Fat Girl
by Leigh Carron
Genre: Romance (Contemporary, Steamy, Adult Content)
About Fat Girl: Years after fleeing small-town
Springvale, Illinois, Deanna Chase has picked up the pieces of her
shattered heart and built a new life for herself as a child advocacy
lawyer. Her food addiction is quasi under control, her secrets are buried,
and she has even made a tenuous peace with her plus-size body. Until…
Micah Peters—the very sexy and now famous man she fled—
walks through her office door and sends Dee reeling. His demand
that she help a young boy caught in a custody battle will reunite
her with the past she left behind.
Torn between duty and self-preservation, Dee isn’t
easy to convince. But when obligation wins, the former lovers get more
than they bargained for—a searing passion that burns hotter than ever
and startling revelations about what really happened the fateful
night she left.
Will the truth set Dee free to love again? Or will past
hurts and lingering insecurities destine her to walk away from her heart
again, this time for good?
Fat Girl is the
first book in this provocative two-part series about love and self-acceptance.
Praise
for Fat Girl
“This was one HOT, emotional,
and all-around EXCELLENT contemporary romance!” — Romance Novel
Giveaways
“This
is one of those books that sucks you in and keeps your interest until the very
end.” —Jodie's W.I.N.E. List
“This
was a refreshing, real story that had me captivated from the first page. Dee
and Mick were wonderful characters full of real flaws, real strengths and real
passion.” — Beth S
“A
brilliantly written, steamy, sexy, thought-provokingly wonderful novel.” —
Olivia P
About Me: An
American living in Canada. Chocolate snob. Recovering yo-yo dieter. Devoted mom
and wife, blessed with a brilliantly witty daughter and unintentionally
humorous husband. My wacky family feed my creativity and fuel my passion. Most
nights, you will find me either curled up with a great book or, more often,
sitting at my computer, tapping out the countless visions in my head.
To me, there is nothing better in a narrative than perfectly
flawed but strong characters and intense romance that is sexy, deep, and
sensual. Mm…I liken such stories to a box of Godiva. Decadent and delicious! You
can’t stop at just one. In fact, I’m now hard at work on my next novel—A Naked Beauty, the conclusion to Fat Girl.
Website:
http://www.leighcarron.com
Twitter:@LeighCarron
Excerpt (Mild heat
and moderate language)
There’s a good musical groove going on inside the packed Glam Bar. The
three of us are standing around a black-and-chrome pub table, sipping our
drinks. Well, my friends are sipping their drinks. I’m pretty much chugging
mine. The bass percussion of the techno music resounds in my chest and vibrates
beneath my feet. Having downed enough cranberry martinis to loosen me up, I
move to the rhythm and soak up more alcohol.
After nearly two years of therapy, I know better than to trade one binge
for another. But by the time our server with the Angelina Jolie lips delivers
my fourth drink, I’m past rational thought. But not numb.
I still want numb.
Lexie and Jordyn urge me on to the crowded dance floor. And for the next
hour, I paste on a smile, I drink, I pretend to laugh, I drink, I dance, I
drink. Before long, my smile and laugh aren’t fake anymore. The alcohol surging
through my bloodstream makes me feel bold and confident, even in my fat-hugging
jeans. I find myself flirting back with men I don’t know. That’s not my usual
MO. I’m guarded. I was guarded even with the small handful of lovers I’ve had
since Mick. But tonight the attention feels good…better than good. It feels
fanfuckingtastic. But once I stop dodging grabby hands, Jordyn plucks
the glass from my fingers and separates me from Ted or Ed.
“Let’s go,” she says, placing an arm around my waist and leading my
wobbly form to a cab. “Your chariot awaits, Princess.”
“No…no…no…” I wave my finger at her. “DontsyoucallsmePrincess.”
“Ookay.” She’s humoring me.
But I know what I mean.
The cab drops me off first, and Lexie and Jordyn watch from the vehicle
until I get inside. I stumble to my bedroom. I’ve got just enough wherewithal
to change into a T-shirt and crawl into bed. Blissfully numb, I’m dozing off
when the shrill ring of the phone pierces my partial slumber. I debate letting
it go to voice mail. But if it’s one of my friends calling to check up on me,
she’ll be worried.
I get out of bed and sway. Whoa.
With no idea where I’ve left the cordless, I attempt to steady myself by
bracing my hands on the walls as I follow the incessant sound through the
darkened house.
The flashing light in between the potted plants catches my bleary gaze,
and I stagger over to the ledge that divides the living room from the kitchen
nook. Without checking Caller ID, I jab my index finger at the speaker button,
apparently with a little too much gusto, and send it crashing to the floor.
“Damn it!” I kneel down and pat the hardwood until my hand closes around
the upended plastic. Fully expecting to hear Jordyn’s or Lexie’s voice on the
other end, I climb shakily to my feet and answer, “Don’t worry, that wasn’t me.
I’m still standing.”
“Dee?”
My head spins. But it’s not from the alcohol. I grab the ledge for
support. “How did you get my number? I’m not listed.”
“I have my ways.”
Of course, he does. Being rich and powerful would get him any information
he wanted, which brings me to the more important question: “What do you want,
Mick?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. Makes me wonder if he’s pondering that
question himself. Then he says, “I wanted to thank you.”
“Oh, I suppose I scored some brownie points for taking the case,” I reply,
the liquor freeing my tongue. “Well, before you go applauding yourself for my
reform, just know you weren’t a factor in my decision.”
“Whatever your reason, Dee, I’m still grateful.”
“No, you’re nots,” I say, slurring the last word. “You’re an arrogant
ass.”
“And you’re drunk.”
His tone rubs me the wrong way. I’m tired of Mick flip-flopping between
insults and apology, between thanks and judgment. I’m just tired.
“So what?” I retort. “I needed to unwind from a miserable couple of
days.” Let Mick read into that anything he chooses.
“Have I made you miserable?”
I say nothing. I’ve already given him more than enough ammunition.
“Have I made you face things you hoped to run away from? Have I made you
think about us? About our nights at the lake?”
I gasp, startled by his reference to our sexual past. And yet the memory
incites an erotic need in me that won’t stand down. But I dismiss his taunt:
“That’s ancient history.”
“History has a way of repeating itself.”
“Not this time.”
“Oh, we’re going to happen again, Dee.” His silky rasp licks across my
skin. “And soon.”
“See? Arrogant! You assume because you’re Micah Peters, I’ll fall into
bed with you on command.”
“I don’t assume it. I know it. And not because of my fame—that wouldn’t
matter to you. I know you will because of how your body has always responded to
mine.”
My thighs squeeze together against an achy wetness. “You’re delusional.”
“I’m right and my memory’s long,” he counters in a low, sexy timbre. “I haven’t forgotten I was the first
man to touch you. The first man to be buried deep inside you. The first man to
make you come.”
A moan snakes up my throat.
“And you haven’t forgotten either. Sleep well, Dee.”
Giveaway: An
ecopy of Fat Girl at each stop, and four tour prizes: 1) A signed paperback
copy of Fat Girl , bookmark, and $20 Visa gift card, 2) a $15
Amazon gift card, 3) $10 Body Shop gift card, and 4) $10 Starbucks gift card.
a Rafflecopter giveaway
No comments:
Post a Comment