Summer Scandal

Will a salacious scandal ruin her career – or bring her the love of her life?


Mechanic Clay Westfield thought he was on the flip side of a crazy media storm after his sensationalized divorce from pop superstar, Dianna Skye. Then she gives an emasculating interview that goes viral, and his ego makes him do something stupid enough to throw him right back into the eye of the abhorrent tornado.

Actress Peyton Riley returns home to weather the scandal threatening to torch her career. But less than three hours back in town, Hollywood’s fallen sweetheart finds herself caught up in the arms of a man who’s as infamous as she—and the paparazzi are right there to fan the flames.

Some crafty maneuvering by matchmaker Santa Butch throws the two together at Clay’s mother’s secluded ranch and sparks fly as new rumors are ignited. If their relationship is to have any hope of survival, they’ll have to sort truth from lies as they withstand the scorching heat from a ruthless media spotlight. 


Romancing Wisconsin, a USA Today bestselling series from NY Times bestselling author, Stacey Joy Netzel


Love is always in season...


Starting with Christmas/Winter, then moving on to the rest of the seasons, check out this bestselling, heartwarming series set in small town Wisconsin, where hope springs eternal for each happily ever after. Sexy military heroes, runaway brides, surprise babies, single parents—meet the Rileys, the Walshes, the Sullivan sisters, and friends. Best of all is Butch...a.k.a. Santa Butch. The mischievous matchmaker makes a cameo in each story—adding a touch of magic to the lives of everyone he loves, and even those he’s just met.


Romancing Wisconsin Series

   Mistletoe Mischief

   Mistletoe Magic

   Mistletoe Match-Up

   Mistletoe Rules – short story

   Autumn Wish

   Autumn Bliss

   Autumn Kiss

   Autumn Glimmer – short story

   Spring Fling 

   Spring Serendipity 

   Spring Dreams 

   Spring Spark – short story

   Summer Scandal

   Summer Bride


EXCERPT:

Overhead footsteps interrupted her brief reprieve and lifted her lashes. She spotted a narrow set of stairs off to her right, just past an office and a tack room.

“You have got to be kidding me,” she muttered.

With one last pat on the bay’s smooth neck, she crossed the aisle to the stairs. When she reached the top, to the left was a hay loft that stretched most of the length of the barn. Half-full of hay, the dried grass smell was more concentrated up here. Fresher and sweeter.

She breathed in the pleasant scent while swiveling to her right, where a door opened into what appeared to be an apartment. A couple of boxes were stacked in the far corner outside the door, and she’d just taken a step forward when Clay came out with another box in his arms.

Peyton ignored him—and the flutter in her stomach—and entered the apartment. The main room—the only room—was a big square, with a double bed on one side, brown plaid couch on the other, small kitchenette, and a door she assumed was for a tiny bathroom. Everything looked old, and smelled...stale. Her nose wrinkled. Hopefully, at least one of the two windows opened because there was no air conditioner in sight.

There was also no coffee maker on the counter, and no TV on the ugly brown wall opposite the equally hideous couch. She had her laptop with her, but sincerely doubted there would be Wi-Fi.

Yep. Better and better.

Setting her bag on the floor, she turned to see Clay bending for one of the two remaining boxes by the bed. “I was told your mother is opening a bed and breakfast.”

“She is.”

“Annnnd, guests stay in the barn? How quaint. You going to fix up a few stalls, too?”

“We’re not officially open because the house isn’t finished yet. Won’t be for a while.” He carried the box out as he explained, raising his voice when he disappeared out the door, and lowering it a bit when he came back in. Lifting the final box, he braced it against his hip while meeting her gaze. “You’ve got two options. In the house, next to my bedroom, sharing a bathroom with me—”

Now why in the world did her mind have to jump straight to the fantasy image of him in nothing but a small towel, his wet, tousled hair dripping water down along his neck, onto his firm, bare chest? She avoided his gaze as heat flushed her body.

“—or, you can stay out here, with your own bathroom, and have complete privacy.”

And no sexy, half-naked man to run into in the hall. Hmmm—

Stop it. That’s a good thing! What is wrong with you?

“Of course, there is a third option,” he added. “If either of the first two aren’t good enough for you, no one’s making you stay.”

No, but once again, she’d bet her entire paycheck from her last movie someone was specifically trying to make her leave. And no way in hell was she going to give him the satisfaction.