Title: Solo
Author: Jill
Mansell
Pub Date: January
3, 2017
ISBN: 9781492632429
It all starts at a party, as
these things often do…
· A one-night stand with
far-reaching consequences
· Momentarily enamored guests
going home with all the wrong people
· An unfaithful wife struck by
jealousy and getting a dose of her own medicine
· A shocking family secret
revealed at the worst possible moment
One fling follows another, and
now the whole community is embroiled in a great big web of deceit, the
untangling of which will charm you, amuse you, make you laugh and make you cry.
Whatever’s going on in your
life, Solo by Jill Mansell is the perfect distraction right about now…
With over 10 million copies
sold, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Jill Mansell writes irresistible and funny, poignant and romantic
tales for women in the tradition of Marian Keyes, Sophie Kinsella and Jojo
Moyes. She lives with her partner and their children in Bristol, England. Website | Twitter | Facebook
Buy Links:
QUESTION
Complete this sentence: I knew I had
found the love of my life when he ___
Well,
I'd only just started seeing Cino when my house was flooded by a burst water
tank in the loft, in the middle of winter, so we had no water, no heating and
no dry furniture at all. It's the most miserable thing that can happen, but he
came and stayed and helped me move all the ruined carpets into the snowy
garden, and helped me through the whole nightmare for days on end, and I really
hadn't thought he was that type of person, so I was wildly impressed. (Of
course, thirty years later it can take him a good couple of years to get around
to fixing something tiny like a broken light switch...)
EXCERPT
I
must be drunk, thought Tessa, kicking off her shoes and sinking into a sitting
position on the edge of the vast, canopied bed. When a man like Ross Monahan
urged you to spend the night at his place and assured you that you were quite
welcome to the bed—he would be happy to sleep on the settee—you knew you
were playing with fire.
Either drunk or
crazy, she told herself as she pulled her dress over her head, threw it in the
direction of a large, red-velvet chair and wrapped herself in the dark-blue
toweling robe he had left for her.
But she knew she
wasn’t that drunk. She was enjoying the game which had begun so many hours
earlier. The challenge had been thrown down and she couldn’t resist it. She was
going to seriously enjoy being the only woman in the history of the world to
have slept in Ross’s bed…alone.
His suite of rooms on
the top floor of the hotel was as sumptuous as she had imagined, particularly
since seeing the rest of The Grange earlier. Like stowaways, they had remained
closeted in the conservatory until the early hours of the morning when the last
guests had departed, either roaring off into the night in their smart cars or
retiring to their rooms in the hotel.
Then, taking her
hand, Ross had given her the full guided tour, showing her the elegant sitting
rooms, the restaurant, the squash courts, the superb gym and the spectacular
indoor swimming-pool built inside a second, even larger, conservatory,
illuminated by underwater lighting and surrounded on three sides by more
tropical vegetation. Ross was as proud of the hotel as a new father. Tessa had
been touched by his enthusiasm. But if he was under the impression that she
would be so overwhelmed by this display of his success that she would leap into
bed with him, he was going to be disappointed.
Saying no was much,
much more fun.
Firmly securing the
belt of the far-too-big robe around her waist, she threw back the bedcovers and
slid between cool white sheets, just as a cautious knock sounded at the door.
“It’s OK, I’m
decent.”
“Pity,” said Ross
lightly. He was still dressed, and carrying a folded blanket over one arm.
Tessa gestured at the
bed. “This is awfully kind of you. You’ll probably have a terrible time trying
to sleep on that settee.”
“Probably.” He gave
her a mournful look, then grinned. “But I’ll survive.”
She watched him fling
the blanket over the narrow leather Chesterfield. “And it’s four thirty now.
Nearly time to get up again anyway.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“I’m very grateful.”
“Absolutely no
problem.”
Tessa pulled the
covers up to her chin and smiled at him. “You’re a true gentleman.”
“I believe you,” said
Ross. “Thousands wouldn’t.”
She watched him hover
for a few seconds beside the sofa, wondering no doubt if she might change her
mind. Then, giving him one last big smile, she plumped up her pillows and
turned over. “Mmm, well, thanks again. Good night.”
Tessa didn’t know
what time it was when she shifted in her sleep and first realized that she was
no longer alone in the bed. Her bare leg was resting against another bare leg,
definitely not her own. Sleepily, almost subconsciously, she stretched out her
hand and encountered a smooth, warm back. She became aware of the very faint scent
of aftershave and toothpaste, and the quiet, regular breathing of someone
deeply and peacefully asleep.
To her great
surprise, Tessa was neither shocked nor annoyed by this invasion of her
privacy. It was, after all, his bed and a narrow, slippery leather Chesterfield
was about as conducive to a good night’s sleep as a tin bath.
In fact, she realized
drowsily, she had forgotten quite how nice it felt to lie next to another body,
accidentally brushing against an arm or a hip, sharing each other’s warmth and
enjoying the primal instincts of simply being together.
With a guilty start
she came properly awake. For the way her fingertips were trailing down Ross’s
spine wasn’t in the least bit accidental. And, without even realizing it, her
own left leg had managed to fit against the curve of his right one with all the
snugness of a missing piece in a jigsaw.
This was taking the
enjoyment of sharing each other’s warmth a little too far.
Regretfully easing
her leg back to her own side of the bed and removing her hand from his back,
she closed her eyes and attempted to distract her mind from its traitorous
wanderings. She had always believed that physical intimacy—not just sex—was
something like a video recorder or a Magimix: what you didn’t have, you didn’t
miss, it just faded from your mind and became unimportant.
It had been almost a
year since her last relationship had ended. At first, of course, she had missed the hugs and the kisses—and the
sex—but certainly not enough to go rampaging round Bath in search of males, any
males, with whom to satisfy the need for physical contact.
And pretty soon she
had become used to being and sleeping alone once more. The withdrawal symptoms
had been mild. Because hugging and kissing and sex weren’t physical addictions
like heroin. They were something that was nice but also quite possible to live
without.
On the other hand, a
year was a long time.
a Rafflecopter giveaway
