Bigger and Badder by Jackson Kane
With no other options, and no place else to go, Melody is about to make a deal
with this devil that she can’t refuse. Who knew it could, quite possibly, be
the best decision she’s ever made?
The world’s first celebrity sex reporter finds navigating the private lives of Hollywood’s elite more treacherous than titillating. Cassie rallies her seductive forces in time to persuade her editor, Mr. Wilcox to rehire her at TFP, but her troubles are far from over. How lucky can one girl get? Run-ins with her ex, rando drummers, (Scandinavian film star and general loon) MH, and even a gun wielding psycho threaten to derail Cassie’s hunt for professional grade, celebrity level, sexual fulfillment. Her articles as the Tinseltown Temptress have become more popular than ever costing her friends, privacy, and peace of mind. And while her notoriety affords her a certain measure of job security it also makes keeping her secret involvement in the whole scandalous business harder than ever. Between locating her thieving mother and defending her home from interlopers, both foreign and domestic, Cassie is in over her head. Add in the constant pressures of finding suitable film stars to screw and bestie Matt breathing down her neck for his investment capital, and it’s plain why the woman feels so swamped. Clinging to the loose threads of all the lies, Cassie tries to stay afloat while blazing a torpid trail through the ranks of Hollywood’s finest in search of her happy ending.
A desperate writer must learn to embrace her inner bombshell when she lands a covert job as the world’s first celebrity sex reporter. Cassie has hit hard times. She can’t find a job, her mother is prison bound, and her love life jumped a plane and fled to another continent. What’s an ardent fangirl to do? When a handsome new acquaintance offers her a lucrative position writing for his online celebustalk publication, TenFootPole, Cassie jumps at the chance to make some real money doing what she loves. The only catch is the subject matter. She’s assigned the gossip rag’s new beat, the sex desk, and must score with big names and tell all. In graphic detail. Publishing under the Tinseltown Temptress pseudonym is supposed to shield her, but she soon realizes that no amount of anonymity would be enough to protect her from the repercussions of her notorious stories. As her personal life circles the drain, Cassie grasps for handholds in all the wrong laps and struggles to keep her head above the shark infested water. When her investment in a friend’s all male revue is put in jeopardy, she must rally her seductive forces or sink forever under the waves.
James T. Wilcox, Cassie’s boss at TFP.mag, just roused her out of bed early in the afternoon to discuss his plans for her upcoming article. She’s busy making excuses.
“An appreciative, philandering movie star is hard to find?” “You should have gone after SEK like I suggested,” Wilcox said. “I love his characters way too much to ruin it with fangirl sex. Plus, he might have turned me down too.” “He would have taken the bait, guaranteed.” “Am I, personally, the bait? Or just my genitalia?” “Don’t read too much into fishing metaphors. It’s a ridiculous hobby to begin with.” “Wait, does he fish or something?” “Who?” “SEK.” “I don’t fucking know. Look,” he took a silver pen out of his pocket and uncapped it. His other hand slowly breached the distance between them and touched her shoulder. He slid his fingers down, lightly brushing the side of Cassie’s breast where it pressed against the inside of her arm. His caress continued down, and now she held her breath. He stopped at Cassie’s wrist, encircling it and drawing her hand up toward him over the counter. She thought he was about to kiss her palm. Instead, he started writing on it, “here’s his phone number. Call him and set up a date.” She let out my breath explosively and jerked her hand away so the last number, an 8, had a long trailer on top. “What the hell do you mean, a date?” “I know him, all right. He wants to meet you.” “Meet me? And go on a date? Let me guess, it was his suggestion that I write an article about him. Which means sex.” “If things go well.” “So now you’re pimping me out to your friends?” “Hardly.” He stood and gulped down the last of his coffee before starting around the island toward her. She backed away, terrified that his nearness would break some barrier she had created and she’d be powerless to resist his attentions. He stopped his advance and shook his head, giving her a knowing, disappointed look before starting for the door. “Fine. Look Sid, do you need a place to crash? You could always use the little townhouse downtown. You remember it right?” The little townhouse that they’d most recently copulated in. “Yes, I remember it.” He just watched her face for a few beats, licked his lower lip. “I’m hardly ever there and it mostly just stores all my stuff that doesn’t ‘go’ with the house. Which is all of my stuff.” “No, thanks. I’ve got it covered.” “I’ll text you the lock code just in case your plans fall through. It sits empty in between vicious bouts of legal separation. Someone should use it.” He stood near the door with his hands in his pockets. “And you should go after SEK. You deserve a nice night out for a change.”
