Romance author Rosie Dean has cracked it once again with her sparkling, quintessentially British novel, Chloe’s Rescue Mission. Expect a show-stopping theatrical tour as she makes a dramatic entrance onto numerous blogs over the coming days with reviews, guest posts and a fab-u-lous giveaway, dah-ling.
To save her grandfather’s legacy – The Joshua Steele Theatre – Chloe Steele sells her services to the highest bidder. Enter leisure tycoon, business angel and playboy, Duncan Thorsen. But when the bank calls in the debts and the council enforces closure, just how much paparazzi exposure and wheeling and dealing can a girl stomach?
Shona's review 5 of 5 stars
This is the first time I have read anything by Rosie Dean and so I had no idea of what to expect. What I found was a novel that grabbed my attention from the very beginning, something I was able to slip into with ease and I'll be honest and admit that I didn't resurface for a couple of hours, by which time I was over half way through.
I loved the switch in the point of view... sometimes its hard to get behind the male character when everything is seen from the females POV, but Dean has done an amazing job of switching between the two and whilst she gives us hints as to what is going through Duncans mind she doesnt give it all away and leaves us guessing.
I loved the building relationship between Chloe and Duncan, from the initial attraction and 'that kiss' to even the cooling off after and the gradual building of their working relationship.
I cant think of even one single thing I didn't enjoy in this book. It welcomed me in like an old friend and kept me smiling throughout. If this is the standard for Dean's books then consider me a fan.
ExcerptI arrived at the racetrack to be introduced to the other drivers; a tall blonde model called Mazz, with glowing skin and cheekbones you could rest a tube of mascara on, and Jooli, a singer who’d recently been catching the headlines with her individual style and sultry voice. Best of all, she had a wicked sense of humour. Frazer, the uber cheerful presenter, was keen to make us all feel welcome and, I suspect, rather chuffed to be in the company of three women, as opposed to the petrol-heads and macho drivers he usually performed with. After being kitted out in fireproof outfits and fluorescent jackets, we ‘hot chick’ drivers stood around shivering from nerves and a brisk north-easterly wind. Overhead, the clouds were thickening and, any minute, the heavens threatened to open. After a health and safety briefing and familiarisation with our assigned cars, it was time to begin filming. ‘It’s going to be like this,’ Ross explained, ‘first you’ll do an individual lap and then we’ll line you up for a short race down the straight to see which car’s the fastest.’ Jooli grinned, ‘You mean, which hot chick has the biggest balls.’ To emphasise the point, she held the helmet against her crotch. Just as I was settling into my seat and preparing for the first circuit, I noticed Duncan’s silver Mercedes scorch through the gates and come to a dramatic halt in the car park. Duncan Thorsen – never one to pass up an opportunity of mixing with a few female celebs. It certainly never occurred to me for one moment that he was about to leap from his car and call a halt to the proceedings. ‘I don’t want Chloe doing this!’ I heard him announce, as he stormed towards the crew. ‘You’re kidding?’ I heard jolly Frazer say, in a not-so-jolly way. I wasn’t feeling too jolly myself. Ross closed the distance between them, probably in hope of a reasonable debate. So near to the cars, he’d had to resort to an e-cigarette, which made him look like he was smoking a fountain pen. I could tell he didn’t like it. Duncan dismissed him and again ordered that no filming was to take place. He then marched past the rest of the crew and headed in my direction. Oh lucky me. He loomed over the little sports-car, planting both hands on the roof and looked in at me through the open window. His tanned face was more beige than bronze. I didn’t know what I was supposed to have done wrong but had the distinct impression I was about to find out. I spoke first. ‘What’s going on?’ He glowered down at me for so long, I felt like an X-factor contestant waiting for the judge’s verdict. Just as I was on the brink of screaming, ‘For the love of God just tell me!’ he said, ‘Have you thought this through?’ My head jerked inside the ugly crash helmet. ‘What’s to think through? We’re earning money for the theatre and I get to test-drive a brand new BMW.’ ‘So, you’re just planning on cruising round the circuit for a couple o’ laps and saying nice things about the car?’ His accent had strengthened, which didn’t bode well. ‘Exactly.’ He glared down at me. ‘So, there’s no chance you’ll be racing it or driving it to the limit?’ I switched off the ignition. ‘Do you mind if I get out for a moment?’ He had the all the charm and presence of a policeman with haemorrhoids during a heat-wave. He pushed himself off the car and stepped back. Once I was out and standing as tall as my driving boots would allow, I looked him in the eye. ‘Would you mind explaining what all this is about? Because I’m very unclear. Gemma organised this and Rusty gave me the go-ahead – so what’s changed?’
Author BioRosie writes romantic fiction with a sense of humour and, sometimes, a sense of the ridiculous. Because we all know life and love aren't exactly how we'd like them to be. When not writing, she loves to cook and to read, she even reads in the car (listening to talking books) and has notched up countless unnecessary miles as a result. Not one to spend hours in the gym or pounding the pavement, she prefers yoga and Pilates, which means she can tone and tighten while watching TV.
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