Dirty Together Release Day Blitz @Meghan_March @RockStarPRLC

Dirty Together

by Meghan March

The Dirty Billionaire Trilogy, Book Three

 

Date of Publication: January 12, 2016

Dirty Pleasures

My wife.

I love saying those words.

She’s mine, and if she thinks I’m going to let her run without tracking her down and bringing her back to where she belongs–with me–then she’s about to be introduced to a new reality.

Because I’ll fight dirty to give her the happily ever after she deserves.

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About Meghan March

Meghan March is the author of contemporary and erotic romance novels.

Meghan March has been known to wear camo face paint and tromp around in woods wearing mud-covered boots, all while sporting a perfect manicure. She’s also impulsive, easily entertained, and absolutely unapologetic about the fact that she loves to read and write smut. Her past lives include slinging auto parts, selling lingerie, making custom jewelry, and practicing corporate law. Writing books about dirty talking alpha males and the strong, sassy women who bring them to their knees is by far the most fabulous job she’s ever had. She loves hearing from her readers at meghanmarchbooks@gmail.com.

Find Meghan March Online

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Beneath These Scars

by Meghan March

Date of Publication: September 22, 2015

Blurb

I’m the guy you love to hate.

In every story in my life, I seem to end up playing the villain—and I’ve got the scars to prove it.

That role works fine for me, because I’m sure as hell not anyone’s hero. I run my life and my empire with an iron fist—until she knocks my tightly controlled world off its axis.

She’s nobody’s damsel in distress, but I can’t help but want to save her anyway.

I guess we’re about to find out if there’s a hero buried … beneath these scars.

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About Meghan March

Meghan March is the author of contemporary and erotic romance novels.

Meghan March has been known to wear camo face paint and tromp around in woods wearing mud-covered boots, all while sporting a perfect manicure. She’s also impulsive, easily entertained, and absolutely unapologetic about the fact that she loves to read and write smut. Her past lives include slinging auto parts, selling lingerie, making custom jewelry, and practicing corporate law. Writing books about dirty talking alpha males and the strong, sassy women who bring them to their knees is by far the most fabulous job she’s ever had. She loves hearing from her readers at meghanmarchbooks@gmail.com.

Find Meghan March Online

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Chapter 1

Lucas

SWEAT DRIPPED INTO MY EYES as I bounced on the balls of my feet. Someone had to be calling out how much time was left in this round soon. My pride was on the line, and there was no way I would hand it over to Con Leahy. He’d already gotten the girl, and I wasn’t about to let him humiliate me in the ring in this piece-of-shit New Orleans gym too.

My muscles burned, but that was nothing compared to the heat of victory—or the sting of defeat. What had started out as a boxing lesson had quickly transformed into an all-out brawl for dominance and respect.

Only you would pay a million dollars to get your ass kicked, Titan. The voice in my head mocked me as I bobbed and weaved. But I hadn’t paid a million to get my ass kicked. I’d done it because that night at the charity auction I’d been drunk, pissed off, and determined to prove a point—he might’ve gotten the girl, but I was still the one with the power. I got a sick sense of satisfaction that every time Con bought something for his gym and these kids, he had to think of me.

I swung with another right hook. The blow connected with Con’s jaw and snapped his head to the side.

Yeah. That’s right. But my mental cheer came a moment too soon, and pain exploded in my left side.

Shit, that’s going to hurt tomorrow.

I stumbled back but threw myself forward again, shooting out my fist with an uppercut that knocked Con back a step. This was how it had gone for the last several minutes—trading punches and circling each other.

There was no love lost in this ring, that was for damn sure, and I was ready for this to be over. I would walk out of here with every bit of the respect I was owed. Fuck anyone who thought otherwise.

Con moved toward me and the circling started again. The cheers and chants from the crowd surrounding the ring in the old warehouse gym seemed to grow every time I glanced beyond the ropes. A flash of blond hair caught my eye as I stepped left and Con shifted to the right.

Vanessa.

She threw her head back and laughed at something said by her redheaded friend, Elle. I turned my attention back to the man in front of me, but my focus wandered again when a huskier, sexier laugh echoed through the room.

My eyes strayed from Con for a second too long as I tried to track down the source of the laughter. Pain burst through my jaw, catching me by surprise, and I stumbled back into the ropes. Using their momentum, I shoved off to the side, my pride stinging from my momentary lapse in concentration. Embarrassed and now thoroughly pissed off, I surged forward and attacked.

One punch. That was all I landed before the bell rang, signaling the end of the round and my very expensive “lesson.”

I pushed off Con, and my knee might have slipped as I stepped back . . . and caught him directly in the balls. It was probably an accident. I huffed out a chuckle, but Con didn’t share my humor.

“Goddamn it!” he roared. “Are you fucking serious?”

It was like stabbing a bull with a matador’s sword, but I was ready for him. I jumped out of the way as Con charged, and shifted into a defensive stance when he swung.

“Should’ve expected a cheap shot from you, motherfucker.” Unrestrained anger flashed over his face as every shred of coaching mentality fled, along with that smug superiority he’d been giving me.

Good. You aren’t better than me, Leahy. I could buy and sell you a hundred times over.

He might’ve gotten the girl, but I wasn’t going to let him get away with her clean. I wanted blood.

“Should’ve expected you to strut around this ring like a fucking cock of the walk,” I shot back.

Con feinted and swung again, but I’d been studying his movements. I bobbed and weaved, and got the hell out of the way.

I threw my own punch as soon as I had a clean shot. It landed just below Con’s left eye, splitting the skin over his cheekbone and sending blood spattering everywhere.

The taste of victory was sweet. “First blood,” I said under my breath.

Apparently my words weren’t quiet enough because Con’s head snapped up and he glared at me with disgust, as if I needed to be put down like a rabid animal. “This ain’t a fuckin’ duel, you piece of shit.”

“It sure isn’t a friendly competition either.”

“Paid a million to get that cheap shot in, didn’t you?”

My lips twisted into a mocking smile. “I sure didn’t pay a million to have you show me up.”

Con dropped his hands and shook his head. “Just when I thought you weren’t a complete fucking asshole.”

“You were wrong,” I replied, turning for the ropes.

Con’s fists lifted and before I could react, one connected with my cheekbone. The instantaneous gush of blood told me I’d have a scar to match his, but it didn’t matter. One more scar wouldn’t hurt my banged-up face.

I roared as I charged, but I didn’t get the chance to retaliate. Shouts filled the room, and beefy arms wrapped around my body, holding me back.

“You’re not half bad when you’re not being a shady rich prick,” Lord’s voice said in my ear.

I lunged toward Con, but Lord’s grip only tightened. “Get your goddamn hands off me,” I growled at him.

Leaning closer to my ear, he lowered his voice. “When you calm the hell down and realize you’re making an ass of yourself in front of a bunch of kids and women.”

I glanced out to the crowd and read disgust on so many faces, including Vanessa’s. Like it mattered what a single goddamn person in this gym thought of me. I could buy and sell them all.

Lord was still holding me back when Con came toward us. He yanked his gloves off and wiped at the blood still dripping from the gash on his face.

“You’re also not half bad when you’re paying attention—and when you’re not throwing a knee into my nuts. But I think you’ve overstayed your welcome.”

