Maybe Too Good to Be True

Maybe Too Good To Be True

A Novel by Christy McKee

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Release: August 17, 2012

Editor: Marni McNiff

Line Editor: Les Tucker

Cover Designer: Nika Dixon

Words:  97595

Pages:  263

ISBN:  978-1-77127-132-5

Price: $5.95

Back Cover:

After today, Gabrielle March’s quiet life in Georgia will never be the same. Modern day fairy godmother, matriarch Elizabeth Hastings, summons the young writer/producer to her lavish Massachusetts estate to share two astounding revelations. Gabrielle’s late father was an impostor of sorts, a victim of a deviously executed fraud that stripped him of his wealth and business. As his only heir, Gabrielle is to receive compensation in the seven figures and a seat on the board of an international company. Suddenly every dream she’s ever had becomes a possibility?and every insecurity she’s battled, bubbles to the surface.

Pierce Hastings, son of Gabrielle’s benefactor, grudgingly agrees to take her under his wing and acclimate her to Atlantic-Hastings International in New York City. Spending time with her is a eye opener for the sophisticated divorced bachelor. Gabrielle’s unabashed pleasure in seeing and trying new things draws him in. Her complete lack of guile, unvarnished honesty and quirky sense of humor are like a drug to him?and he’s quickly becoming addicted. But conflict looms on the horizon because Gabrielle sees their vast differences as a mine field littered with disaster that she could never survive.

Blown away with Gabrielle’s talent in writing and producing videos, Pierce encourages her to buy into a  production company partnership. When the deal is set, Gabrielle’s doubts and insecurities eat away at her confidence and threaten to sabotage not only her career but a future with Pierce. With his control issues firmly in hand, Pierce forces himself to the sidelines to let Gabrielle make her own choices and, hopefully, become the woman he knows she can be.

Excerpt:

Holy shit. Pierce’s mouth went bone dry when Gabrielle appeared at the far end of the pool wearing a black one piece, cut high into her slim hips. His instincts were dead on. She’d by-passed all the bikinis in favor of the most conservative suit of the bunch. The G-rated little number offered a stingy glimpse of Gabrielle’s high, full breasts but couldn’t hide her delectably round derriere. Gabrielle was a woman who knew how to take care of herself and was comfortable in her own skin. Pierce slid onto a float, not letting her out of his sight.

Never breaking stride, Gabrielle headed straight for the diving board. With a quick spring, she arched gracefully into the air then sliced through the water–what a shocker. In Pierce’s experience, most women would rather walk barefoot across broken shards of glass than get their hair wet or risk muddying their mascara.

Gabrielle broke through the surface, hair streaming back from her face, emphasizing high cheekbones. Droplets of water clung to her long lashes and beaded up just above the rim of her mouth. It was a sexy mouth, soft, full and tempting. Pierce imagined covering her lips with his, kissing, tasting. Idiot. What the hell was he thinking?

“Excuse me,” Gabrielle spoke in her Scarlet O’Hara voice. “Could I have the other float?”

Scarlet effectively sucked him out of his X-rated daydream. “Sure.” He grabbed another float from the side of the pool and shot it across the water to her, reminding himself that Miss March was still a possible suspect in his mother’s “give away the farm” campaign. He needed to gather information without appearing to be more than an amicable host. From this moment on, he’d be on his best behavior. Maybe she would be gracious enough not to tell his mother he’d practically mauled her in the dining room. Anyone who saw Gabrielle’s curvy body would peg him a liar if he tried to play the “I thought she was a seven year old boy” card– even if it was the truth.

Gabrielle pulled herself onto the float and settled back, ignoring him completely.

Pierce paddled his float closer to her, prepared to be Mr. Charm. He would gain her confidence, get her to drop her guard and figure out her real agenda.

"Tell me about yourself, Gabrielle,” he encouraged. "Where’s home?”

"Prescott, Georgia.” She scooped up handfuls of water, splashing her arms and

shoulders.

Several drops of water trickled, like melted butter, into her cleavage. Pierce loved butter.

“Born and raised there?”

“Yes.”

“Brothers and sisters?”

