Friday, September 27, 2013

Introducing Peyton Prescott

Peyton Prescott is a young woman who knows what she wants. Bred to be one of Houston's upper-class debutantes from one of Houston's powerful, wealthy families, she has become accustomed to getting her way - and she doesn't care who knows it. She accepts the position of royalty within the 1% like the true queen-in-training she happens to be, and that jumps into overdrive the minute she decides to marry.

Peyton is no dummy. When it comes to Southern wealth and power, men definitely have the edge. And she's tired of being effectively shut out of all the excitement, disregarded as a bubble-headed socialite whose main career is to look pretty, marry well and breed. She's fiercely ambitious, and forever beating against the rails of her gilded cage. To be mistress of her own destiny, she must be mistress of her own home. She zeroes in on her childhood sweetheart to secure her status as a powerful Mrs., rather than an invisible Miss. That her groom hails from a family even more powerful and wealthy is no coincidence. Love has precious little to do with her choice. She's more concerned how well she can control her future hubby, and with Leland Goodreau, III, she's confident that she has a secure grip on her diamond-studded leash.

Peyton has honed her many wiles through the years, taking lessons from the culture around her that the power women have comes either from charm or complete bitchiness. Peyton took the bitch route, treating everyone around her the same way: it was up to them to keep her satisfied.

Unfortunately for her AND everyone around her, no one managed to make that happen.

The older she got, the nastier she got about it. And no one was willing to stand up to her and all her bridezilla ways until one fortuitous meeting nine months before she was expected to walk down the aisle and say, "I do."

Excerpt from "The Undisciplined Bride"

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. Clad only in a tight-fitting pair of jeans, it was easy to see that his clean, cut body was just as perfect as his face. The sight of his bare, bronzed 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, well aware that she couldn’t tear her eyes from his powerful fingers and they slid down his body.

She wrenched her gaze away to glance 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 box from the van, to balance on top of his already oversized load. Their eyes met and locked as he was mere inches away from her shocked face. His deep voice warmed 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.
***
"The Undisciplined Bride" releases October 1, 2013.





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