I jerked at the arms trapping me. “Call off your dog, and I’m gone.”

“You ever want another round, it’s gonna cost you two million next time,” Con said.

“For another chance to make you bleed? I’d pay even more.”

Con nodded to his brother, and Lord let me go. The crowd had already started to disperse. The only person in the building who probably didn’t want to run me down in the parking lot was my COO, and arguably my friend, Ryder Colson. And he was nowhere to be seen.

Instead of Colson, I saw a group of women moving toward the door—Vanessa Frost in her white cotton dress, Elle Snyder in her yellow retro number, and two others I didn’t know. One looked familiar with tanned skin the color of honey, her hair in dark waves, and a curvy body displayed by a funky teal dress with hot-pink polka dots. She hooked her hands on her hips, and that husky laugh echoed through the room again. Apparently she was the one who had distracted me in the ring. My eyes didn’t move from her to take in the fourth woman.

Colson came up beside me. “Who knew there’d be so many hot pieces of ass in this shit warehouse?”

I turned toward him. “Give any of them a shot, and you’ll probably find yourself bleeding on the floor.”

Ryder shrugged off my comment. “Go get your shit. I’ll wait.”

He was gone before I could tell him he didn’t need to wait around for me. But then again, he was my only ally in a building full of people who undoubtedly would have preferred to see me KO’d on the floor of the ring. Just one more place I’d never be welcome.

Good thing I didn’t give a fuck.

I’d showed up, gone toe-to-toe with Con, and had taken back a piece of my pride. That was enough.

For today.

I was already thinking of hiring a trainer as I went for my bag.

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Beneath These Chains Release Blitz

Beneath These Chains

by Meghan March

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Release Date: 6/16/2015

 

About the Book - Copy

9780990404842

I was raised on the streets, so I know things are rarely as simple as they appear—especially this rich girl showing up at my pawnshop demanding a job.

She’s the most tempting thing I’ve ever seen, and I’ll be damned if I can make her leave.

Shit just got complicated … but when it comes to her—I want complicated.

We’re both fighting our own demons, and our only chance at a future is to let go of the past.

But will we be strong enough to break free from beneath these chains?

 

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About the Author

Meghan March is the author of contemporary and erotic romance novels.

Meghan March has been known to wear camo face paint and tromp around in woods wearing mud-covered boots, all while sporting a perfect manicure. She’s also impulsive, easily entertained, and absolutely unapologetic about the fact that she loves to read and write smut. Her past lives include slinging auto parts, selling lingerie, making custom jewelry, and practicing corporate law. Writing books about dirty talking alpha males and the strong, sassy women who bring them to their knees is by far the most fabulous job she’s ever had. She loves hearing from her readers at meghanmarchbooks@gmail.com.

Website: http://www.meghanmarch.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/MeghanMarchAuthor
Twitter: https://twitter.com/Meghan_March
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8184875.Meghan_March

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Beneath These Chains Cover Reveal

Beneath These Chains

by Meghan March

About the Book - Copy

BTC AmazonI was raised on the streets, so I know things are rarely as simple as they appear—especially this rich girl showing up at my pawnshop demanding a job.

She’s the most tempting thing I’ve ever seen, and I’ll be damned if I can make her leave.

Shit just got complicated … but when it comes to her—I want complicated.

We’re both fighting our own demons, and our only chance at a future is to let go of the past.

But will we be strong enough to break free from beneath these chains?

Available for Pre-Order

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THE DATING GAME – The Worst Date

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The Dating Game

Robin Covington, Claudia Burgoa

The Worst Date by Robin Covington

My worst date was a blind date my mother set up for me when I was a junior in high school. The guy was a senior at another local Catholic High School and he needed a date for his senior prom. I didn’t know the guy and I didn’t want to go but my mom made me and it was terrible. The guy was strange, snorted when he talked, and immediately grew about four sets of grabby hands because in his world “blind date” meant “losing-his-virginity”. To make it worse, his friends at our table consisted of a guy who didn’t have a date and proceeded to eat the food off both plates at dinner and a couple who were getting married after graduation because she was pregnant and they spend the night pointing out the baby stuff they’d picked out from the JC Penney catalog. It was the only blind date I ever had.

About Robin Covington

Robin Covington, who NYT Best Selling authors, Robyn Carr and Carly Phillips, said was their new “auto-buy author”, writes sizzling hot contemporary and paranormal romance.

A Night of Southern Comfort, her best-selling debut novel was a 2012 finalist in the RT Book Reviews Reviewers Choice Awards, earned 4.5 stars and was touted by RT Book Reviews as bringing a “fresh, modern feel to the genre while still sticking to the things that get our adrenaline pumping — sex and danger”. When she’s not exploring the theme of fooling around and falling in love, she’s collecting tasty man candy, indulging in a little comic book geek love, and stalking Joe Manganiello.

Robin is a member of the Romance Writers of America, the Washington and Maryland Romance Writers, a faculty member at Romance University, a member of the Waterworld Mermaids, and a contributor to the Happy Ever After blog at USA Today. You can find Robin on her website, Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter (@RobinCovington).

Robin lives in Maryland with her hilarious husband, brilliant children, and ginormous puppy.

Website: http://robincovingtonromance.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/robincovington (@RobinCovington)

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/RobinCovingtonAuthor?fref=ts

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5812874.Robin_Covington

 

Worst Date Ever – Told by A.J.

from Unlike Any Other by Claudia Burgoa (coming 3/5/2015)

How in the hell did they talk me into this?

No, why did I agree?

I stare at the brunette across the table who keeps blabbing about her ability to read minds—I think she’s still at that. No doubt her abilities only touch a few, because my mind keeps screaming at her: “Shut Up!”

Jacob and Ainsley are going to pay for this shit. No only Ainsley, she came up this idea of all going out on dates during Valentine’s Day. We humor her because these days she’s… explosive, sensitive and… we work hard so she stays in a zen state of mind.

Nonetheless, my worst mistake was letting my sister find me a date.

A wacko case that keeps yapping about aliens, her being a witch and having her ex-boyfriends under her spell because they broke up with her.

“Do you believe in werewolves?” she whispers leaning closer to the table. Those words drag my attention back at her. “Because I think I’m one of them.”

MJ: Worst date ever! You’re going to pay for this AJ!

AJ: Be pleasant!

JC: Can’t be worse than mine. My date wants to go to Vegas after this—to elope. Where did you find them Ainsley Janine?

AJ: My date wants the two of you to leave us alone. He’s taking away my phone, bye!

“It’s only a bite… and I’ll drink some of your blood. You’ll drink some of mine.” She smirks while licking her upper lip. “During the full moon, then we can be free and run along the forest. You’ll do it for me, right?”

At first sight, this girl gave me a good vibe. Her brown eyes; long brown locks with a timid smile emanated innocence. Nothing wrong with her, I even play with the idea of having a second date—if she’s a good fuck. Now …

“Can you excuse me for one second?” I tilt towards the restrooms, lift my napkin, set it on the table and jet off towards the exit. “I really have to go.”

Before you delusional-crazy-chick attack me or… whatever.

Crazy bitch!

About Claudia Burgoa

Born on the mystical day of October 30th in the not so mystical lands of Mexico City, Claudia grew up with a childhood that resembled a caffeine-injected soap opera. Seventeen years ago she ventured to the lands of her techie husband—a.k.a. the U.S.—with their offspring to start a new adventure.

