they discover they write well together. They also might find each other really attractive, but that’s neither here nor there.

When their writing project turns out to be a success, the two of them decide to start up a secret partnership together using a pen name, infiltrating the self-publishing market in the lucrative genre of erotica. Naturally, with so much heat and passion between the pages, it’s not long before their dirty words become a dirty reality. Sure, they still fight a lot but at least there’s make-up sex now.

But even as they start to fall hard for each other, will their burgeoning relationship survive if their scandalous secret is exposed or are happily-ever-afters just a work of fiction?

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She holds my gaze for a moment and something passes over her. Regret, maybe. Then she nods. “Sit down. Let’s work.”

And so we do. And for the first time in a long time, it’s strained. I’m about to suggest maybe we need the Estonian vodka anyway when she lets out an exasperated sigh over something she’s reading.

It happens to be something I wrote.

“What?” I ask, wondering what I did wrong.

She gives me the are you kidding me? look. “Okay, I was ignoring it earlier but I think you need to get a grip on some of this shit. This simply does not happen.”

“Explain, please.”

“I just think it’s unrealistic for there to be so much talking, let alone the fact that the first time they do it it’s in a public place.”

“Too much talking?”

“Yeah.” she scans over the document. “You know, give me your cock, oh you feel so good, harder, harder, you’re so big, fuck me harder big boy.”

“Have you even had good sex?” I ask incredulously.

She flinches. “Of course I have. And it’s none of your business.”

“We’re writing about sex. It’s completely my business. I’m not letting you interject your edits based on your personal experiences about sex because believe me, if the sex is good, you’re moaning my name.”

She raises her chin. “Maybe all those girls were faking it.”

Oh, brilliant.

“Excuse me?” I say, hands pressed against the table, nearly getting out of my chair. “You have no idea. I pride myself in giving a girl as many bloody orgasms as she can handle.”

“Bloody orgasms don’t sound like fun,” she jokes softly.

“They can be if you’re into knife play,” I tell her, even though that’s not exactly what I meant. Still, she scrunches up her nose. “Don’t knock it until you try it, but that’s neither here nor there. When you were with Alan, he must have made you come at least a few times.”

If he didn’t, I feel like finding the guy and showing him a thing or two for wasting four years of her life.

“Yeah,” she says flatly.

“And in the middle of that orgasm, didn’t you want to yell a few things?”

“Sometimes.”

“And why didn’t you?”

She looks at her nails as if they’re suddenly fascinating. “It didn’t seem right. It was…too intimate. I would have felt dumb. He didn’t like any of that stuff.”

The plot thickens. “Any of what stuff?”

“Sex that didn’t involve the missionary position or the bed.”

My mouth drops open. My brain and penis can’t compute this. “I feel so sorry for you.”

We must remedy this.

She glares at me. “It’s not like I didn’t want to do it. I did. And he did try it. Most of it. But it always went back to the same old.”

I knew it. She’s a nerd on the streets and a freak in the sheets.

“I don’t mean to brag,” I tell her in all seriousness. “But you do realize that I could give you an orgasm in thirty seconds.”

Her eyes widen. I can’t tell if she’s horrified or intrigued. “I don’t believe you and I don’t want you to try.”

She’s not getting it. I frown, trying to explain. “If you’re having good sex and it’s with someone you’re comfortable with, you won’t worry about holding back. You’ll cry out all the nonsense you want, you’ll make noises like a pig and scream like you’re on fire because you truly can’t have a good orgasm unless you’re letting go on all accounts.” I lean back in my chair and study her, running my fingers along my jaw. “I would venture that every time you came with your ex, you were only experiencing half of what you should have been. How is it with your vibrators?”

I expect her to tell me to fuck off, that I’m getting too personal but to my surprise she gives me a small smile. “It’s better. But I do have a roommate with exceptionally good hearing.” She clears her throat. “Anyway, so I guess I’m wrong. The heroine can make all the noise she wants.”

