Friday, September 5, 2014

Blog Tour: 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.

4 right kind of stars!

This book had me so keyed up and sometimes frustrated I almost didn’t want to finish it, but I’m OCD and can never ever just let a story hang in, I need to know how this ends..I need to know…I guess it makes me nosey…

Jenna Lacombe has to be the most stubborn heroine I’ve every read about.  I swear I wanted to hurt her at times, she is a woman with a plan. 

I have a plan for my life, my future.  A good plan.  A solid plan.
I’m going to graduate college.  I’m going to sell my sculptures and promote my artwork until I raise enough money to open an art gallery.  Then I’m going to showcase artwork until I have enough money to buy myself a home.  And a car.  And health insurance.   And maybe then I’ll get a small pet.  Like a black car or a little Pig.

I get it you want to be independent.  I get you need to be in complete control about everything that you have in your life. She grew up thinking that if you let love in, it destroys you, but lets face it what fun is that?  It’s not any fun, its kind of depressing.  I mean love, it’s a bitch, it makes you feel things you can’t explain, as an independent person you don’t want to cave to someone else and have to think of them. This is where Jack, my  saving grace enters.  Who, in my opined, saved this book.

At over six feet tall, with his broad shoulders and endless tattoos, Jack looks intimidating,  but really he’s a big softie.  I hardly ever see him in a mood other than happy.  So this angry version of Jack is a new experience for me.  A very hot experience.

So what happens when you schedule a road trip to go back home to NOLA, because your perfectly healthy grandmother thinks she’s dying and Jack decides he’s going to be your road trip partner? After all,  Jack is on his way back to NOLA for a family emergency. What does one do?  Well if you ask me, you make him come along and hump him in the back seat every chance you get, but that’s just me. Jenna knows no good can come from her going cross-country with the man she had a one-night fling with, she refuses to drive him anywhere.  I mean she’s the one in control. But guess who ends up coming along? That’s right people, my main man Jack.  I mean it’s a win/win for everyone, especially since he’s in love with her.  I know I said the “L” word, it’s a scary word, but life is scary.

We don’t speak for the rest of our journey through Arizona and I’m grateful for the reprieve.  Don’t get me wrong.  I like talking to Jack.  Truly.  He’s fascinating in his own way.  Part trouble, part mystery. Playful and pensive.  He’s one of the few males on this planet I enjoy conversing with-when he’s not being a dickhead, of course.

But sometimes when you’re with the very person that you care about,  and you’re trying to make sure your heart is agreeing with your head, it can become overwhelming.

When Jack said my name, my whole world came undone.  My insides turned to goo and my strength to mush.  Just that single word “Jenna” on his lips made me wish for things I have no business wanting.  Things like love and romance and babies are forever.  Things that have no place in my future.

In the end it was a great story.  And then the saying, “Why does something so right feel so wrong?” comes into play.  Except what if it’s the right kind of wrong?

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.

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. 

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