Crushed
Redemption # 2
Redemption # 2
By: Lauren Layne
Releasing April 14th, 2015
Loveswept: Flirt
Lauren Layne’s latest novel about the healing power
of redemption tells the story of a crush gone wickedly wrong, proving that what
you want isn’t always what you need.
Growing
up in New York, Michael St. Claire never expected to spend his twenties wearing
cowboy boots. But that was before he learned about his real father, a total
stranger with a family in Cedar Grove, Texas. Once in the Lone Star State,
Michael meets Kristin Bellamy, who is exquisitely refined and everything
Michael always thought he wanted in a woman. The only problem is that Kristin
is dating Michael’s new half-brother, Devon.
Kristin’s
mouthy, curvy sister Chloe has always been in love with Devon Patterson. So
when Michael offers to help Chloe break up Devon and Kristin, Chloe agrees to a
deal that seems too good to be true. Before long, Chloe finally gets her man,
only to make a startling discovery: She no longer wants the guy she had to fight
for—she wants the one who stood by her side.
After
all he and Chloe have been through, Michael swears he’s damaged goods. Can
Chloe convince him that love is worth the risk?
Link to Follow Tour: http://www.tastybooktours.com/2015/01/crushed-redemption-2-by-lauren-layne.html
Goodreads Link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23166994-crushed
Goodreads Series Link: https://www.goodreads.com/series/132732-redemption
Buy Links: Amazon | B & N | iTunes | Kobo
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Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Crushed-Redemption-Novel-Lauren-Layne-ebook/dp/B00N6PD1QQ/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1421948585&sr=8-1&keywords=crushed+by+lauren+layne&pebp=1421948592649&peasin=B00N6PD1QQ
Lauren Layne
is the USA Today Bestselling author of contemporary romance.
Prior to
becoming an author, Lauren worked in e-commerce and web-marketing. In 2011, she
and her husband moved from Seattle to New York City, where Lauren decided to
pursue a full-time writing career. It took six months to get her first
book deal (despite ardent assurances to her husband that it would only take
three). Since then, Lauren's gone on to publish ten books, including the
bestselling Stiletto series, with several more on the way in
2015.
Lauren
currently lives in Chicago with her husband and spoiled Pomeranian. When not
writing, you'll find her at happy hour, running at a doggedly slow pace, or
trying to straighten her naturally curly hair.
Website: http://www.laurenlayne.com/
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/laurenlayneauthor
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/_laurenlayne
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6969772.Lauren_Layne
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/laurenlayneauthor
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/_laurenlayne
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6969772.Lauren_Layne
EXCERPT
“Your shirt’s untucked in the back.”
I turn, giving a half smile of gratitude to the blonde who’s just
followed me out of the unisex restroom at the Cambridge Country Club tennis
courts.
She giggles as she runs a hand over her tennis skirt, smoothing it
over tanned, toned thighs. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into doing that
in a public restroom.”
Yeah. Right. I hadn’t
talked Mindy McLaughlin into shit. Everything from the location to the position
had been her idea.
But I don’t remind her of this.
If I’ve learned anything in my first month as tennis pro to the
rich and richer, it’s that cougars don’t like being reminded that they’re
the ones doing the pursuing.
I give her a wink as I finish tucking in my shirt, before scanning
the courts to make sure we don’t have any witnesses to the fact that we just
spent the first twenty minutes of Mindy’s sixty-minute tennis lesson fucking
against the wall of a bathroom stall.
Luckily, it’s the middle of the day and hot as hell. Most people
hit the courts in the early morning or not at all.
Mindy follows me to the benches, where we retrieve our rackets.
“Should we finish up?” I ask.
She lets out a low laugh, running pink manicured nails down the
front of my white polo. “I think we already did that.”
I ignore this, and hold up the tennis ball questioningly.
“It’s hot,” she whines.
It is. Way too fucking hot to play tennis. She still has forty
minutes left, but I’m not all that surprised that she wants to bail. We both
know she didn’t come down here for the tennis.
It’s just as well. I hate the damn sport. I only work the courts
three days a week, and my lesson schedule is packed with women who are probably
better at tennis than I am.
I’m passably decent at tennis, because, once upon a time, I was
one of the spoiled brats taking lessons, not giving them. I
don’t love the sport. I’m not like these other douche bags that work the courts
and make a big show of how they could have gone pro if they wanted.
My tennis skills aren’t why I was hired, and I damn well know it.
Growing up on the Upper East Side of New York taught me early that women of the
idle rich class get bored easily. A boredom they often ease by taking up with
men other than their husbands.
Fortunately for me, most of my life I was blissfully unaware that
my own mother fell into that category of straying housewives.
Ignorance truly is bliss.
And when ignorance is over?
All hell breaks loose.
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