“I don’t know. I really love his films.” “That’s why I’m positive he’ll be a better story than RG.” “Take it from a person who occasionally has feelings and emotions, I really like the RG story as is, despite the rejection. I think it’s my favorite so far.” “That two-bit hack was your favorite lay of this whole deal?” “Of course not, we didn’t even consummate, as you’ve so carefully pointed out over and over. He’s been my favorite article of the series and the most satisfactory individual case study on the subject matter at hand.” As they spoke, something invisible seemed to draw them closer and closer. “Which is what if not sex?” “Oh it’s sex, but not how you mean it.” “Fine. Redefine sex. Your satisfaction means the world to me.” He swung her door open and took a few steps away from her. He turned and stood in her doorway looking like a Wall Street Journal centerfold. It took every bit of self-control Cassie possessed not to pull him back in and peel him out of his suit. Instead, she gripped her robe even more forcefully closed and counted backwards in her head. She felt desperate to get the wolf out and the door safely re-locked. “I have a deal for you.” “Are we about to modify my contract, again?” “I’ll publish the RG piece as written, has been, prick, lead singer finale and all. If you’ll try SEK out. When I get your article on him, I’ll pay you out for both at once.” “Should I bother to counter offer?” “Not unless you’re going to invite me back inside.” “Fine. I’ll text him.” “Call him.” “Thanks. I forgot for a second that you’re both so old. I’ll call him.” “Thanks. And fix your hair.” Her hand shot up onto her hair knots while bolting the door, Wilcox safely on the other side, and she inwardly cursed herself for forgetting she still had them in. It was then she remembered she’d wanted to change the end of the article to better obscure the identity of a certain lead singer. Wilcox would demand even more concessions from her for the favor so she decided to forget it and let it lie. Cassie thought of all the strategies she’d cooked up to avoid screwing around with her boss and wondered again why she even bothered. His personality (imagine, waking someone up and then criticizing the state of their hair!) should have been more than enough. Needing another start to her day, Cassie turned on the coffee pot, covered her knots up with a pink shower cap and got into a steamy shower to shave. Remoisturized, she took out her hair and got her part in, leaving the rest loose and bouncy. She wrapped herself up in a seen-better-days beach towel and detoured into the kitchen for a mug to sip on while she got dressed. Cassie splashed in her cream and sipped it once before turning to head back to her bedroom. “Any left for me?”
She jumped and spilled some coffee on the hardwood but didn’t scream. She would know that voice anywhere. She spun to see MH sitting relaxed on her couch, all huge, golden and beautiful in jeans and a tee. He was in her apartment. Shit, Lenny’s apartment. She took a deep breath and got a hold of herself. “Of course.” She held onto her towel carefully while reaching up to the second shelf to get him the Darth Vader mug. “Cream?” “However you take it will be fine.” His voice was even, calm. He didn’t sound like a man guilty of breaking and entering. Maybe it was the Nordic accent he let slip into his words. He got up and stepped into the middle of the living room area. A bit closer to her. “I really like your place.” “Thanks. How’d you get in?” She gestured at him with the mug before setting it on the edge of the island. “I climbed up a few patios. Your window was unlocked.” He stood there in her living room, unmoving, but at her unflinching, waiting posture he hung his head. He snorted some air out and admitted, “I followed that ass clown here and waited for him to leave.” The window in question was fifty plus feet off the ground, and inaccessible without a fireman’s ladder as far as she had thought, but she decided not to push the point. “Why?” “Not sure I even know except I had to see you. See if you were really you, like the you I remembered.” MH squinted and screwed up his face, as if to see her better and she wondered if he was a little drunk. “I thought you never wanted to see me again.” “Never, ever. But I changed my mind. You changed my mind.” He walked forward finally to claim his coffee and she retreated a few more steps to give them both some space. “Don’t put this on me. How did you know Mr. Wilcox was coming here?” She absolutely could not wrap her head around the notion of him on a stakeout. “A little birdie told me. Don’t ask any more questions, does it matter?” “I guess not if you’re not going to tell me. How about you enjoy your warm beverage while I throw some clothes on. Then you can tell me what you want.” She turned away and took two steps toward the hall before his front crashed into her back and his ridiculously long arms wrapped her up from behind. “You know what I want as much as I do.” He said it like it hurt him and Cassie’s breath caught in her throat. “Sorry.” His arms loosened until he held her so lightly her towel unbound and began to slip. “Until I saw him leaving here, I just wanted to talk to you. Show you what you’ve done to me, tell you some of the consequences of what happened between us. Knowing he’d been up here with you, it drove me mad and that’s just stupid.” His arms let her go then but his body stayed pressed against her, and Cassie wasn’t sure what to make of his declarations. MH seemed a bit unhinged, and though she didn’t feel the slightest bit afraid she did wonder if she wasn’t erring on the side of lust here. She would have gladly murdered someone to be this close to him again and she found that no matter what the risk, she just didn’t want to fight her physical response to the man. She slowly turned to face him, their bodies millimeters apart. He continued, “Now I feel foolish for hating you and I don’t give one shit about consequences. Are you sleeping with that odious man?” “He’s my boss. I wouldn’t sleep with my boss.” This came out as a breathy whisper.
“But you have slept with him in the past?” “And you. But if it made a crucial difference I doubt you would have climbed up my neighbors’ patios and climbed through my window to surprise me fresh out of the shower.” His faced changed while she spoke and when she finished MH’s hand inched forward and grabbed the edge of her towel. She relaxed her grip and let him pull it off of her. His eyelids sank fractionally and his nose flared at her exposed flesh. Cassie leaned away slightly, pushing her shoulders back for her best breast display and she watched as his will to resist her snapped. His hands came around the back of her neck to pull their faces together and his lips sank into hers with a tender warmth she hadn’t expected. He kissed her slowly and deeply like a man without cares or reservations.
