Book Title: The Undisciplined Bride
Author: Ginger Voight
Release date: October 1, 2013
Synopsis:
Throughout her 23 years, Peyton Prescott was used to running the show. That went into overdrive
the minute she agreed to become a bride. Born into an affluent Southern family, she was expected to
fulfill her social obligation to marry well, and found that unsuspecting groom in her pushover fiancé,
Leland Goodreau. He, like the rest of her family, catered to her every whim to keep her happy, and she predicted a satisfactory, if not boring, existence as his missus.
In fact, the only real human to stand up to this bridezilla from hell is Mateo Bravo, one of the chefs she considers to cater the blessed event. Sparks fly the minute they meet and out of sheer defiance, she hires Mateo and his sister Naomi for every social gathering in the remaining months until she marries.
Mateo, unlike any other man she's ever met, doesn't put up with Peyton’s behavior. With a masculine
energy that she finds alluring and exciting, he turns her entitled existence upside down by showing her she's not always the boss. No one is more surprised than she is when she finds out that she kind of likes it.
Peyton decides to seduce, and then dump, the middle-class cook, just to get him out from under her
skin. Instead she finds out that there are a few things in life even the great Peyton Prescott can’t plan.
Ginger Voight is prolific author, freelance writer and optioned screenwriter. Her fiction is diverse, with novels like the edgy, coming-of-age drama DIRTY LITTLE SECRETS, and the fun family adventure for kids of all ages, COMIC SQUAD.
Having grown up reading different authors like Danielle Steel and Stephen King, Ginger has always been drawn more to story than to genre. This shows up in her various stories. Titles such as MY IMMORTAL and TASTE OF BLOOD are a delicious, heady mix of horror, suspense, and romance.Genre romance, however, has held a special place in her heart, ever since she read her first Harlequin novel when she was only eleven. As a result, Ginger is making a name for herself writing romances of her own, starring women who look more like the average American woman rather than those traditionally represented in the size-biased American media. Her Rubenesque romances were created especially for those heroines with fuller figures, who can still get the man of their dreams if only they believe they can. Such titles include UNDER TEXAS SKIES, LOVE PLUS ONE, THE GROUPIE TRILOGY, THE FIERCE TRILOGY and PICTURE POSTCARDS.
Ginger was included in the best-selling book by Smith Magazine NOT QUITE WHAT I WAS PLANNING, featuring her six-word memoir.
~Excerpt~
As much as she wanted to hate what they had prepared, the dinner was excellent. Every single one of their guests raved about it, including her husband-to-be. For Peyton, however, it tasted like ash in her mouth.
All she could think about was the condescending way a no-name chef in a broken down van called her “princess,” like she was nothing more than a bubble-headed debutante.
When he served the main course, he had changed into a finely tailored tuxedo. He wore a perfect, white smile for every lady at the table, who blushed and giggled under his swarthy good looks. That unruly patch of hair over his eye had been gelled up and styled, which made his potent stare all the more lethal.
His eyes were dark and deep, as if one could stare too long into them and never find their way back out again. Every time Peyton found herself ensnared in their grip, she had to physically wrench herself free.
It didn’t sit well at all with her that the corners of that full mouth would tug a little, barely surprising a grin at his effect on her.
By the time he served dessert, she placed a hand over her plate to indicate that she didn’t want anything he had to offer. He unleashed his devastating smirk on her once again, telling her that she shouldn’t deprive herself… that, after all, “All men want a woman with a little meat on their bones.”
Everyone at the table, tipsy on the four bottles of wine that had been served prior to dessert, erupted in laughter at his innocent joke. He served with the appropriate amount of charm and humor, just like the rest of their meal, charming the pants off of every female, and a couple of men, present.
But his underlying insolence only humiliated her further. He didn’t have to call her princess to know that was how he meant to deliver his retort in his head. It was a private joke only between them, and she wasn’t laughing in the least.
Instead she threw her linen napkin on top of the empty china plate and stalked from the table. She didn’t stop until she had exploded into the cool night air on their terrace. She paced back and forth for a full two minutes, huffing and puffing that no one stood up to what amounted to their waiter, even when she made a scene and left.
Each minute ticked audibly by and no one, from her parents to her best friend to her fucking fiancé, came to see what was wrong. It made Peyton even angrier and more petulant as each passing moment stole a little more thunder from her hissy fit. With a scowl, she plopped down onto a stone bench and preened to listen in to the riotous laughter coming from her parents’ formal dining room.
They were all having the time of their lives… without her.
She hopped up and began to pace again, only this time all she could see were those dark eyes that twinkled whenever they danced brazenly over her like a piece of meat. Electricity surged through her as she thought about how innocently he brushed against her when they stood beside his food van. And this thought led to the memory of how he looked in a tight pair of jeans and no shirt… like a bronze Adonis that looked more at home among the statues in her mother’s gardens than the wait staff in the kitchen.
