Can two broken people grow together, or will they tear each other apart?
Bad Luck Club, an all-new, not-to-be-missed, opposites attract standalone romance in the laugh-out-loud Asheville Brewery Series by New York Times bestselling author Denise Grover Swank and A.R. Casella is available now!
A grumpy man. A recovering people-pleaser. And the secret club that brings them together.
Lee Buchanan is a hot mess.
Turning one’s father in to the feds can do that to a man.
He had nothing to do with his father’s Ponzi scheme, but he’s blacklisted from commercial real estate all the same. Which is how he ends up in Asheville, working at the brewery he inherited with his siblings. He’s salty as hell, and he doesn’t care who knows it.
Until the gorgeous, intriguing Blue Combs issues the most peculiar invitation he’s ever received: Come to the Bad Luck Club. We can help you.
It sounds like a cult or, worse, a group of Mary Sues, but Blue is different from any woman he’s ever met. For better or worse, he’s drawn to her.
Just like she’s drawn to him, even if she has no intention of going all in with another man. She’s been there, done that, twice, and the life she’s built for herself is too important to risk.
What starts as one person’s desire to help another turns into a connection too powerful to be denied—but can two broken people grow together, or will they tear each other apart?
Download your copy today, or read for FREE in Kindle Unlimited!
Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/badluckclub
Add BAD LUCK CLUB to Goodreads: http://bit.ly/3bDx8Zm
She turned into Bear’s long drive, and Lee cursed a little under his breath.
“We’re here, aren’t we?”
“This is it. You’re looking at the Cluster.”
There was plenty of parking for everyone, thankfully, but the people who lived closest to each other usually carpooled for meetings. That made it hard to tell who’d already arrived, but it looked like they were among the last. She couldn’t decide whether that was a good thing.
She parked the car and turned to Lee, who was giving her a pointed glance. “Cloister? That isn’t helping dissuade me about the whole cult thing. The whole cabin in the woods thing doesn’t seem like a great sign either.”
“Not cloister. Cluster, like cluster…fudge.”
A smile played on his lips. “Let me guess, your father didn’t like it when you swore.”
“Of course not,” she said, smiling back. “It wouldn’t be ladylike.”
“And why, may I ask, do they call their own house a cluster—” he gave her a wicked look, “—fudge?”
“I guess you’re about to find out.”
They both unbuckled their seat belts, but he made no move for the door. Gazing at her, the gold flecks in his eyes like mica, he asked, “Blue, what part of last night convinced you to break things off with Dan?”
She didn’t answer right away, her heart still choking her, and he smiled at her—a sexy, unreserved smile—the kind that made her wonder how many people he’d looked at this way.
“Radical honesty, remember?”
Her whole body hummed like a tuned instrument. It hadn’t been like this since the beginning with Remy.
And if that wasn’t a thought to wake her up . . .
Except it didn’t jar her enough. Because she found herself leaning toward Lee a little, as if caught up in a whirlwind of his making. As if those vines were cinching their very bodies together. “Because I wanted you to kiss me,” she admitted. She silently added, Because I felt more connected to you in one night than I did to him in two months…
But Lee was reaching for her then, his hand weaving into her hair, pulling her to him, and those lips that had driven her to distraction the night before, the ones that had hovered over her neck, were suddenly on hers. They were warm and commanding, and Blue felt lost to the longing that unfurled within her, to the heat that ignited in her core. He’d probably meant it to be a soft kiss, exploratory, but his hand burrowed deeper into her hair, pulling her closer, and she found herself moaning as his tongue swept into her mouth. She wrapped her hands around his arms, mindlessly trying to bring him closer, needing to feel him against her like she had last night, like she’d dreamed of, and suddenly he was lifting her up onto his lap. They were facing each other this time, and she had a flash of what it would have been like if they’d talked like this last night—looking into each other’s eyes, bodies locked together—and the intimacy of it was more arousing than anything she’d ever experienced. She was the one who kissed him this time, reveling in the fact that he’d given her control by pulling her on top of him, until she caught a glimpse of the bench Cal had made, beneath the willow tree in the Cluster’s back yard, and oh God, what the hell was she doing?
About Denise Grover Swank
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Denise Grover Swank was born in Kansas City, Missouri and lived in the area until she was nineteen. Then she became a nomadic gypsy, living in five cities, four states and ten ho uses over the course of ten years before she moved back to her roots. She speaks English and smattering of Spanish and Chinese which she learned through an intensive Nick Jr. immersion period. Her hobbies include witty Facebook comments (in own her mind) and dancing in her kitchen with her children. (Quite badly if you believe her offspring.) Hidden talents include the gift of justification and the ability to drink massive amounts of caffeine and still fall asleep within two minutes. Her lack of the sense of smell allows her to perform many unspeakable tasks. She has six children and hasn’t lost her sanity. Or so she leads you to believe.
Connect with Denise
Stay up to date with Denise, join her newsletter: https://bit.ly/3gLPtnu
About A.R. Casella
A.R. CASELLA is a freelance developmental editor by day, writer by night. She lives in Asheville, NC with her husband, daughter, two dogs, and a variable number of fish. Her pastimes include chasing around her toddler, baking delicious treats, and occasional bouts of crocheting. Any Luck at All, co-written with New York Times bestselling author Denise Grover Swank, is her first book.
Connect with A.R. Casella