She now lives in Colorado working as a CFO for a small IT company, managing her household filled with three confused dogs, said nerd husband, two daughters wrought with fandoms and a son who thinks he’s the boss of the house. To survive she works continually to find purpose for the voices flitting through her head, plus she consumes high quantities of chocolate to keep the last threads of sanity intact.

Website: http://www.claudiayburgoa.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ClaudiaYBurgoa

Twitter: https://twitter.com/yuribeans (@yuribeans)

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7202946.Claudia_Y_Burgoa

 

The Date Game

Kate Canterbary, Carly Phillips

My Worst Date by Carly Phillips

This isn’t my worst date … but then again I don’t have all that many. I wasn’t exactly your serial dater.

I met a guy in college back in 1984, my sophomore year in college. I wore flash dance, off the shoulder tops, had big hair (okay that hasn’t changed too much), and I had finally agreed to date him despite his reputation (he and his friends could scare any good girl off – and I was a good girl. Make that GOOD girl.)  Date day? February 14th

The weekend before I flew to Florida to visit my parents. My bright idea? Get tan before the big date. The end result? I looked awesome. Until that tan started to peel. Then crack. And I do mean crack since it was hard to actually talk. I kept moisturizing and praying … it wasn’t pretty (although he never said a word) … and in the end we were going out as a real couple.

End result? I married him. 25 years this past July. He’s my best friend and my rock so I guess things work out the way they were meant to be!

About Carly Phillips:

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Carly Phillips N.Y. Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Carly Phillips has written over 40 sexy contemporary romance novels that today’s readers identify with and enjoy. After a successful 15 year career with various New York publishing houses, Carly is making the leap to Indie author, with the goal of giving her readers more books at a faster pace at a better price. Her Serendipity books will still finish up in January/February 2014 via Berkley as planned. Carly lives in Purchase, NY with her family, two nearly adult daughters and two crazy dogs who star on her Facebook Fan Page and website. She’s a writer, a knitter of sorts, a wife, and a mom. In addition, she’s a Twitter and Internet junkie and is always around to interact with her readers. You can find all information about Carly at her website and other social media sites:

Website: www.carlyphillips.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CarlyPhillipsFanPage

Twitter: https://twitter.com/carlyphillips (@carlyphillips)

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/10000.Carly_Phillips?from_search=true

 

My Worst Date from Shannon Walsh – The Walsh Series by Kate Canterbary

My worst date? Ha. That’s a good one. These days, it seems like each date is orders of magnitude worse than the one before it.

There was the guy who arrived with scrambled egg all over his shirt and tie. He claimed he’d been running late that morning, and couldn’t change. It didn’t bother him that he looked like he’d lived through a food fight. I walked away from that harbinger of horrors after one drink.

There was the married guy who failed to mention his nuptial situation until his phone vibrated across the table and the name on his screen read ‘WIFE.’ I stared at the pretty brunette’s photo for a moment before wishing him luck with spineless infidelity.

There was the urban farmer who was definitely growing and selling weed to keep his baby kale business going. I gave him my defense attorney friend’s business card, and told him to call when he was arrested.

There was the little boy who added at least ten years to the age on his online dating profile and didn’t appear capable of sprouting facial hair if his life depended on it. He was dressed for a frat party, and smelled like he’d bathed in Axe body spray and then rolled around the subway platform after a Red Sox game. He ordered a green apple martini, and I silently prayed for the apocalypse when he was carded but couldn’t locate his ID.

There was the rich homeless dude. Apparently, he determined that he spent the vast majority of his time traveling for work as a venture capitalist, and didn’t like wasting money on an apartment. When he hasn’t on the road, he hopped between his friends’ apartments. Oh, and the beds of women he casually screwed. Once I determined he didn’t have a place to stay that weekend, I asked him to delete my number.

But I keep at it. One Manolo in front of the other.

Kate Canterbary doesn’t have it all figured out, but this is what she knows for sure: spicy-ass salsa and tequila solve most problems, living on the ocean–Pacific or Atlantic–is the closest place to perfection, and writing smart, smutty stories is a better than any amount of chocolate. She started out reporting for an indie arts and entertainment newspaper back when people still read newspapers, and she has been writing and surreptitiously interviewing people–be careful sitting down next to her on an airplane–ever since. Kate lives on the water in New England with Mr. Canterbary and the Little Baby Canterbary, and when she isn’t writing sexy architects, she’s scheduling her days around the region’s best food trucks.

Underneath It All

Amazon: http://amzn.com/B00OPCH6D8

BN: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/underneath-it-all-kate-canterbary/1120621453?ean=9780990957317

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Underneath It All – The Walsh Series #1

If I had known I’d have a hot architect balls deep inside of me before the end of the weekend, I’d have made time for a pedicure. Also, a little chat about not losing my shit at all the wrong moments.

Hindsight was a bitch, and karma…well, I didn’t know her story yet.

Meet Lauren Halsted.

It’s all the little things—the action plans, the long-kept promises—that started falling apart when my life slipped into controlled chaos.

After I fell ass-over-elbow into Matthew Walsh’s arms.

I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to run screaming or rip his pants off, and most days I wanted a little of both. If I was being honest with myself, it was rip his pants off, ride him like a workhorse, and then run screaming.

Meet Matthew Walsh.

A rebellious streak ran through Lauren Halsted. It was fierce and unrelentingly beautiful, and woven through too many good girl layers to count, and she wasn’t letting anyone tell her what to do.

Unless, of course, she was naked.

She wasn’t looking for me and I sure as shit wasn’t looking for her, but we found each other anyway and now we were locked in a battle of wills, waiting for the other to blink.

Sometimes the universe conspires to bring people together. Other times, it throws them down a flight of stairs and leaves them in a bruised and bloodied heap.

The Space Between

Amazon: http://amzn.com/B00OBJ46SI

B&N: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-space-between-kate-canterbary/1120724561?ean=9781503198005

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The Space Between – The Walsh Series #2

Some lines are meant to be crossed.

Patrick

That hair.

That f*cking hair.

It was everywhere, always, and I wanted to tangle my fingers in those dark curls and pull.

And that would be fine if she wasn’t my apprentice.

Andy Asani was nothing like I expected. She was exotic and scary-brilliant, and the slightest murmur from those lips sent hot, hungry lust swirling through my veins. Outside my siblings, she was the only person I could name who shared my obsession with preserving Boston’s crumbling buildings.

Andy

My wants were few: good eats, tall boots, sweaty yoga, interesting work. One incredibly hot architect with the most expressive hazel eyes I ever encountered and entirely too much talent in and out of the bedroom wasn’t part of the original plan. Apparently he was part of the package.

Wine was my rabbi and vodka was my therapist, and I needed plenty of both to survive my apprenticeship. Especially with Patrick Walsh leaving love notes in the form of bite marks all over my body.

*This is the second book in The Walshes Series, though it reads as a stand-alone novel.

 

The Dating Game

Avery Flynn, Jillian Neal

Worst Date or Best Date: You Decide By Avery Flynn

What is the worst date you ever had?