“And have first time sex in public.”

“I don’t know…”

“Believe me, when you finally get a chance to fuck, you don’t care where it is. That’s why I always have a condom in my pocket. And the more public the sex, the sneakier you have to be, the hotter it is.”

“But in the book you would never get caught.”

“You don’t always get caught in real life too.”

I can see she wants to ask me where I’ve done it but she loses her nerve. “Okay.” She looks back to the document. “I accept defeat.”

But I don’t want her to. I want to prove to her I’m right and not have her take my word.

Is there a non-creepy way to show her just how amazing good sex can feel? I’m thinking not.

Or…maybe there is.

Karina Halle is a former travel writer and music journalist and The New York Times, Wall Street Journal and USA Today Bestselling author of The Pact, Racing the Sun, Sins & Needles and over 25 other wild and romantic reads. She lives on an island off the coast of British Columbia with her husband and her rescue pup, where she drinks a lot of wine, hikes a lot of trails and devours a lot of books.

Halle is represented by the Waxman Leavell Agency and is both self-published and published by Simon & Schuster and Hachette in North America and in the UK.

Hit her up on Instagram at @authorHalle, on Twitter at @MetalBlonde and on Facebook. You can also visit www.authorkarinahalle.com and sign up for the newsletter for news, excerpts, previews, private book signing sales and more.

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New Release Spotlight: Stout by Georgia Cates

STOUT : A Lovibond Novel

Craft beer and the sexy men who brew it.

A beautiful neighbor. A complete stranger. That’s all she was when I moved in next door.

Adelyn Maxwell is my neighbor but she’s no girl next door. The more I come to know her, the more I discover she’s a good girl with a lovely dark side. And maybe I don’t want her to stay on her side of the fence.

I want to disturb the rhythm of her pulse.

I want to see the way her hair spills on the bed when she lies beneath me.

I want her to teach me the dirty pretty things she desires behind closed doors. And she does.

But mostly I want to leave my mark on the most intimate, untouched part of her body. Her heart.

A seemingly insignificant intersection of our lives neither of us recalls suddenly becomes a pivotal moment in our future. We aren’t strangers at all. And our paths aren’t crossing for the first time.

These twists and turns of fate will become one of two things: a wrecking ball to tear us apart or the connection to bond us together forever.

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Adelyn Maxwell’s POV

“Are you all right?”

I see what I think is concern in Oliver’s eyes. “Not at all.”

Oliver comes to me, takes the dish towel from my hand and tosses it onto the counter. “I want you to leave that nipping son of a bitch here and go for a ride with me on my bike.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Have you ever ridden on a motorcycle?”

“No.”

“Are you afraid?”

“No.” Yes. But not of metal and rubber or the speed in which the two will carry us.

“Then go for a ride with me. We’ll cruise around the block and if you don’t like it, I’ll bring you right back. Promise.”

I look at Oliver’s attire and then mine. Shorts and tank top probably aren’t ideal for riding. “Give me a minute to change.”

“Okay.” He grabs a biscuit. “Saving these for anyone?”

“No. Have as many as you like. Jam is in the fridge.”

I return wearing faded skinny jeans, a fitted black V-neck T-shirt, black combat boots. I have no intention of brushing my hair for an hour to remove a bazillion knots so I go with a fishtail braid. “Ready.”

“Wow. You look like one badass chick.” I hold out my foot to better display the lace-up boots Maurice calls shit-kickers. “But you don’t just look the part. You are a real badass.” Oliver’s words are a reminder of last night’s blunder.

“Yeah, about that.” Do I own it and roll with the badass perception he has of me? Or do I apologize for going there? Was it TMI?

I can’t decide so the words don’t come.

“I understand more about what influenced your decision than you might think. Don’t be sorry you told me. And don’t be freaking out about it.”

“I’m not freaking out about it.” Lie. Lie. Lie.

