Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome Peggy Jaeger. You can grab Dearly Beloved at on-line realtors listed below.
As a romance reader, I love to read about weddings. There are so many tropes you can choose from, from meeting the love of your life at a wedding, enemies to lovers at a wedding, best friends’ brother (or sister) as a wedding. So many! A MATCH MADE IN HEAVEN is my contribution to the wedding tropes of the romance genre and book 1 in the series, DEARLY BELOVED, is on sale right now, just in time for wedding and beach reading seasons. This one is an enemies to lovers book with a few others thrown in for good measure!
Colleen O’Dowd manages a thriving bridal business with her sisters in Heaven, New Hampshire. After fleeing Manhattan and her cheating ex-fiancé, Colleen still believes in happily ever afters. But with a demanding business to run, her sisters to look after, and their 93-year-old grandmother to keep out of trouble, she’s worried she’ll never find Mr. Right.
Playboy Slade Harrington doesn’t believe in marriage. His father’s six weddings have taught him life is better as an unencumbered single guy. But Slade loves his little sister. He’ll do anything for her, including footing the bill for her dream wedding. He doesn’t plan on losing his heart to a smart-mouthed, gorgeous wedding planner, though.
When her ex-fiancé comes back into the picture, Colleen must choose between Mr. Right and Mr. Right Now.
Still gripping my hand, Slade spun me around once we were under the protection of the cabin’s roof and glared at me. Fat raindrops dripped from his saturated hair, the color of wild goldenrod now that it was wet, and cascaded across his cut cheekbones. His long and enviable eyelashes were stuck together in little water spikes, and his shirt—Mother of God, his shirt!—was plastered to every muscle, line, and crevice of his torso. He would have obliterated any competition in a wet shirt contest, hands down. The saturated material outlined the defined and chiseled mounds of his pecs and the indentations and grooves of a well-constructed six-pack. The man obviously spent some hours in a gym. Many hours, from the looks of it. Through the material, his nipples had hardened from the chilly rain to two dark, puckered peaks. I had the most irrational impulse to press my lips against his shirt and suck on them through it.
If I wasn’t so annoyed by his Neanderthal actions, I might have done it, too.
“Seriously, would it have killed you to leave all that”—he swiped his hand out the door to indicate the chairs—“until this downpour is over with? To chance pneumonia or a drowning for a few folding chairs?”
“Don’t be so dramatic.”
“Me? I’m dramatic?” His voice rivaled the crash of the storm raging outside.
I shook my head, the wet ends of my hair sticking to my chin with the motion. Swiping away a chunk that had swished into my mouth, I said, “You simply don’t understand the time crunch I’m on. I have two huge weddings this weekend, ten places my team and I have to be at the same time, and little things like adding time to take down then put back up those few folding chairs is time I don’t have to spare. So, yes, if it came to that, I would be willing to chance pneumonia, or even the plague, to ensure everything goes according to plan. You’ve never been married—”
“And never will.”
“—so you don’t know what it’s like when one simple thing goes awry or messes with a timed-down- to-the-second bridal schedule.” I wound down and took a giant breath. The words he’d spewed, interrupting me, settled in for the first time. He was never going to get married. Never? Wow. Someone or something had really made an impression on him. I silently thanked the gods of matrimony he hadn’t inflicted that thought on his sister.
“You know, I can’t figure out if you’re obstinate by nature or you simply don’t like listening to anyone else,” Slade said. He fisted his hands on his trim hips and looked down his perfect nose at me. With his brows touching in the middle of his forehead, he shook his head in disgust. Rainwater flung from his hair with the motion, the cold droplets slapping me in the face.
I flicked a few off my cheek. “Both,” I shot back, letting my own annoyance break through.
It didn’t escape me that even drenched and aggravated the guy was something to look at. How was that fair? I knew—knew—I looked like a drowned poodle. I’d straightened my hair before leaving for the office, but I could hear it frizzing and recurling as I stood there, the humidity and moisture whipping it up into a waterspout of kink. I was sure my mascara had me mimicking a rabid raccoon and God knows what other harried feral creature.
But Slade Harrington looked like a model for a popular men’s fragrance. Any second, I expected him to murmur something in French, like oui or eau.
What was it about this guy that pissed me off to no end but turned me on enough to consider licking him from head to toes at the same time?
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” He lowered his voice, dragged in a breath, and raked a hand through his hair from his temple to his neck, slicking it flat against his skull. Like a squeegee, water slid from the tips of his fingers with the movement. “Jesus. We’re drenched.” He looked down at his shirt and pants, and then back to me. His gaze took a slow amble from my head down to my neck, over my breasts and nipples, which were—gulp—as hard and pointed as his were, then farther down. My thin, cotton-blend skirt was literally glued to me from waist to knees. I could only imagine the view he was getting.
Every inch of skin on my body went goose bump crazy under his inspection. Or maybe it was because the rain was so chilly and the day had been so warm.
Nah. The temperature outside had nothing to do with it. The temperature of Slade’s expression though, did.
When he dragged his attention back to my face, the annoyed glare in his eyes changed. Irritation was gone and in its place, want.
Pure, bold, rain-soaked want.
Intrigued? You can get your 99-cent sale copy at these fine digital retailers. The sale ends June 21, so get your copy today!
Bio/Social media stuff:
Peggy Jaeger is a contemporary romance writer who writes Romantic Comedies about strong women, the families who support them, and the men who can’t live without them. If she can make you cry on one page and bring you out of tears rolling with laughter the next, she’s done her job as a writer!
Family and food play huge roles in Peggy’s stories because she believes there is nothing that holds a family structure together like sharing a meal…or two…or ten. Dotted with humor and characters that are as real as they are loving, she brings all topics of daily life into her stories: life, death, sibling rivalry, illness and the desire for everyone to find their own happily ever after. Growing up the only child of divorced parents she longed for sisters, brothers and a family that vowed to stick together no matter what came their way. Through her books, she’s created the families she wanted as that lonely child.
When she’s not writing Peggy is usually painting, crafting, scrapbooking or decoupaging old steamer trunks she finds at rummage stores and garage sales.
A lifelong and avid romance reader and writer, Peggy is a member of RWA and her local New Hampshire RWA Chapter.
As a lifelong diarist, she caught the blogging bug early on, and you can visit her at peggyjaeger.com where she blogs daily about life, writing, and stuff that makes her go “What??!”
Social Media links:
Amazon Author page: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B00T8E5LN0