Right Kind of Wrong by Chelsea Fine
Jenna Lacombe needs complete control, whether it's in the streets . . . or between the sheets. So when she sets out on a solo road trip to visit her family in New Orleans, she's beyond annoyed that the infuriatingly sexy Jack Oliver wants to hitch a ride with her. Ever since they shared a wild night together last year, he's been trying to strip away her defenses one by one. He claims he's just coming along to keep her safe-but what's not safe for her is prolonged exposure to the tattooed hottie.
Jack can't get Jenna out from under his skin. She makes him feel alive again after his old life nearly destroyed him-and losing her is not an option. Now Jack's troubles are catching up to him, and he's forced to return to his hometown in Louisiana. But when his secrets put them both in harm's way, Jenna will have to figure out how far she's willing to let love in . . . and how much she already has.
About the author
Chelsea lives in Phoenix, Arizona, where she spends most of her time writing stories, painting murals, and avoiding housework at all costs. She's ridiculously bad at doing dishes and claims to be allergic to laundry. Her obsessions include: superheroes, coffee, sleeping-in, and crazy socks. She lives with her husband and two children, who graciously tolerate her inability to resist teenage drama on TV and her complete lack of skill in the kitchen.
EXCERPT
The way I felt about
Jenna used to piss me off. I’ve never been one to need or even want a girl
messing up my life. Just the opposite, in fact. The Lone Wolf role suited me
well and I was perfectly content with my world of solitude. But Jenna came
along and twisted everything up. She turned me inside out and made me feel
complete in a way that made no sense. I fought the sentiment, of course.
There’s no room for anyone in my messed up life—especially not a wild,
stubborn, reckless girl like Jenna.
But fighting proved
futile, and somewhat self-destructive, so I did what all good leaders do when
they realize losing a battle could mean winning the war: I surrendered. Not to
Jenna, exactly, but to the way she made me feel. It’s not a pretty or romantic
thing. It’s a truth with scars and holes—and it commands me completely.
Does that make me
weak? I used to think so. But then I see Jenna, still in the throes of a battle
I’ve long since succumbed to, and I wonder which of us is stronger. Which of us
sleeps well at night and which of us tosses in the moonlight.
Strength isn’t about
what you can and cannot achieve. It’s about what you will and will not do in
order to achieve. And on that, I know exactly where I stand.
Watching Jenna
across the inn’s lobby, I take a deep breath and prepare for round two of what
is sure to be a memorable—if not fatal—road trip back home.
“I’m ready when you
are, diva!” I call out.
Complete agitation
covers her face as she whips around with narrowed eyes and yells, “Don’t. Call.
Me. DIVA!”
I grin. “It never
gets old.”
“God!” she exclaims,
thrusting her arms up again.
The look on her face
is priceless. I could do this all day. I might, actually.
Wagging my eyebrows
in an inappropriate manner, I slip back outside and let the door fall shut.
A moment later, the
inn door flies open and Jenna stomps down the porch steps to meet me by the
car. I quickly shove my phone in my pocket, wanting to put as much distance as
possible between my present circumstances and the mess waiting for me back home,
and climb into the car at the same time she does.
She’s huffing and
puffing and cursing under her breath like a spoiled teenager, but when her eyes
finally flick to mine there’s no hostility there, just impatience.
“You’re paying for
all the gas,” she says, sliding a pair of dark sunglasses over her golden eyes.
“And I mean every single drop.”
I lean back in the
passenger seat, repressing the joyous satisfaction I feel at the haughtiness on
her face. “Yes, ma’am.”
If buying Jenna’s
gas keeps her safe by my side then I’ll purchase every last drop in the
country. And then some.
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