I had to ponder that for a while…for a good LONG while because crappy dates were my pre-married specialty. Seriously. I could have gone with Mr. Arm Porn who’s middle name was Not So Bright. Or I could have gone with the bartender *cough* bartenders *cough*. But in the end I had to go with the date that never was.

In college I had a huge thing for a certain ginger in one of my classes … yes, I’m a sucker for gingers. There was tons of flirting and a date was set and then he ditched me. He just never showed to pick me up. Ow!

Yes, let’s all say that together: OW!

Luckily, my friends are pretty kickass and took me out anyway. Later on, he told me that he suddenly remembered he had a girlfriend and didn’t know how to tell me. *insert epic eye roll here* After that, I realized him ditching me was me dodging a bullet.

About Avery Flynn:

Avery Flynn has three slightly-wild children, loves a hockey-addicted husband and is desperately hoping someone invents the coffee IV drip.

She fell in love with romance while reading Johanna Lindsey’s Mallory books. It wasn’t long before Avery had read through all the romance offerings at her local library. Needing a romance fix, she turned to Harlequin’s four books a month home delivery service to ease the withdrawal symptoms. That worked for a short time, but it wasn’t long before the local book stores’ staffs knew her by name.

Avery was a reader before she was a writer and hopes to always be both. She loves to write about smartass alpha heroes who are as good with a quip as they are with their *ahem* other God-given talents. Her heroines are feisty, fierce and fantastic. Brainy and brave, these ladies know how to stand on their own two feet and knock the bad guys off theirs.

Website: http://averyflynn.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AveryFlynnAuthor

Twitter: https://twitter.com/averyflynn (@averyflynn)

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4894804.Avery_Flynn

 

You are Going to Have to Pay for That! By Jillian Neal

Many years ago, fourteen to be exact, I was oh so very, very pregnant. I no longer had the cute baby bump or that refreshing glow of pregnancy. Oh no, I was eight and a half months pregnant, and so full of my precious son that I could no longer see my feet.

It happened to be Valentine’s Day. I’d spent the morning at the OB’s office being measured, “You still have a few weeks to go, and you’re already measuring 41 weeks, Jillian.”

I bit my tongue to keep from asking her just what she’d like me to do about that. Anyone that could see their feet became my mortal enemy.

You see, I am barely 5” tall. My husband, however, is 6’4” and weighed almost 10lbs. at his birth. Our sons took after him. I was so full of baby I couldn’t eat. I had heartburn so badly I tried to sleep sitting up. I couldn’t even draw a full breath. I was completely miserable.

My darling husband, being ever wary of my moods, came home from work early and suggested that we go out since it was Valentine’s, after all. He happened to arrive in the kitchen just as I was trying to reach something in a cabinet. My belly wouldn’t allow me to get close enough to fetch whatever I was after. He quickly sought to help. I burst into tears.

He, once again, tried to console me. Blubbering and hissing I took him into our laundry room and showed him the still wet socks stuck to the bottom of the washing machine that I couldn’t reach to put in the dryer, because of my girth.

After rectifying the sock situation, he continued to placate, “Let’s just go out to eat. We’ll get out of the house for a little while. Get your mind off everything.”

I glared.

His eyes turned pleading, and I finally relented.

We changed clothes, and once I managed to locate shoes that my swollen feet would fit inside of, I waddled to our car. I left my purse at home. I didn’t care.

Now, finding a restaurant that would seat us on Valentine’s without a reservation became a concern. “I would have made reservations, but I wasn’t sure you’d want to go out.” DH apologized repeatedly. I stared out the windshield like the world had deeply offended me.

We were young and had only been married a few years, so Olive Garden was quite a treat. We didn’t go out to eat very often. I might’ve even managed a half-smile as he pulled in the parking lot with a hopeful smile.

However, we were definitely not the only couple that had decided on Olive Garden as their Valentine meal locale. DH shot infuriated glares at the men seated in the waiting area until one of them finally relented and stood so that I could sit down.

Since, I have always had stories swimming in my head, before I ever began to actually write, I imagined all of the rude men that regarded me more like a beached whale and less like an extremely pregnant woman, being doused with spaghetti sauce and meatballs from a clumsy waiter. This, of course, didn’t actually happen, much to my chagrin.

When “Neal” finally rang from the maître d, DH helped me up and guided me to our table, a booth. I did somehow manage to get into the tiny space, but it was dicey for a few minutes.

We ordered, and I ate. Somehow, the baby shifted a little and allowed me to feel how hungry I really was. DH ordered me more food and managed to talk me into a better mood. He told me how beautiful I was, and how he couldn’t wait to be a daddy, and offered to pick up ice cream on the way home.

I loaded pasta into my mouth and decided that maybe this wouldn’t be such a horrible Valentine’s Day.

That is until the waitress brought the check. DH reached into his back pocket and then his eyes goggled in terror! “I don’t have my wallet! It’s in the pants I wore to work!”

I’d left my purse at home. We had no way to pay for the very large dinner that we’d consumed! Now, remember, this was long before we had cell phones or access to our bank accounts from any wi-fi hotspot. All of our friends and neighbors were out celebrating the romantic night. There was no one to help us.

With a deep breath, DH explained the predicament to our waitress. She scowled angrily. “You ordered a ton of food!”

He apologized and promised we would return home and come back with his wallet, but that we lived about a half-hour away.

That wasn’t good enough. The manager decided that I should stay at the restaurant as some sort of insurance policy that DH would, in fact, return for his impregnated whale and pay our bill.

I sat back in the waiting area watching other women who could move lithely and could see their feet smile and laugh. I checked the clock endlessly. Where was he? The manager would come by and offer me an eye roll before returning to the task of feeding hundreds of people on Valentine’s. An hour passed, and I began to panic. What was taking so long?

DH finally returned an hour and a half later. He almost bowled over the maître d in an effort to get to me and to get the bill paid.

I ground my teeth and offered DH nothing more than huffs and scowls as he apologized all the way home.

When I stormed up the stairs and into the kitchen, I found two-dozen red roses on the counter, one for me and one for the baby.

“I had to do something. That’s what took me so long.” DH offered sweetly.

So, though it hadn’t gone quite as we’d planned, I spun and did my best to hug him tightly. We spent the evening lying in bed watching our little boy kick and move in my stomach. Then we celebrated Valentine’s night just the way it should be celebrated. 😉

About Jillian Neal

Jillian Neal is a Romance writer with a passion for passion who pens strong, character driven novels, told from the male perspective. Her guys aren’t afraid to let us inside their minds or inside their bedrooms. They’re hot on the trail of a sinister criminal organization when they’re not burning up the bed sheets.

She’s a self-proclaimed ‘Southern girl with a sassy mouth.’ Her coffee addiction is barely legal, and she’s most often running around with her hair and her pen on fire! She’s full of smarts, sass, and sizzle and that’s a lot to get into barely five feet of girl with her head always in the clouds.

Website // Twitter // Facebook // Goodreads

 

The Dating Game

Jessica Scott, Meg Bingley, Christa Desir

The Dating Game by Jessica Scott

I didn’t actually date all that much. When you’re a private in Germany in the mid 1990s, there’s not much by way of dating. We all kind of hung out in the barracks and partied together.

I’d met him when I’d gone out went out with a group of friends post break up from a real winner (and by that I mean loser I was lucky to be away from). It was New Year’s Eve and we’d been dating for a few months.

