Lightning
in a Bottle
in a Bottle
by
Gina Ardito
Gina Ardito
Genre:
Contemporary Romance
Contemporary Romance
After
suffering through a humiliating divorce in New York, Bo McKenzie is
out of luck, money, and patience. Arriving in Silverton, Texas, she’s
bet her last dime on the launch of her craft brewery to get her life
back on track. Despite her vow to stay focused solely on the beer
business, one man manages to capture her heart. Can she trust him?
suffering through a humiliating divorce in New York, Bo McKenzie is
out of luck, money, and patience. Arriving in Silverton, Texas, she’s
bet her last dime on the launch of her craft brewery to get her life
back on track. Despite her vow to stay focused solely on the beer
business, one man manages to capture her heart. Can she trust him?
Drew
Garwood’s one true love has always been serving the legal needs of
his neighbors. His greatest trouble is keeping his brother on the
right side of the law. When Bo McKenzie sweeps into town, she rouses
his passion and provides the spark his life has been missing.
Whatever happened before she came to Silverton has left her guarded
and suspicious. Can he break down her defenses?
Garwood’s one true love has always been serving the legal needs of
his neighbors. His greatest trouble is keeping his brother on the
right side of the law. When Bo McKenzie sweeps into town, she rouses
his passion and provides the spark his life has been missing.
Whatever happened before she came to Silverton has left her guarded
and suspicious. Can he break down her defenses?
As
the two struggle to rein in their wild attraction, secrets and greed
could destroy the brewery and force Bo out of town for good –
unless Drew can find a way to convince her to stay.
the two struggle to rein in their wild attraction, secrets and greed
could destroy the brewery and force Bo out of town for good –
unless Drew can find a way to convince her to stay.
Excerpt:
Scene I
II
:
“Did you bring in my bag last night?”
He nodded.
“Oh, good. Where’d you put it? I have an extra toothbrush in it.”
“You do?” What reasons could she possibly have to keep a toothbrush in what he’d discovered was an enormous toolbox? He said a silent prayer she didn’t use it to clean tile grout and then plan to brush her teeth with it.
She shrugged. “I pull a lot of all-nighters at work, and I like to be prepared. Crazy as it sounds, brushing my teeth sometimes revives me faster than an espresso bullet.”
“Ah.” She said the oddest things. Lucky his lawyer skills had taught him long ago how to keep his expression impassive.
“How about some old clothes I can borrow?”
“Probably. What do you need?”
“Well, I can wear these jeans again,” she said, running her hands down her thighs, “but a good sturdy work shirt would be helpful.”
“I can definitely fix you up with one of my chambrays. Will that do?”
“Absolutely.”
“Great. Anything else?”
“Yeah.” She cocked her head, her gaze straying lower. If he didn’t know any better, he’d swear she was studying his crotch. “Boxers or briefs?”
He kicked the dishwasher door closed with the back of his foot and stared at her, agape. “What?”
“Do you wear boxers or briefs?”
“Boxer briefs,” he said.
She seemed to consider this information for a minute then flipped her hair off her shoulder. “Oh, good. Boxers are usually too loose for me.”
“For…?”
“To wear. I can get away with the same jeans from yesterday, and I can even wear my bra for another day, but I need a pair of clean underwear.”
“You want to wear a pair of my underwear?”
“If it’s okay with you.”
“You’re okay with that?”
“Why not? If it bothers you, when you spend the night at my house, I’ll lend you a pair of my underwear, and we’ll be even. Fair’s fair, right?”
II
:
“Did you bring in my bag last night?”
He nodded.
“Oh, good. Where’d you put it? I have an extra toothbrush in it.”
“You do?” What reasons could she possibly have to keep a toothbrush in what he’d discovered was an enormous toolbox? He said a silent prayer she didn’t use it to clean tile grout and then plan to brush her teeth with it.
She shrugged. “I pull a lot of all-nighters at work, and I like to be prepared. Crazy as it sounds, brushing my teeth sometimes revives me faster than an espresso bullet.”
“Ah.” She said the oddest things. Lucky his lawyer skills had taught him long ago how to keep his expression impassive.
“How about some old clothes I can borrow?”
“Probably. What do you need?”
“Well, I can wear these jeans again,” she said, running her hands down her thighs, “but a good sturdy work shirt would be helpful.”
“I can definitely fix you up with one of my chambrays. Will that do?”
“Absolutely.”
“Great. Anything else?”
“Yeah.” She cocked her head, her gaze straying lower. If he didn’t know any better, he’d swear she was studying his crotch. “Boxers or briefs?”
He kicked the dishwasher door closed with the back of his foot and stared at her, agape. “What?”
“Do you wear boxers or briefs?”
“Boxer briefs,” he said.
She seemed to consider this information for a minute then flipped her hair off her shoulder. “Oh, good. Boxers are usually too loose for me.”
“For…?”
“To wear. I can get away with the same jeans from yesterday, and I can even wear my bra for another day, but I need a pair of clean underwear.”
“You want to wear a pair of my underwear?”
“If it’s okay with you.”
“You’re okay with that?”
“Why not? If it bothers you, when you spend the night at my house, I’ll lend you a pair of my underwear, and we’ll be even. Fair’s fair, right?”