He points at the spread of baked goods that says otherwise. “You are totally freaking out about telling me. But don’t. If there’s anyone who gets it, it’s me.”

If there’s anyone who gets it, it’s me. Something has happened to this man. He knows pain. “Tell me about it.”

I don’t have to flesh it out. He knows what I’m asking for.

Hook, line, and sinker. I’m sucked into the storm spinning out of control behind the dilated blackness of his blue eyes.

What I see there confirms I’m right. Something bad has happened to Oliver Thorn.

“I’ll tell you. But first, we ride.”

“Deal.”

Dark stealth. Glossy black rims. Polished to perfection. I’ve seen Oliver’s bike from next door but it’s a much more impressive-looking piece of machinery up-close. “It’s lovely.”

He stops and stares at me. “It’s a custom Ducati Monster 821 Dark. It’s not lovely. It’s badass.” I giggle. Boys and their toys.

“It’s a lovely badass.”

“Maybe you’re the lovely badass.” Damn. There’s that smile again. I bet he can use it to get anything he wants from women.

Lovely. I’m accustomed to compliments from men. I’m often told I’m sexy. Pretty. Beautiful. I once took pleasure in hearing those things from men, especially Martin, but now I receive those words with a grain of salt. And I will this time as well since I’m unsure if Oliver makes a habit of using flattery on women.

However, badass strikes a different chord in me; it’s a reminder of the things I told Oliver last night. All my wrongdoings.

He holds up a black leather jacket. “It’ll get a little cool even though it’s May. Especially if we’re still out after dark.”

I turn and slip my arms into the sleeves. I spin around and he surprises me by closing the zipper teeth and pulling the clasp upward until it stops at my breasts. “A little snug.”

I suck in but it makes my chest rise bigger. No way the zipper is going any further like that.

It’s obvious the jacket belongs to a woman smaller than me. “Guess my boobs are bigger than your ex-girlfriend’s.”

“Breathe out and relax your shoulders.” He pulls the leather together and then yanks the zipper clasp up and over my D-cups. “Your boobs are bigger than my sister’s. This is her jacket.”

“Oh.” I smile on the inside, not daring to let him see me delight in him noticing my boobs. Or my relief in knowing he hasn’t put me in something belonging to an old girlfriend.

“Next.” I take the all-black helmet he offers and slip it over my head. I study the outline of his facial hair as he works on adjusting my chinstrap.

“I feel like a little girl being dressed by her daddy.”

He grins but avoids my eyes. “There’s so much I could say to that.”

“I suppose there is.”

“Feel okay?”

“Despite being squeezed like I’m wearing a corset, yeah.”

He grins and grabs the end of my braid, twirling the end around his finger. “I love red hair. It’s my favorite.”

Oliver Thorn is touching my hair, twirling my hair. My red hair, which he says is his favorite. Do not pant so he can hear you, Adelyn.

I wondered if he intended for lovely badass to be flirtatious. But there’s no questioning this.

He’s insinuated he has demons in his past, which give him the ability to understand my actions, but he must see I’m a little unhinged emotionally. It isn’t possible to miss.

“I once despised it. I used to bleach it blonde with drugstore hair color.”

“Never. Do. That. Again.” There’s an alpha-like tone in his voice. Almost growly. And it sends a sharp tingle down my body. I haven’t felt that in years, and I welcome it. 

Georgia resides in rural Mississippi with her wonderful husband, Jeff, and their two beautiful daughters. She spent fourteen years as a labor and delivery nurse before she decided to pursue her dream of becoming an author and hasn’t looked back yet.

When she’s not writing, she’s thinking about writing. When she’s being domestic, she’s listening to her iPod and visualizing scenes for her current work in progress. Every story coming from her always has a song to inspire it.

Representation: All questions regarding subsidiary rights for any of my books, inquiries regarding foreign translation and film rights should be directed to Jane Dystel of Dystel & Goderich.

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