We snuck away from the party and walked around outside together. It was kind of surreal. The moon was bright and huge in the sky. You could hear the music from far away. It was cold but not sub-arctic.

He turned and put his arms around me and cupped my face (that was seriously why I fell in love with him was the whole cupping my face thing) and whispers “Happy New Year. I love you” and then kissed me.

I was a goner after that, let me tell you. We’ve been together ever since.

About Jessica Scott

USA Today Bestselling author Jessica Scott is a career army officer, mother of two daughters, three cats and three dogs, wife to a career NCO and wrangler of all things stuffed and fluffy. She is a terrible cook and even worse housekeeper, but she’s a pretty good shot with her assigned weapon and someone liked some of the stuff she wrote. Somehow, her children are pretty well adjusted and her husband still loves her, despite burned water and a messy house.

She’s also written for the New York Times At War Blog, PBS Point of View Regarding War, and IAVA. She deployed to Iraq in 2009 as part of OIF/New Dawn and has had the honor of serving as a company commander at Fort Hood, Texas twice.

She’s pursuing a graduate degree in Sociology in her spare time and most recently, she’s been featured as one of Esquire Magazine’s Americans of the Year for 2012.

WebsiteBlogTwitterFacebookGoodreads

 

My Worst Date Ever by Margaret Bingley

When I was 16 I was asked out by a good looking 19 yr old at our tennis club.

The only drawback was that he was quite a lot shorter than me. We went to the local cinema, and when we arrived his mother was waiting in the queue.  ‘I’ve saved a place for you both!’ she said.

 So, the three of us sat in a silent row watching The Fall of The Roman Empire, which went on for hours and then we all left together.

He did walk me home alone from the bus stop, but outside my house he asked if I would sit on the wall so that he could kiss me. I was mortified, and declined the offer of a second date!

About Margaret Bingley

Margaret Bingley was born in Sutton, Surrey and educated at Sutton High School for Girls GPDST, where she won the school English prize, and then at Rickard’s Lodge Secretarial College in Wimbledon. After that she went to work at the BBC in London, and later moved to work for The Heinemann Group of Publishers at Lower Kingswood in Surrey, where she met her future husband, Alan.

In 1974, Margaret and Alan moved to Grantham in Lincolnshire and in 1976 their son, Alex, was born. One day, after reading a particularly boring book, she decided to try and write one herself and eventually, after many trials and tribulations, her first book THE DEVIL’S CHILD was published. Much of the book was based on those early, halcyon days of motherhood.

She continued writing steadily from 1983 onwards, and in February 2000 she also started writing a weekly column of 400 words for the local paper, The Grantham Journal, entitled ‘The Way I See It’.

Apart from her work, Margaret enjoys reading, opera, dry white wine, Foyle’s War (or anything else with Michael Kitchen in it!) and gardening.

She does not like reality TV shows, ‘alternative’ comedians or Political Correctness.

Website: http://www.margaretbingley.co.uk/index.html

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/115840.Margaret_Bingley

 

Prom by Christa Desir

The big date. The one girls have been told from an early age is the second most important night of their life (#1 being their wedding night). Every dance in high school is a test run for prom night.

Which was a bit of a problem for me, since no one ever asked me to dances. By my junior year I’d become one of those girls who pretended dances suck. And they do, but mostly because girls like me didn’t get invited to them. But the mystique of prom still tickled the back of my mind and as jaded as I had become about homecoming and the Valentine’s dance, I held out a glimmer of hope for prom.

So imagine my surprise (not) when as a junior, I accidentally on purpose talked an incredibly shy and awkward senior into inviting me to his prom. I mean, this seemed like a great opportunity for me to ready myself for my own prom.

Only it was horrible. The thing that people forget to tell you is that prom blows if you don’t really like-like the person you’re there with. Because you’re surrounded by couples who like-like each other, who are maybe getting ready to later have sex, who have a twenty-four hour extended prom plan. And when you’re with the shy awkward guy from your o-chem class who can barely put two sentences together, it is a million times worse than if you didn’t go at all.

So I danced with my date twice. And I danced with someone who I like-liked once, though I think his date was a bit salty about it. And I looked at the interminable post-prom plans my shy date had schedule for us and I couldn’t bear the idea of it. So I did what every normal seventeen-year-old girl in my situation would do: I faked sick and made him take me home.

And never went to my own senior prom.

About Christa Desir

I’m Christa Desir and I write young adult novels. I am an avid reader and have been in love with YA books ever since reading Judy Blume’s FOREVER (while hiding between the stacks in the library).

My first success with writing came at the age of five when I wrote a story about my sister and our neighbor Andy “kissing in the dushes.” My parents were so proud of this work, they framed it and showed it to every visitor who came to our house. My sister still has not forgiven me.

I live outside of Chicago with my awesome husband, Julio, and our three children. When I’m not writing, I am an editor of romance novels. I am also a feminist, former rape victim advocate, lover of coffee and chocolate, and head of the PTA. It is a rare day when I don’t humiliate myself somehow, and I frequently blog about my embarrassing life moments.

Website: http://christadesir.com

Twitter: https://twitter.com/christadesir (@ChristaDesir)

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/christa.desir1

 

The Dating Game

Sidney Halston, Meghan March

WORST DATE EVER by Sidney Halston

Here’s a snippet from FULL CONTACT by Sidney Halston. Jessica is on a blind date that has been sabotaged by Slade, the hero. Right before the date began, Slade told Roger that Jessica was cranky because she was on her period. It all went downhill after that…

When the appetizers arrived, she dove into her Watercress salad (dressing on the side), while Roger ate his glistening-with-oil, fried calamari.  She looked at her salad suspiciously wondering if her fried calamari would be arriving soon, but when he began to eat, she realized her salad was her appetizer. Why had she let him order for her? Her mouth watered for those fried calamari. She swallowed a few more green leaves and took a sip of her way-too-sweet Cosmopolitan.  Why did men always assume a woman wanted a Cosmopolitan? Thank you, Sex and the City.

“Good?” Roger asked as he took a sip of his red wine.

She smiled and nodded.

“So, how are you feeling? Any cramps?” The Cosmo went right out of her nose mid-sip. She coughed and her eyes watered. Roger looked around, embarrassed, before standing up and walking behind her to pat her back.

“You okay?” he whispered.

She nodded, grabbed a cloth napkin and wiped her eyes and nose as the last few coughs came out.

“Sorry ‘bout that.” She cleared her throat a few more times as the waiter gathered their plates.

“You okay?” he asked again.

“Yeah. Just caught me off guard with that question.”

“There’s nothing to be ashamed about. Menstruation is a normal thing. All women experience it.”

Her eyes widened and she leaned forward and whispered, “I’m fine. No cramping.” She put on her best fake grin. “For Christ sake, I beg you not to say the word menstruation again.”

“I won’t. But you don’t have to be shy with me.”

Dinner came right before she had a chance to respond.

About Sidney Halston

USA Today bestselling author, Sidney Halston lives her life with one simple rule: “Just Do It” Nike, and that’s exactly what she did. After working hard as an attorney, Sidney picked up a pen for the first time at thirty years old to begin her dream of writing. Having never written anything other than very exciting legal briefs, she found an outlet for her imaginative romantic side and wrote Seeing Red, among four other novels currently in the works, including the sequel to Seeing Red. That first pen stroke sealed the deal and she fell in love with writing.

