Synopsis
The
New York Times, USA Today and Wall Street Journal Best-selling Beauty Series is
now available in a single volume.
BEAUTY
FROM PAIN: Aussie winemaker Jack McLachlan and American musician Laurelyn
Prescott agree to a three month relationship while keeping their true
identities secret.
BEAUTY
FROM SURRENDER: A heartbroken Laurelyn Prescott returns to Nashville to pursue
her music career and finds the success she’s always dreamed of. Jack Henry
McLachlan spends three months searching for his beloved but their reunion
doesn’t come easy. Will she be able to see beyond the glitz glamour and
visualize a life that includes him?
BEAUTY
FROM LOVE: Life for Jack Henry and Laurelyn is beautiful until their
post-wedded bliss is cut short when his dark past springs into their present
happiness. He wants to shelter Laurelyn but keeping her untainted by his
previous life proves impossible when yesterday’s sins insist on returning to
haunt him. Will it be possible for them to find happiness in their forever with
a past like his?
Beauty from Pain Excerpt
Jack
McLachlan’s POV
I
sit in the dark corner and scan the room like a starved predator searching for
prey. I haven’t chosen her yet, but the woman who will share my bed for the
next few months is in this room right now.
I
watch a lovely blond approach my table. “What can I bring you?” Hmm. A waitress—not
at all my usual taste.
I
have a type. Attractive. Mature. Refined. This barmaid meets the attractive
requirement well enough, but she’s void of refinement or maturity as displayed
by her choice of apparel—a white, barely there tank top and frazzled cutoff
denim shorts. She doesn’t do it for me. Plus, my last two companions were
blond. I want a different flavor this time, but no redheads. I want a brunette.
A beautiful one.
I
remind myself I’m not in Sydney where I have an endless variety of sophisticated
women from which to choose. My choices are more limited in the small town of
Wagga Wagga, but that doesn’t mean I have to settle for the first attractive
woman I see.
“I’ll
have a Shiraz.”
I’m
prepared for a more prolonged relationship this time—three whole months instead
of the usual three or four weeks. I’m looking forward to keeping this one
around a little longer, and that’s all the more reason to be certain I make a
wise choice.
I
begin my search of the club with the first table toward the front of the room.
A brunette beauty sits with a group of women. I watch her for a while, but
decide she’s too friendly with the woman sitting next to her. Lesbians aren’t
in my repertoire.
I
spend the next hour scanning the club and come up empty-handed. I’m discouraged.
No one stands out as the one and this club is by far my best bet for meeting
single women in this town. Maybe I should consider coming back another time
when it’s not open mic night. Tonight, the place is crawling with boozed
college students.
Tonight’s
search has been a failure, but at least the karaoke was entertaining.
I’m
finishing off the last of my wine before I leave when an announcer from the
club takes the stage and asks for the next singer to step forward. A small
group of people across the room nominates one of its own. My view of the poor
bastard is blocked by the crowd of intoxicated kids standing between us, but
I’m certain this is going to be another delightful train wreck.
The
club erupts into cheer and chants. “Do. It. Do. It. Do. It.” A young woman
walks onto the stage and stands with her back to the crowd as she lifts a
guitar from its stand. She lifts its strap over her head and then tosses her
long brown hair over one shoulder. When she’s finished settling the guitar into
place, she circles around and sits on the stool in the middle of the stage.
She’s
beautiful. And somehow overlooked during my search.
She’s
wearing a short ivory dress and a denim jacket with brown cowgirl boots. She
bares her thighs as she lifts her feet to rest on the bottom rail, but she’s
careful to push her dress between her legs so she doesn’t provide a peep show
to the crowd.
She
strums the borrowed guitar a few times and then leans into the microphone. “Is
everyone having a good time tonight?”
She’s
American. I think. Her accent sounds different—not like what I’ve heard in the
past.
The
crowd erupts into a drunken cheer and I hear a man’s voice yell over the crowd,
“It’s better now, sweet thing!”
She
smiles and adjusts the mic. “I’m not from around here. It’s my first night in
Australia.”
“Leave
with me and I’ll make you feel right at home!” a man shouts from the back of
the room.
She
ignores the fat, ugly bastard yelling at her. “I don’t know what kind of music
Australians like, but this has been one of my favorites for as long as I can
remember.” She strums a few more chords. “This is ‘Crash Into Me’ by the Dave
Matthews Band.”
She
sings it slower than the original, putting her own twist on it. Her voice is
raspy and sexy, her eyes closed. She oozes eroticism. She tilts her head and
opens her eyes when she begins to sing the chorus. I swear it feels like she’s
looking right in my direction, singing to me. “Oh, and you come craasshh … into
me. And I come into … you … And I come into you … in a boy’s dream … in a boy’s
dream.”
The
stage lights shine in her face and common sense tells me she can’t see me
sitting in the dark corner at the back of the club, but that doesn’t stop me
from hoping.
She
finishes the chorus and shuts her eyes again. Her long legs bounce against the
rail of the stool to keep rhythm and I fall victim to her siren’s song. She has
bewitched me. And I want her. She’s the one.
Georgia resides in
rural Mississippi with her wonderful
husband,
Jeff, and their two beautiful daughters. She spent fourteen years as a
labor and
delivery nurse before she decided to pursue her dream of becoming an
author and
hasn’t looked back yet.
When she’s
not writing, she’s thinking about writing. When
she’s being
domestic, she’s listening to her iPod and visualizing scenes for
her current
work in progress. Every story coming from her always has a song to
inspire
it.
Representation:
All questions regarding subsidiary rights
for any of
my books, inquiries regarding foreign translation and film rights
should be
directed to Jane Dystel of Dystel & Goderich.
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