After another involuntary shudder, she cornered another server. “Do you have a cigarette?”
“I do,” a deep, masculine voice said from behind. She whirled around to find Mateo leaning against the open door frame in his tuxedo like some leading man from a move from the golden age. She watched his hand reach deep into his pants pocket to withdraw a pack. His fingers were long and strong as he withdrew a cigarette for her, offering it just a few paces away from where she stood, making her cross the final steps between them.
She snatched it from his hand and he had the nerve to chuckle. “What’s so funny?” she demanded.
“You don’t strike me as the kind of person who smokes,” he shrugged. His eyes fell on her mouth as she put the cigarette between her lips.
For a split second all the humor was gone. Instead Peyton saw something else there… something she could control. She saw his hunger. With a slow smile she met his eyes and said, “I guess I have an oral fixation.” To her delight his eyes darkened. “Have a light?”
He withdrew a lighter and this time he closed the scant inches between them to light her cigarette. He watched her suck in a breath as his eyes locked on her mouth. “So what did you think of the food?” he asked softly. "You left in such a hurry," he added with a teasing smile.
She shrugged. “I don’t see what the big deal is, personally,” she offered evilly. The food had been exceptional, but there was no way in hell she’d let him know that.
He chuckled again, the warm sound of his rich, deep laugh tumbled across her senses. “Guess we’ll have to do better next time.”
Her perfectly tweezed eyebrow arched. “What makes you think there will be a next time?”
It was his turn to shrug. “Just a hunch,” he said. His eyelids drooped lazily as he inspected her. “You don’t seem like a woman who will give up on anything until she’s completely satisfied.”
Her chin jutted out. “You’ve got that right, at least.”
His eyes traveled over her face, then down across the exposed skin of her chest and arms. “Damn shame you have gone unfulfilled for such a long time already,” he said softly.
She gulped. “What is that supposed to mean?”
His voice was quiet but powerful. There was a cadence to his speech, as though he was striking every word with a hammer. The softer the words, the harder the hit. “You tell me. When is the last time someone fully met every aching need?” He wanted to know as he stepped closer. “I’ll bet never. And that’s why you’re so pissed off, isn’t it, Princess? You can have everything you want… yet, you never have.”
She shuddered despite herself. “You have a lot of nerve talking to me like that. Don’t you know I could have you fired?”
He stepped even closer, until their bodies were a breath apart. “But you won’t.”
She glared at him. “You’re a cocky son of a bitch, aren’t you?”
Before she realized what was happening his arm snaked around her waist and he pulled her to his rigid body. “You tell me.”
Her brain scrambled as he manhandled her. His grip was strong and true, and if she struggled she would feel every inch of his hard body contained in that fine tuxedo. “Let me go,” she gritted between clenched teeth.
His face was next to hers, his mouth mere inches from her ear. “Is that what you want, princess?” His hand slipped down from her waist over the graceful curve of her ass.
It was inappropriate as hell, and no one – absolutely no one – had ever treated her in such a disrespectful manner. Instead of the anger she would normally feel, for one insane moment she was tempted to reach the remaining inch between them and crash her mouth against his, to taste the raw hunger of this stranger’s kiss once and for all.
Her eyes widened as she pushed against that rigid chest, rippling with muscles she had never experienced so close before. “Fuck you,” she breathed as she stumbled away. She nearly lost her footing and it was Mateo who prevented her from landing face first on the hard concrete.
“Maybe someday,” he said with that same damnable smirk. “But not today.”
With that he left her alone on the terrace as he disappeared back into the kitchen. She nearly snarled with rage as she tossed the cigarette off onto darkness.
All she could think about was the condescending way a no-name chef in a broken down van called her “princess,” like she was nothing more than a bubble-headed debutante.
When he served the main course, he had changed into a finely tailored tuxedo. He wore a perfect, white smile for every lady at the table, who blushed and giggled under his swarthy good looks. That unruly patch of hair over his eye had been gelled up and styled, which made his potent stare all the more lethal.
His eyes were dark and deep, as if one could stare too long into them and never find their way back out again. Every time Peyton found herself ensnared in their grip, she had to physically wrench herself free.
It didn’t sit well at all with her that the corners of that full mouth would tug a little, barely surprising a grin at his effect on her.
By the time he served dessert, she placed a hand over her plate to indicate that she didn’t want anything he had to offer. He unleashed his devastating smirk on her once again, telling her that she shouldn’t deprive herself… that, after all, “All men want a woman with a little meat on their bones.”
Everyone at the table, tipsy on the four bottles of wine that had been served prior to dessert, erupted in laughter at his innocent joke. He served with the appropriate amount of charm and humor, just like the rest of their meal, charming the pants off of every female, and a couple of men, present.