Sidney lives in South Florida with her husband and children. She loves her family above all else, and reading follows a close second. When she’s not writing you can find her reading and reading and reading… She’s a reader first and a writer second.

When she’s not writing or reading her life is complete and utter chaos trying to balance family life with work, and writing (and reading). But she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Website: http://www.sidneyhalston.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Sidneyhalston

Twitter: https://twitter.com/SidneyHalston (@sidneyhalston)

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6916557.Sidney_Halston

 

WORST DATE EVER by Meghan March

I was sixteen, and my parents had just recently lifted the ban on dating. This was my second real date EVER—the kind where the boy picked me up in an actual car that wasn’t his mother’s and took me out.

And that’s where it all started to go wrong.

To protect the not so innocent, let’s call this boy Chris. Tall. Hard body. Tan. Blue eyes. Curly, dirty blond hair. He. Was. Hot.

I waited anxiously by the front door at the appointed time, looking all cute in my pale pink mini skirt and white tank top. It was summer. August, I think. Just before school was supposed to start.

The appointed time came and went with no car pulling into the driveway.

Nope, the 1986 Firebird didn’t roll up until ten minutes later, and then it just sat in the driveway. Sat. My dad was standing by the front door and told me in no uncertain terms that there was no way in hell I was going out that door until the boy came and knocked like a proper date.

So I waited.

And waited.

And then Chris honked the damn horn.

My dad opened the door and stalked out to the car, ripped the door open and explained that no one was taking his daughter on a date if he couldn’t exercise even the minimum amount of courtesy by coming to the door and pretending to be a gentleman for five minutes.

Aaaaand the Firebird door slammed shut and it peeled out of the driveway, tires squealing.

End. Of. Date.

So. Maybe that doesn’t count as a ‘worst date ever’ because it was the date that never happened, but sixteen year old me was horrified. I never talked to the boy again. It wasn’t until I was several years older that I thanked my dad for teaching me never to settle and helping me dodge the bullet of what could have been an even worse date.

About Meghan March

Meghan March has been known to wear camo face paint and tromp around in woods wearing mud-covered boots, all while sporting a perfect manicure. She’s also impulsive, easily entertained, and absolutely unapologetic about the fact that she loves to read and write smut. Her past lives include slinging auto parts, selling lingerie, making custom jewelry, and practicing corporate law. Writing books about dirty talking alpha males and the strong, sassy women who bring them to their knees is by far the most fabulous job she’s ever had.

Website: http://www.meghanmarch.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/MeghanMarchAuthor

Twitter: https://twitter.com/Meghan_March (@meghan_march)

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8184875.Meghan_March

 

The Dating Game

Cat Porter, Tawny Weber, Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

WORST DATE by Cat Porter

I worked in an art gallery in SoHo in New York City after I’d graduated from college. An art critic who was also a performance artist used to pop into the gallery on a regular basis and asked me out one day. This guy was an attractive, flirty, suave, forty-something South African with a fascinating accent. I was very flattered and said yes. After he left, my artist coworkers teased me though, warning me to watch out as he was a known player.

We went out for dinner and then went to an experimental theater performance that was rather pretentious and so “out there” I could barely wrap my head around it. He of course loved it. He didn’t realize I was only 21, and when I told him I still lived with my parents and was looking for my own place, his eyebrows shot up his head just and he was rendered speechless just as I expected. (What, me lie?) Afterwards we met up with several of his trendy friends for drinks, and I felt so out of place—like Carrie Bradshaw in Sex & the City when she goes out with older, art star new boyfriend Baryshnikov and his artsy French friends? All I could think was, what the hell does he want with me? (As if I didn’t know) Should I be impressed? (Smeh.) What the hell would my parents say if they knew I was out on a date with a 45 year old? (Never mind.)

As the night wore on, my fascination with him wore off, and I felt more uncomfortable and awkward as did he, and we had less and less to say to each other. At the end of the evening, he went in for the big kiss as a sort of “we might as well do this” maneuver as if he was doing me a favor. (Eye roll.) After that, whenever he’d come into the gallery we’d give each other a stiff smile and both turn the other way. My boss figured it out immediately and had a good laugh.

About Cat Porter

Cat Porter was born and raised in New York City, but also spent a few years in Europe and Texas along the way. As an introverted, only child, she had very big, but very secret dreams for herself. She graduated from Vassar College, was a struggling actress, an art gallery girl, special events planner, freelance writer, restaurant hostess and had all sorts of other crazy jobs all hours of the day and night to help make her dreams come true. She has two children’s books traditionally published under her maiden name. She now lives in Athens, Greece with her husband and three children, and freaks out regularly and still daydreams way too much. She is addicted to the History Channel, her iPad, her husband’s homemade red wine, really dark chocolate, and her Nespresso coffee machine. Writing keeps her somewhat sane, extremely happy, and a productive member of society.

Website: http://www.catporter.eu/wordpress/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/catporterauthor

Twitter: https://twitter.com/catporter103 (@catporter103)

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8286871.Cat_Porter

 

The Best Date by Tawny Weber

I wish I had a great bad date story!  But I’ve been married for so long that dating is a foggy memory.   I guess that stems from the best date I ever had, which was the first one with my husband.  And, know that I think about it, that was my last date, too.  Go figure.

We’d gone to high school together, but didn’t really hang out. But his younger brother and mine were best buds, and my brother had tried to fix us up a few times, saying we’d be perfect together. But I’d said no. Then, about a year later, I saw my future hubster at the bank and :::boom::: just like that, I was hooked.

As soon as I saw my brother, I asked for hubster’s phone number.  But my brother is a little weirdly old-fashioned and didn’t want his sister calling a guy, so he went to see him instead. The first thing hubster said, before hi, was if he could get my phone number.  Our first date was the next weekend. We did the ubiquitous dinner and a movie.  He came over to visit the next evening, the evening after that, etc.  It did take him 5 visits to kiss me goodnight – maybe that’s the bad part of the date LOL.  We were engaged 4 months after our first date and married 5 months later.

New York Times and USA Today Bestseller, Tawny Weber has been writing sassy, sexy romances since her first Harlequin Blaze hit the shelves in 2007. A fan of Johnny Depp, cupcakes and color coordination, she spends a lot of her time shopping for cute shoes, scrapbooking and hanging out on Facebook.

Come by and visit her website at www.tawnyweber.com for hunky contests, delicious recipes and lots of fun.

Website: http://tawnyweber.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/TawnyWeber.RomanceAuthor?ref=sgm

Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/TawnyWeber (@tawnyweber)

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/513828.Tawny_Weber

 

Worst Date by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

All right. So, this doesn’t actually count as a traditional date, but it’s close enough. My worst “date” ever was with my husband.  (Yeah, honey! I’m going there. Dirty laundry time.  Hehe.)  So, here’s the quick backstory to set the stage. When my husband turned 30 yrs. old, we were living in Mexico City at the time (his home town).  With the help of my good buddy (hi Jen!), we pulled together a spectacular surprise bash.  I brought his best friend in from out of town, cooked for a week (at a neighbor’s apartment), recruited an army to set up a tons of decorations while I had him out to dinner, and I bought tons of beer and drinks (his friends drank like fish!). It was a huge amount of work! But he was surprised, and it was a party he’ll remember the rest of his life.

