Oct 1, 2013

~NEW RELEASE & GIVEAWAY~ The Undisciplined Bride by Ginger Voight

Book Title: The Undisciplined Bride 
Author: Ginger Voight
Purchase Link AMAZON
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18307391-the-undisciplined-bride


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.
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~About Ginger~
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.

Connect with Ginger: Website | Blog | Facebook | Amazon | Twitter


She joined her mother and Lissette in the kitchen, where they stood in a circle completed by Marlena Goodreau, Lissette’s and Leland’s mother. None of these females dared to enter the male lair, they stayed to themselves and talked about the gardening, their charity functions and which of their country club friends was screwing the pool boy this week. Business talk would have driven them bananas, a language in which they were never versed.

Not me, thought Peyton as she perched onto the barstool next to the island in the kitchen.

“Penny tells me that you haven’t yet found a dress,” Marlena said as she turned to Peyton. “I remember searching for my dress. What an adventure that was. I ended up going back to my mother’s trunk and pulling out her dress, allowing the tailor to make it a bit more fetching for my big day.” She turned to Lissette. “That’s going to be your dress one day, my dear.”

Lissette smiled. “One less thing to worry about.”

Marlena nodded and patted her hand. She knew that whenever Lissette decided to marry, there wouldn’t be such the fuss that Peyton was making.

But that was just Peyton. She’d liked things her way from the crib, and didn’t really care who knew it. Marlena was thankful yet again she’d been blessed with low-maintenance children. She really didn’t think her nerves could stand raising a child like Peyton. Dealing with her on a part-time basis was stressful enough.

“Daddy said Orrin was here,” Peyton said as she turned to her mother. “Checking out the new caterers.”

Penelope nodded. “He was, but he had to go help them when their van broke down.”

Peyton arched an eyebrow. “It broke down?” Penelope merely shrugged. “I thought Rose gave these people a sparkling recommendation.”

“Mrs. McGuire,” her mother gently corrected. She’d been trying to train her daughter in the ways of poise and demure ladylike behavior since she brought her home from the hospital. Her work still wasn’t done. 

“And it’s a mechanical failure. It doesn’t have to reflect on the quality of the food.”

“But our guests are arriving and the food isn’t here. Not very professional, if you want my opinion.”

To punctuate her displeasure, the French doors clattered open and Orrin Ely swept through with flourish and grace, topped with endless good humor. “Call off the dogs. We’re here.”

Peyton straightened as she took note of the beautiful, young Hispanic woman who followed Orrin, holding a large pan in her hands. Orrin guided her to Penelope. “Penelope Prescott, this is Naomi Bravo.”

Penelope offered a limp hand for a shake as she glanced over the young woman in modest clothes. Her white, button-down shirt was tucked neatly into clean and pressed jeans, which led down her impossibly long legs to brown espadrille sandals. “How do you do?”

“Much better now,” Naomi answered with a brilliant smile as she tossed errant dark curls back over her shoulder, tied up tight in the ponytail she wore. “I must apologize for the delay. My brother didn’t see a board stuck in the middle of the road and we hit it dead on. We ended up having to change a flat.”

“You’re here now,” Penelope offered, but though the comment was gracious, her tone was anything but. 

“Our guests are arriving, so I expect that you’ll be able to make up lost time.”

Naomi’s smile never faltered. “Of course, Mrs. Prescott.”

“Where is this ‘brother’?” Peyton asked as she slid off of the barstool. “I should think anyone with a pair of eyes could have noticed a board in the middle of the road.”

“Peyton,” her mother cautioned, but Orrin interrupted. “He’s outside cleaning up a bit. Dirty work, changing a tire.”

“Well, he’s not coming in here until he is cleaned up,” Peyton declared as she marched toward the French doors. If one of her duties throughout her married life as Mrs. Leland Goodreau III was to corral the help and keep her house running smoothly, there was no greater time to hone this particular skill on novice caterers who couldn’t even get to their event on time.

Her heels clicked loudly against the brick terrace leading out to the sculpted gardens. The white van sat parked in the back driveway, the back doors hanging open as someone leaned inside. Any haughty reprimand she might have delivered stuck right in her throat as the man straightened up and came fully into view.

Like Naomi, this man was of Spanish descent. His jet black hair was cropped short around his neck, with one lazy shaft hanging over his chiseled face. His body was equally carved out of stone, which she could fully inspect because he wore only a tight-fitting pair of jeans. The sight of his perfect six-pack shocked Peyton into uncharacteristic silence as her approach noticeably slowed. There was a raw magnetism to his being half-naked just a few feet away from where she stood, especially when his dark brown eyes locked with hers.

Insanely full lashes outlined his eyes, making it appear as though he wore mascara and eyeliner. He offered her a whiter than white smirk as he watched her advance. “Here to offer a hand?”

She crossed her arms in front of her. “I think not,” she said. “I wanted to take a look at the man who couldn’t even spot something in the road to avoid a flat. I do believe you’re the first I’ve ever heard of doing so.”

He shrugged as he took his sweet time sliding a white shirt onto his powerful shoulders. “First time for everything,” he offered in good humor.

She glanced into the van. “Is this the food that is supposed to be so wonderful?” she wanted to know.

He laughed. “You tell me,” he said as he reached in and grabbed three large metal pans at once. “After all, you’re the one footing the bill.”

“My family is paying you, they are the ones to impress” she corrected. “I’m Peyton Prescott,” she announced, and waited for him to provide his name in return.

“Mateo Bravo,” he offered in kind, with the same cheeky smile.

She gave him her notoriously arched eyebrow. “Mateo Bravo?” she repeated. “Are you some sort of superhero or something?”

He laughed. It was a full, throaty, deep laugh that tripped over her senses in the cool night air. He closed the gap between them until he towered over her, reaching an arm around her body to grab a pan from the van. Their eyes met and locked as he was mere inches away from her shocked face. His deep voice tumbled over her senses as he said softly, “You tell me.” 

Once again she was struck mute as she staggered back a bit, allowing him to hoist several pans into those powerful arms. The woodsy scent of his freshly washed body filled her nostrils as he brushed past where she stood on the pavement, his powerful bicep brushing against her chest lightly in the process, making her gasp. He took three steps before he turned back to her. “Feel free to grab a couple of pans while you’re standing there.” With that same damnable smirk he turned back and walked into her house.

She glanced from him to the back of the van, where pans were stacked high and deep. With a defiant flip 
of her hair, she turned from the van and followed him into the house empty-handed, albeit a little shakier
than before.

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