Redhead Plays Her Hand

The Redhead Plays Her Hand, Alice Clayton

It’s been a while since I’ve read anything from my favorite ginger, Grace, so to say I was jump outta my skin excited to finally get my hands on the third and final installment of Alice Clayton’s Redhead series would be an understatement. I’m about to give you a zillion reasons as to why I loved this book, but first…


*collects herself*

Moving on to a small confession. I actually haven’t been reading too many smut books lately. They are certainly a delightful treat, but sometimes my brain just needs a story to bite into and chew for a bit. A book with 20% illogical story and 80% hate sex just doesn’t do it for me.

It’s why I’m drawn to the likes of Tiffany Reisz, Olivia Cunning, and, of course, Alice Clayton.

In The Redhead Plays Her Hand, we are once again peeking in on the lives of Grace and Jack, and the passion and sex is still there, but so are the emotions, namely, mine. My emotions are there. This book isn’t about sex, it’s about being a woman.  Grace steps up in this book as the anchor of the relationship, on top of battling internal and external battles about her weight. I spent the whole book loving her and cheering her and wanting to stand beside her screaming, NO WE WILL NOT GIVE YOU ANY FUCKS ABOUT THE SIZE OF OUR ASSES, SOCIETY.

I devoured this book. I am so thankful for the story Alice weaves throughout each page, watching a woman own her skin, a relationship falter, all the while giving us a guilty pleasure taste of the skeeviest part of Hollywood faux-life. By the end, I felt complete, and I totally cried.

Purchase The Redhead Plays Her Hand by Alice Clayton here!

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