Seven years later, it was my turn. The big Three-Oh (no)!  We had planned a vacation to see some friends in southern Mexico, near the border of Belize. And though we happened to be flying out on my birthday and arriving late, I just knew my hubby had something planned for when we arrived. After ten hours of flying and a short ride to their house, I got out of the car filled with excitement, but I kept my cool. I wanted to act surprised by whatever he’d planned. Well, I was!  Inside our friends’ home were…our friends, of course, and I was so happy to see them! But my hubby hadn’t even told them it was my birthday. Nor had he arranged for a cake or flowers or…well…anything at all. I didn’t want to be a bad guest or ruin our visit, so I hid my disappointment. But when we went to bed later that night, boy…I let him have it. “Seriously, dude. Not even a cake? WTF?” I was so peeved. The next day, as an apology, he hired a troop of mariachi. Yeah, I got my cake and flowers, too. I eventually forgave him, but to this day, he’s never forgotten to at least do a little something special for my birthday. And I still love to tease him about it each year. (He doesn’t think it’s funny. At all.)

About Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

Mimi Jean Pamfiloff is a New York Times & USA Today bestselling author of Paranormal and Contemporary Romance.  Her books have hit the Amazon and B&N top-100 lists multiple times and have been #1 genre sellers around the world. Both traditionally and independently published, Mimi has sold over 500,000 copies since publishing her 1st title in 2012, and she plans to spontaneously combust once she hits the one-million mark. Although she obtained her international MBA and worked for over 15 years in the corporate world, she believes that it’s never too late to come out of the romance-closet and follow your dreams.

When not screaming at her computer or hosting her very inappropriate radio show, (Man Candy on Radioslot.com!), Mimi spends time with her two pirates in training, her loco-for-the-chili-pepper hubby, and her rat terrier, DJ Princess Snowflake, in the San Francisco Bay Area.

She continues to hope that her books will inspire a leather pants comeback (for men) and that she might make you laugh when you need it most.

Website: http://www.mimijean.net/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/MimiJeanRomance (@mimijeanromance)

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/MimiJeanPamfiloff

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5618190.Mimi_Jean_Pamfiloff?from_search=true

Beneath This Ink Cover Reveal

Beneath This Ink

by Meghan March

Beneath_ink_CR_banner

Releasing: February 12th, 2015

 Beneath this Ink

 

About the Book

I’ve always known she was too good for me, but that never stopped me from wanting her.

And then I finally had her for one night.

A night I don’t remember.

I figured I’d blown my shot.

But now she’s walked back into my life, and this time, I have the upper hand. I want my second chance.

Will she be able to see the man beneath this ink?

 

Excerpt

“Con, can you take this walk-in?” Delilah called from the front of the shop.

I pushed back from the desk and shoved my hair away from my face. It was too damn long. I needed to get it cut, but the girl I’d been going to for the last year had basically fallen onto my cock last week, and I wasn’t going to be letting her near my jugular with scissors any time soon. She wasn’t enamored of my, ‘I don’t go there twice unless there’s something worth going back for’ mentality. I probably could have phrased it a little nicer, but why give the girl false hope when I’d all but forgotten her as soon as I’d slid the condom off my dick? I didn’t have time for bullshit, and I didn’t like to be misunderstood when I spoke. So I was firmly in the ‘tell it how it is’ camp. Women didn’t seem to appreciate my particular brand of honesty. Mostly because it didn’t line up with what they wanted to hear. Not my problem.

I stood and headed for the door of the break room. Time to meet my newest walk-in.

If I had to tattoo one more “YOLO” on some idiot kid, I might hang up my tattoo gun and call it a day. Thoughts like that made me feel older than thirty-one.

I scanned the shop, looking for my next client. If I hadn’t learned a hell of a long time ago how to lock down my reactions, I might’ve missed a step.

It was no kid.

And if she wanted YOLO tattooed on that body, it’d be a crime against nature. Anger flared within me at the sight of her. I might not remember the night we’d spent together, but I sure as hell remembered the morning after when I’d interrupted her escape from my bedroom. We’d thrown words like grenades, and it was a miracle we’d both walked away without bloodshed. Even with that memory vividly replaying in my head, I still had to tell my dick to calm the f*ck down.

Vanessa F*cking Frost was still out of my league. Hell, out of my f*cking universe. She’d been too good for me in high school, she’d been too good for me two years ago, and as sure as she was standing in my shop today, she was still too damn good for me. And I bet she’d be the first person to say it. I still couldn’t figure out how she’d ended up in my bed that night. Not because my bed didn’t see action with rich chicks—it saw plenty—but not like her. Classic elegance like Grace Kelly. Joy Leahy used to make me watch To Catch a Thief with her, and that’s exactly who Vanessa reminded me of.

Her platinum blond hair was twisted up into some fancy ass bun, and her tan skirt suit clung to her curves in all the right places. One perfectly manicured hand toyed with the gold bracelet on her wrist. My jeans tightened uncomfortably at the peek of a lacy pink bra from beneath her pink silk blouse.

My reaction to her pissed me off.

Do you know what it’s like to finally get something you’ve always wanted, but not remember a single f*cking detail?

It ate away it me. The not knowing. Part of me wanted to tell her to get the hell out of my shop, but the other part of me wanted to drag her upstairs, strip her naked, and tie her to my bed so this time she couldn’t leave until I was damn good and ready. Which might be never. And that thought—that weakness—infuriated me.

“Never thought I’d see you darken my doorway again. What can I do for you, princess?” A mocking edge colored my words.

Her nervous twirling of her bracelet halted, and her blue eyes, several shades lighter and more vibrant than my own, met mine. Her pink tongue darted out over her perfectly plump bottom lip slicked with gloss. This nervous, off-balance look of hers raised all my red flags. I was used to the quiet, sexy-as-all-hell confidence that had always drawn me in. At least until she’d opened her mouth that infamous morning and told me what she’d really thought of me.

“I need a few moments of your time.”

I raised an eyebrow. Now that was a new development. She’d never sought me out.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, if you could spare me five minutes.”

Some of her words from that morning, which I might as well have tattooed on my skin, came back to me: Do this again? Are you crazy? I must have been insane to do this the first time. This can never happen again. And no one can ever know. No one.  

And now she wanted a favor?

“In this shop, the only way a woman gets my time is if she’s getting a tattoo, or is on her knees or her back.” I knew my answer was crude, but that was what she undoubtedly expected from me. And I hated to disappoint.

A flush of color hit her cheekbones, and I wondered for a brief second whether she was remembering what it had been like to be on her knees in front of me. F*ck. I wish I remembered. Then I could just f*cking move on.

I waited for the clipped go to hell and an abrupt exit. But instead of turning and walking out, she surprised me.

“A tattoo it is, then.”

 

About the Author

Meghan March is a Michigan native who has spent a good portion of her life buried in a book. Case in point: she read the entire romance section of her small town public library by age fourteen. Even after growing up (sort of) and getting a law degree, she never lost her passion for a great story, twisty plot, epic romance, and amazing characters. When she’s not writing, she’s probably reading, target shooting, drooling over fast cars, or playing with her crazy mutt.

