Good Girls Don't. Victoria Dahl

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       www.mirabooks.co.uk

      This book is for Anne and RaeAnne,

      because I couldn’t have written it without them.

      ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

      There are a great number of people who contribute to the well-being of this author during the course of a book. My family, of course, who makes sacrifices for the sake of romance every day. Thanks for loving me no matter what. My agent, Amy, who’s always on my side. And my editor, Tara, who performs gracefully under huge amounts of pressure, along with the whole team at MIRA. Thank you.

      As always, Jennifer Echols was there for me as a true friend, a cheerleader and a stern taskmaster. She is a constant in my life and I couldn’t do this without her.

      I also want to thank the wonderful women of the Peeners, who provide advice, support and filthy jokes, as needed.

      RaeAnne Thayne and Nicole Jordan are the greatest brainstorming partners in the world and, without them, this series would still be ten lines scribbled in a notebook. Thank you.

      Of course, the whole basis of this book is balanced upon the wonderful inspiration of micro-breweries everywhere. You taught me how to like beer and I love you.

      Most importantly, thank you to my readers. You are my inspiration and you make it all worthwhile.

      And one last special thank you to all my wonderful new friends on Twitter. You kept me company while I wrote this book, although you failed spectacularly at keeping me on track.

       CHAPTER ONE

      TESSA DONOVAN STARED across the parking lot of Donovan Brothers Brewery, mesmerized by the flashes and swirls of blue and red across the gray brick of the building. She couldn’t help but stare. The police lights were so at odds with the birdsong and pale sunlight of the early-morning hour.

      Her brother Jamie stood between the two cop cars parked at haphazard angles near the back door. He wore a dazed expression, probably because he’d never met an early morning willingly.

      She stalked across the parking lot and grabbed her brother by the collar of his rumpled T-shirt.

      “Hey!” he protested.

      Tessa pulled him closer, tugging him down until they were nose to nose. “James Francis Donovan,” she whispered, “what have you done?”

      “What are you talking about?” Jamie asked, sounding just outraged enough that Tessa almost believed him for a second. But only for a second.

      She twisted his collar tighter. “Spill it.”

      “Come on, Tessa.” He yanked away from her grip and waved an angry hand at the police cars. “You’re not accusing me of having something to do with the robbery, I hope? I set the alarm, I locked the doors. This is not my fault.”

      Tessa ran a suspicious eye down her brother’s body. He looked like he always did. Tall and handsome and laid-back. His jeans were worn out by a thousand washings, his T-shirt faded to cloudy gray. His light brown hair was sleep-tousled, but that was nothing new. Unfortunately, neither was the guilty shift of his eyes when she looked into them.

      “Damn it, Jamie.”

      “Tessa—”

      “I know the robbery wasn’t your fault, but you said you were the one who found the door open. So what the hell were you doing here at seven in the morning? And why’d you call me instead of Eric?”

      Eric was their older sibling, and though they all owned equal shares of the brewery, Eric had always taken the lead. He was the logical person to call to report that the brewery had been robbed. But Jamie had called her instead. Not good. Not good at all.

      Jamie ran a hand through his hair and stared up at the pale blue sky. “It’s bad, Tessa.”

      Her heart fell to somewhere below street level. “What’s bad? What?”

      “Monica Kendall came by last night.”

      “No. Oh, no, no, no.” Monica Kendall was the vice president of High West Air and the key to the distribution deal that Eric had been working on for months. “Jamie, please tell me you didn’t. Even you wouldn’t be that stupid.”

      “Even I wouldn’t? Nice thing to say to your brother.”

      “Jamie!” she screeched. God, she wished the cops would turn the lights off on the patrol cars. The colors were digging into her eye sockets.

      Jamie finally gave up his outraged stance. His shoulders СКАЧАТЬ