“No.” She frowned at him, not bothering to hide her exasperation.

Not exactly a wellspring of information. In spite of his curiosity, Pierce didn’t want to come off like a Nazi interrogator. He kept his tone casual. "What do you do in Prescott?"

She opened her eyes and squinted at him. "I’m with a newspaper," Gabrielle answered.

A reporter! If she’d said she was a trapeze artist Pierce couldn’t have been more shocked. "You’re a reporter?" Even to his ears, it sounded more like an accusation than a question. Was she writing an expose on his father? Some hack had already written one and it graced the window of Weybridge’s only bookstore.

"Is that a problem?” Gabrielle jerked upright, her long, shapely, sun-tanned legs straddling the float. You would have thought he’d waved a damned red flag in her face.

“Newspapers were never very favorable to my father,” he explained. “To the best of my knowledge, a newspaper reporter has never been invited to this house.” He wouldn’t tell her that his father referred to them as a pack of ill-bred, bloodthirsty hounds. Edward Hastings refused to return calls or grant interviews to any newspaper.

“Are you insinuating that I’m here under false pretenses?”

From beneath his sunglasses, Pierce looked directly into her fiery green eyes. "No, not at all Miss March. I was merely stating a fact.”

“The fact is, Mr. Hastings, it is not a reporter’s job to be favorable. They are in the business of finding and reporting the truth.”

"Nobly put, Miss March.” The woman certainly didn’t pull any punches.

“I hope this will put you at ease, Mr. Hastings. I own the newspaper. It’s been several years since I single-handedly set out to ruin anyone.”

Sarcasm, even with a lovely Southern accent, was still sarcasm.

"I see.” Pierce sounded duly impressed. “That’s certainly an accomplishment for such a young …” He froze when her eyes narrowed. What the hell was wrong with him? He careened from one blunder to the next.

"Tell me, is it my age or the fact that I’m a woman that bothers you?” Her face was considerably more colorful than the rest of her and he knew it had nothing to do with the heat.

Pierce was no chauvinist and certainly had no prejudice against successful females. After all, he’d been married to a talented trial attorney. Hadn’t he put his wife through law school? Hadn’t he supported Glenna in every way until she made partner in her firm and then announced that she’d changed her mind about having children and, by the way, she didn’t want to be his wife anymore either.

"I didn't mean that you weren't responsible.” His eyes returned to the very entertaining Miss March who had just snapped up the ball and was ready to run with it.

"What would someone like you know about responsibility anyway? You've probably never put in an honest day’s work in your entire over-privileged life. Flying around the world trying to stay one step ahead of reality. One of these days you’re going to have to come down to earth and see what it’s like in the real world.”

Where did the woman get her information? She’d obviously pegged him as some sort of wealthy derelict. Fired up, she was something. Misinformed maybe, but she had balls of steel. "For a newspaper woman, you’re lacking in your facts, Miss...."

Frenzied barking drew Pierce's attention skyward. Just as he looked up a huge black creature soared through the air, plunging down on top of him, upending his float and catapulting him to the bottom of the pool.

Max exuberantly dog paddled to his mistress and was rewarded with an affectionate pat on his broad head. "Perfect timing, Max." Gabrielle smiled and broke into laughter.

"What did you do, signal him to attack?” Pierce sputtered, trying to locate his five hundred dollar sunglasses.

"Don't be silly.” She laughed. "It's just Max's way of thanking you for the afternoon snack."

About the Author:

In middle school, while her friends slept in or watched Saturday morning cartoons, Christy rode her bike to her favorite destination—the public library.  In this quiet realm filled with endless possibilities, she discovered the magic of books. Inside a book she could be anyone, travel anywhere, and do whatever she pleased.

Jumping ahead a few decades, after stints as a copy writer, TV news anchor, commercial producer and training specialist at a southern university, Christy could no longer ignore the pull to write fiction.

A strong believer in fate and free will, she likes putting her every day characters in situations where they must make tough decisions and question their own beliefs and capabilities.

Now a full time writer, Christy lives in Ohio with her husband and two Labs, Gracie and Lambeau.

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