Connect with the Author

Website • Twitter • Facebook • Goodreads

 

Skip to the Good Part Anthology Release Day Blitz

Skip to the Good Part:

20 Authors Reveal Their Steamiest Scenes

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Publication date: Nov. 20, 2014

Featuring Rock Star Lit Authors:

Carly Phillips and Meghan March

 

BLURB

Find your next red-hot read in this sizzling collection of sexy scenes

99¢ only through release week—regularly $2.99

Skip to the Good Part: 20 Authors Reveal Their Steamiest Scenes offers face-fanning romance and tie-me-up sizzle (and everything in between) from top authors including New York Times and USA Today bestsellers.

The collection features a British alpha who wants to turn a good girl bad, a woman realizing her impetuous marriage to a stripper isn’t all bad, a bad boy boxer who could use a large dose of sexual healing, a carnie who has found new and inventive uses for fun house mirrors, and a rocker who wants to woo the girl who got away: his high school sweetheart.

Read 20 of the best steamy scenes in contemporary romance and erotic romance today. This 250-page collection will get your blood pumping, your heart racing, and your skin tingling—you’re sure to discover a new favorite.

Due to the graphic nature of some content, this collection is recommended strictly for mature readers.

New York Times best-selling authors:

Raine Miller
Kendall Ryan
K. Bromberg
Carly Phillips
Denise Grover Swank
S.L. Scott

USA Today best-selling authors:

Christine Bell
Rebecca Shea
Andrea Smith

Featuring:

Magan Vernon
Kristie Cook
Nevaeh Lee & Michelle Lynn
Alessandra Thomas
Selena Laurence
Heidi Joy Tretheway
Elizabeth Briggs
Meghan March
Taylor Michaels
K.B. Nelson
Elise Covert

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About Carly Phillips

carly3-200x300

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Carly Phillips N.Y. Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Carly Phillips has written over 40 sexy contemporary romance novels that today’s readers identify with and enjoy. After a successful 15 year career with various New York publishing houses, Carly is making the leap to Indie author, with the goal of giving her readers more books at a faster pace at a better price. Her Serendipity books will still finish up in January/February 2014 via Berkley as planned. Carly lives in Purchase, NY with her family, two nearly adult daughters and two crazy dogs who star on her Facebook Fan Page and website. She’s a writer, a knitter of sorts, a wife, and a mom. In addition, she’s a Twitter and Internet junkie and is always around to interact with her readers. You can find all information about Carly at her website and other social media sites

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About Meghan March

Meghan March

Meghan March is a Michigan native who has spent a good portion of her life buried in a book. Case in point: she read the entire romance section of her small town public library by age fourteen. Even after growing up (sort of) and getting a law degree, she never lost her passion for a great story, twisty plot, epic romance, and amazing characters. When she’s not writing, she’s probably reading, target shooting, drooling over fast cars, or playing with her crazy mutt.

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March, Meghan; Flash Bang

Cover Reveal

FINAL Flash Bang Cover

Book Title: Flash Bang
Author: Meghan March
Genre: Erotica
Release Date: June 30, 2014
Hosted by:Book Enthusiast Promotions

Synopsis

Rowan Callahan is a career-climbing slut. At least according to the vicious—and false—rumor that is destroying her professional life. But a little thing like her career as an attorney ceases to matter when a plane crashes in downtown Chicago and the entire city goes dark. Her unconventional upbringing makes her suspect the worst: she’s just witnessed the kick-off to the apocalypse. Armed with a backpack of supplies, she leaves Chicago, intent on resetting her skewed priorities and seeking shelter at the family farm with her father and sister. She’s injured and running for her life when she stumbles directly in the crosshairs of two men who just might be her salvation . . . and her greatest temptation.

Graham Buchanan and Zachariah Sawyer are best friends and brothers-in-arms who have been indulging in ménages since before their Force Recon team served in Iraq and Afghanistan. They’ve hung up their uniforms to build a new life for themselves and their team at Castle Creek Whitetail Ranch—a rustic deer hunting preserve that covertly doubles as a doomsday prepper’s paradise. They thought they were prepared for anything until Rowan comes crashing into their lives. Graham and Zach are convinced she’s the one woman who can handle them both, but she has no intention of deviating from her carefully laid plans for longer than it takes her to recover from her injuries. So they propose a deal: they’ll provide her an armed escort home, and in exchange, she’s theirs until they part ways.

It was the perfect plan; except once they’ve had her, they can’t let her go . . .

excerpt

Chapter 1

September—Chicago.

A plane fell from the sky.

It was quite possibly the only interruption that could have dragged Rowan out of the epic pity party she was throwing herself. It was the kind of pity party one threw when a carefully planned life and decades of hard work were demolished by a complete and utter shit storm. And not demolition by a run-of-the-mill shit storm. A shit mudslide, followed by a category five shit hurricane. Rowan doubted anything other than the plane, the fifty-story building it toppled and the hundreds of lives that had been violently and tragically cut short could have pushed the thoughts of the lying asshole and blackballing bitch who owned his sad sack from her mind.

Rowan had to swallow back the bile that rose when what she’d just seen started to sink in. The loss of life … What the hell just happened?

The symphony of honking horns that filled the Chicago streets died abruptly, right in time with the falling plane. For a single moment, the lunchtime crowds on North Wacker Drive completely stilled.

A beat of silence.

Then chaos erupted.

“We’re under attack!” a woman screamed. She was only three feet away from Ro, and her screech nearly ruptured an eardrum. Terrorists. Okay. That makes sense. Doesn’t it?

“Run!” a large man in a suit shouted as flames burst from the collapsing building.

Traffic stood still. The familiar sound of idling engines and car radios was eerily absent. Rowan’s gaze darted around frantically. The traffic lights and DO NOT WALK signs were dark. There were no fire truck sirens screaming toward the building that was quickly becoming a fully involved inferno. No ambulances were rushing to the scene to try to save potential survivors.

A greasy feeling of panic pooled in Ro’s stomach. Loud popping noises punctured through the sounds of chaos as the glass globes of the nearby light poles shattered before bursting into flames.

Without taking her eyes from the disaster playing out before her, Ro rooted around in her bag for her cell phone. Her panic spiked when she pressed the button and swiped her finger across the darkened screen. Nothing. It had been nearly fully charged when she’d unplugged it from the charger on her desk only twenty minutes ago. Ro’s continued furious pressing of buttons did nothing to bring it to life.

Her brain snapped into focus. No way. It’s not possible.

A firefighter crashed into her bistro table as he ran toward the burning building. Her uncapped bottle of iced tea toppled, spilling onto her lap. The splash of cold liquid freed Rowan from her temporary paralysis, just as three other firefighters ran past. Thank God help is on the way. In that moment, she made her decision. She reached down to yank off her pumps, swapped them for the ballet flats in her bag, and started to run.

Meet the Author

Meghan March is a Michigan native who has spent a good portion of her life buried in a book. Case in point: she read the entire romance section of her small town public library by age fourteen. Even after growing up (sort of) and getting a law degree, she never lost her passion for a great story, twisty plot, epic romance, and amazing characters. When she’s not writing, she’s probably reading, target shooting, drooling over fast cars, playing with her crazy mutts, or hanging with her very own sexy man.

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