I
kill houseplants. There. Now you know one of my greatest shames. I'm
not boasting. I just figure that if you're reading this, you're
looking for more than how wonderful life is as a writer. You get
enough of that elsewhere. Ditto for political rants, how to lose
thirty pounds in a week, and creating gorgeous crafts with nothing
more than twine and soup cans. My goal is to connect with you, dear
reader, even if you're not a writer, not a New Yorker, not a mother,
not a female. We're human (unless one of us is a spambot), and what
we have in common is flaws. So here are a few more of mine:
I
sing all the time. I sing songs most people don't know--jingles from
television, crazy stuff I used to listen to on Dr. Demento, Broadway
and movie soundtracks, and I can even bum-bum-bum through
instrumental music. I sing in the car. In the shower. While I'm
grocery shopping. And I headbop while I sing. When I'm not singing, I
talk to myself. Just ignore me and move on. You get used to it after
a while.
I
don't eat my vegetables. Seriously. I only started eating salad about
ten years ago, but I'd still rather have a cookie.
Given
the option, I would live in a mall where I would never have to worry
about freezing temperatures or too much sun. I'm extremely
fair-skinned and could burn under a 60-watt light bulb.
I
can't sleep without background noise so the television's on all
night. If it's too dark and too quiet, all I have are my thoughts.
And even *I* don't want to be alone with my thoughts.
Don't
ask me to Zumba, line dance, or march in the parade. I have
absolutely no rhythm.
I
color outside the lines. Not because I'm a rebel, but because I suck
as an artist. My artistic ability is limited to being able to draw
Snoopy sleeping on his doghouse. And I don't even draw that
well.
Regrets.
I have more than a few.
My
favorite activity is sleep, and I'm pretty good at it. I don't clock
a lot of hours, but I can powernap like a Persian cat and rejuvenate
within ten minutes.
I
consider shopping and dining out excellent therapy for anything wrong
in my life.
My
feet are always cold. Always. My husband of more than a quarter
century claims it's because I'm an alien sent to Earth to destroy
him. (He might be right about that.)
Coming
to my house for a visit? Unless you've given me plenty of advance
notice, be prepared. My floor will not be vacuumed, there will be
dishes in my sink, and I only make my bed when I change the sheets
once a week (I'm climbing back into it ASAP. Why make it?)
Housecleaning is not high on my priority list. Okay, to be totally
honest, it's not on the list at all.
I
can resist anything...except ice cream.
Since
this is our first date, I figure I've revealed enough secrets for
now. But if you've read this bio and think I might be the author for
you, pick up one of my books or stalk my website
kill houseplants. There. Now you know one of my greatest shames. I'm
not boasting. I just figure that if you're reading this, you're
looking for more than how wonderful life is as a writer. You get
enough of that elsewhere. Ditto for political rants, how to lose
thirty pounds in a week, and creating gorgeous crafts with nothing
more than twine and soup cans. My goal is to connect with you, dear
reader, even if you're not a writer, not a New Yorker, not a mother,
not a female. We're human (unless one of us is a spambot), and what
we have in common is flaws. So here are a few more of mine:
I
sing all the time. I sing songs most people don't know--jingles from
television, crazy stuff I used to listen to on Dr. Demento, Broadway
and movie soundtracks, and I can even bum-bum-bum through
instrumental music. I sing in the car. In the shower. While I'm
grocery shopping. And I headbop while I sing. When I'm not singing, I
talk to myself. Just ignore me and move on. You get used to it after
a while.
I
don't eat my vegetables. Seriously. I only started eating salad about
ten years ago, but I'd still rather have a cookie.
Given
the option, I would live in a mall where I would never have to worry
about freezing temperatures or too much sun. I'm extremely
fair-skinned and could burn under a 60-watt light bulb.
I
can't sleep without background noise so the television's on all
night. If it's too dark and too quiet, all I have are my thoughts.
And even *I* don't want to be alone with my thoughts.
Don't
ask me to Zumba, line dance, or march in the parade. I have
absolutely no rhythm.
I
color outside the lines. Not because I'm a rebel, but because I suck
as an artist. My artistic ability is limited to being able to draw
Snoopy sleeping on his doghouse. And I don't even draw that
well.
Regrets.
I have more than a few.
My
favorite activity is sleep, and I'm pretty good at it. I don't clock
a lot of hours, but I can powernap like a Persian cat and rejuvenate
within ten minutes.
I
consider shopping and dining out excellent therapy for anything wrong
in my life.
My
feet are always cold. Always. My husband of more than a quarter
century claims it's because I'm an alien sent to Earth to destroy
him. (He might be right about that.)
Coming
to my house for a visit? Unless you've given me plenty of advance
notice, be prepared. My floor will not be vacuumed, there will be
dishes in my sink, and I only make my bed when I change the sheets
once a week (I'm climbing back into it ASAP. Why make it?)
Housecleaning is not high on my priority list. Okay, to be totally
honest, it's not on the list at all.
I
can resist anything...except ice cream.
Since
this is our first date, I figure I've revealed enough secrets for
now. But if you've read this bio and think I might be the author for
you, pick up one of my books or stalk my website
Follow
the tour HERE
for exclusive excerpts, guest posts and a giveaway!
the tour HERE
for exclusive excerpts, guest posts and a giveaway!