But his underlying insolence only humiliated her further. He didn’t have to call her princess to know that was how he meant to deliver his retort in his head. It was a private joke only between them, and she wasn’t laughing in the least.
Instead she threw her linen napkin on top of the empty china plate and stalked from the table. She didn’t stop until she had exploded into the cool night air on their terrace. She paced back and forth for a full two minutes, huffing and puffing that no one stood up to what amounted to their waiter, even when she made a scene and left.
Each minute ticked audibly by and no one, from her parents to her best friend to her fucking fiancé, came to see what was wrong. It made Peyton even angrier and more petulant as each passing moment stole a little more thunder from her hissy fit. With a scowl, she plopped down onto a stone bench and preened to listen in to the riotous laughter coming from her parents’ formal dining room.
They were all having the time of their lives… without her.
She hopped up and began to pace again, only this time all she could see were those dark eyes that twinkled whenever they danced brazenly over her like a piece of meat. Electricity surged through her as she thought about how innocently he brushed against her when they stood beside his food van. And this thought led to the memory of how he looked in a tight pair of jeans and no shirt… like a bronze Adonis that looked more at home among the statues in her mother’s gardens than the wait staff in the kitchen.
After another involuntary shudder, she cornered another server. “Do you have a cigarette?”
“I do,” a deep, masculine voice said from behind. She whirled around to find Mateo leaning against the open door frame in his tuxedo like some leading man from a move from the golden age. She watched his hand reach deep into his pants pocket to withdraw a pack. His fingers were long and strong as he withdrew a cigarette for her, offering it just a few paces away from where she stood, making her cross the final steps between them.
She snatched it from his hand and he had the nerve to chuckle. “What’s so funny?” she demanded.
“You don’t strike me as the kind of person who smokes,” he shrugged. His eyes fell on her mouth as she put the cigarette between her lips.
For a split second all the humor was gone. Instead Peyton saw something else there… something she could control. She saw his hunger. With a slow smile she met his eyes and said, “I guess I have an oral fixation.” To her delight his eyes darkened. “Have a light?”
He withdrew a lighter and this time he closed the scant inches between them to light her cigarette. He watched her suck in a breath as his eyes locked on her mouth. “So what did you think of the food?” he asked softly. "You left in such a hurry," he added with a teasing smile.
She shrugged. “I don’t see what the big deal is, personally,” she offered evilly. The food had been exceptional, but there was no way in hell she’d let him know that.
He chuckled again, the warm sound of his rich, deep laugh tumbled across her senses. “Guess we’ll have to do better next time.”
Her perfectly tweezed eyebrow arched. “What makes you think there will be a next time?”
It was his turn to shrug. “Just a hunch,” he said. His eyelids drooped lazily as he inspected her. “You don’t seem like a woman who will give up on anything until she’s completely satisfied.”
Her chin jutted out. “You’ve got that right, at least.”
His eyes traveled over her face, then down across the exposed skin of her chest and arms. “Damn shame you have gone unfulfilled for such a long time already,” he said softly.
She gulped. “What is that supposed to mean?”
His voice was quiet but powerful. There was a cadence to his speech, as though he was striking every word with a hammer. The softer the words, the harder the hit. “You tell me. When is the last time someone fully met every aching need?” He wanted to know as he stepped closer. “I’ll bet never. And that’s why you’re so pissed off, isn’t it, Princess? You can have everything you want… yet, you never have.”
She shuddered despite herself. “You have a lot of nerve talking to me like that. Don’t you know I could have you fired?”
He stepped even closer, until their bodies were a breath apart. “But you won’t.”
She glared at him. “You’re a cocky son of a bitch, aren’t you?”
Before she realized what was happening his arm snaked around her waist and he pulled her to his rigid body. “You tell me.”
Her brain scrambled as he manhandled her. His grip was strong and true, and if she struggled she would feel every inch of his hard body contained in that fine tuxedo. “Let me go,” she gritted between clenched teeth.
His face was next to hers, his mouth mere inches from her ear. “Is that what you want, princess?” His hand slipped down from her waist over the graceful curve of her ass.
It was inappropriate as hell, and no one – absolutely no one – had ever treated her in such a disrespectful manner. Instead of the anger she would normally feel, for one insane moment she was tempted to reach the remaining inch between them and crash her mouth against his, to taste the raw hunger of this stranger’s kiss once and for all.
Her eyes widened as she pushed against that rigid chest, rippling with muscles she had never experienced so close before. “Fuck you,” she breathed as she stumbled away. She nearly lost her footing and it was Mateo who prevented her from landing face first on the hard concrete.
“Maybe someday,” he said with that same damnable smirk. “But not today.”
With that he left her alone on the terrace as he disappeared back into the kitchen. She nearly snarled with rage as she tossed the cigarette off onto darkness.
~GIVEAWAY~
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