Love
and Shenanigans by Zara Keane Series: Ballybeg, #1 Publication Date: May 16,
2014
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Vows in
Vegas… Three days before leaving Ireland on the adventure of
a lifetime, Fiona Byrne returns to her small Irish hometown to attend the
family wedding from hell. When she discovers the drunken vows she exchanged
with the groom during a wild Las Vegas trip eight years previously mean they’re
legally married, her future plans ricochet out of control. Can she untangle
herself from the man who broke her heart so long ago? Does she even want to?
…True
Love in Ballybeg. Gavin Maguire’s life is low on drama, high
on stability, and free of pets. But Gavin hadn’t reckoned on Fiona blasting
back into his life and crashing his wedding. In the space of twenty-four hours,
he loses a fiancée and a job, and gains a wife and a labradoodle. Can he
salvage his bland-but-stable life? More importantly, can he resist losing his
heart to Fiona all over again?
“Typical,” muttered Gavin. “Bloody typical. He lands me with an untrained puppy that wreaks havoc in my house, and then he expects me to keep it under control in his.” Wiggly Poo treated his nose to a generous lick. He scowled at him. “Keep that up and I’ll walk down the aisle with a rash on my face.”
A shriek of laughter from one of the rooms proved too much
excitement for the puppy. He leaped out of Gavin’s arms, slid across the marble
floor, and shot off in the direction of the noise. “Come back, you blaggard!”
Gavin chucked Deirdre’s roses on the floor and took off
after the dog. He pounded down the narrow hallway that led to the downstairs
guest bedrooms. One door was slightly ajar. He caught sight of a curly canine
arse disappearing behind it. He barged into the room without knocking.
A chorus of feminine gasps greeted his appearance. Apart
from the French designer, all the women were wearing satin dresses of various
hues. Deirdre was in a lavender creation, complete with puffy sleeves. The
bridesmaids—Olivia, Mona, and Brona—wore maroon dresses that reminded him of
the costumes in the deadly dull Jane Austen adaptations his fiancée adored.
Muireann’s wedding dress was a meringue concoction with skirts that took up
half the room. It didn’t suit her, but he’d lie tomorrow and tell her it looked
great.
The pièce de résistance was the woman poured into
a greenish-yellow frock with a weird fishtail bottom. The bodice of the dress was
so tight that half her breasts were squeezed into view. He drank in the woman’s
face. Her mouth formed an O of horror at the sight of him. His stomach
performed a stunt worthy of an acrobat. He knew those breasts. He knew that
face. He knew that mouth. Bloody hell! What was she doing at the wedding?
What was she doing in the wedding? Her intelligent green eyes pinned
him in place. A slide show of memories flashed through his mind—some good, some
bad, some X-rated.
“Gavin!” Muireann
screeched, jolting him back to the present. “You’re not supposed to see my
dress!”
He flushed to the roots. Had he been remembering sleeping with another
woman while his bride-to-be stood in front of him? Jaysus. He needed
to pull himself together.
Deirdre grabbed a swath of fabric from the speechless
Claudette and threw it around her daughter. “Get out, Gavin. You’ll jinx the
wedding!”
“Sorry for barging in. Wiggly Poo is in here somewhere.”
Muireann’s jaw dropped. “You brought him here? I told you to
leave him at home.”
“Baby, I couldn’t leave him alone,” he said in mounting
exasperation. “He was wrecking the place. He pulled down the curtains and
attacked my stereo speakers.”
“Ah, Gavin. Why
didn’t you stop him? He’s only a puppy.”
“Are you sure? I’d label him a hellhound.”
Fiona snorted with laughter. Muireann shot her cousin a look
of pure venom. No love lost between them. In a split second, Wiggly Poo emerged
from underneath an antique chair and charged at a basket near Deirdre’s feet.
“Watch out!” Gavin cried. “There he goes.”
“Stop him!” Deirdre screamed, veiled hat askew. “He’s
attacking Mitzi and Bitzi.” Fiona lurched forward on her high heels and
half-fell, half dive-bombed the dog basket.
The sound of ripping fabric tore a horrified gasp from the
crowd. The material at the back of the dress split open, revealing two
luscious, creamy buttocks.
Zara Keane grew up in Dublin, Ireland, but spent her summers
in a small town very similar to the fictitious Ballybeg. She currently lives in
Switzerland with her family. When she's not writing or wrestling small people,
she drinks far too much coffee, and tries, with occasional success, to resist
the siren call of Swiss chocolate.
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