This is an excerpt from chapter three of Screwing Around, by Alexis Wilder, available November 23, 2016.
Alexis Wilder loves living near a lake with her patient husband, their mermaid children, and a deranged dog.
He leans closer, his nose brushing the side of mine. His scent—the mouthwatering, fatally toxic scent of him—enters my body. I inhale deeply just as he blows out a breath.
“Difficult in that I don’t think I can hold out another second,” Smith says, his lips brushing mine on the last word. It would be the easiest thing in the world, to lean up and press my lips against his. I want him to want me as badly as I want him. The feelings are so intense I have to close my eyes to block out one sense.
“Don’t hold out,” I whisper. “You can’t hide forever.” When I feel his hands on the sides of my face, I open my eyes. “Smith,” I finish.
Instead of responding, he nods and rubs his thumb along my lower lip and ends by pulling it down to open my mouth.
I’m hyper aware of this moment. I know it’s when everything changes. The setting sun plays peekaboo through the trees next to us, and the sounds of the children’s shrill laughter lift on a slight breeze. Smith leans down and brushes his lips against mine back and forth. I taste his breath as mine mingles with his. My head, held still in his hands, is at his mercy. When I’m sure it’s going to happen, I wrap my hands around his waist and pull my body against his. The muscles he’s worked so hard to rehabilitate mold against me as if they were made to fit with mine.
“I’m going to kiss you,” he says. And then he does. Before I can respond. Before I can scream at the top of my lungs, Yes! Finally. Please. Kiss me and never stop. Our lips crash together in a hurried violence. It’s a large amount of pent-up sexual frustration culminating in our mouths colliding—becoming one. After all of our interviews, my mind wandering to his perfect moving lips I could only dream about tasting, I finally get them. His tongue seeks mine out as his hands tilt my head to the side to ease us into a better angle.
I clutch the back of his shirt, tugging him into me until I think I may be hurting him. He releases my head and picks me up, turns so his back is against the tree, and continues his assault from here. My legs wrap around his waist, and in the midst of this frenzied lust filled with stolen breaths and shared emotions, his erection pressing against me, I decide that Smith Eppington is the only person I want to kiss for the rest of my life.
He’s my morphine, the solitary reason my heart beats fast and slow in any single moment. I might as well be stringed like a puppet and marched into an arena naked. This is how I feel when he asserts his control—his dominance—over me. There are so many things I want to tell him, but neither of us wants to be the first to break away from this moment of pure bliss. I’ve never been kissed like I’m oxygen, like I’m the reason one lives, kissed like I alone can keep a heart pumping.
Black & White Flowers is the first standalone in
The Real Seal Series releasing November 1st!
Pre-order on iBooks here: http://apple.co/2cJ6DnW
**Amazon will go live on release day**
Add Black and White Flowers to your TBR list on Goodreads!
Carina Painter lives a life she created in between the pages of her bestselling novel. At least, that’s what she outwardly portrays. A heart-rending childhood followed by an abusive engagement leaves her broken in all ways possible. A chance encounter provides the fork in the road she so desperately desires.
Navy SEAL Smith Eppington is fighting the war of his lifetime. One that isn’t fought with weapons and highly sought intelligence. It’s a battle to remember his past. The accident that scarred seventy five percent of his body, and stole the life of his best friend also seized parts and pieces of his memory. When an author asks to interview him for a fiction novel, he’s ready to pour his heart out no matter the cost.
The friendship that blossoms between Smith and Carina is something extraordinary. It’s a living, breathing love story about finding yourself, change that is out of your control, grasping what you can, and letting go of everything else.
In a twist of kismet, remembering could destroy everything, but fiction may be what saves the day. A friendship built on new truths and a relationship torn apart by old lies collide in a poignant novel by International Bestselling Author, Rachel Robinson.
Rachel grew up in a small, quiet town full of loud talkers. Her words were always only loud on paper. She has been writing stories and creating characters for as long as she can remember. After living on the west coast for many years she recently moved to Virginia Beach, VA.
From USA Today Bestselling author, MJ Fields, comes a gripping story of love and lies.
27 Lies: Luke’s Story (The Truth About Love)
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2bSl0HX
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2c2IPtD
A long time ago…
I was young and naive. I thought I could save the world. I thought that protecting those around me from hurt and pain was what I was born to do. She made me feel that way. Ava Links, the little girl who was too fucking stubborn for her own good. The little girl who absorbed the hurt and pain of everyone around her and tried to bring sunshine to them all. The little girl who didn’t give a damn if people picked on her about wearing a crown and tutu every day. A little girl who somehow looked at me, expecting—no, damn near demanding—I protect her.
I saw the pain she hid, and as I grew older, I understood that pain. The pain of being so much to so many that there is really never a “you”.
I took control of my life…
I had to get away from everyone who pulled at me in order to claim myself. When I became the man I was destined to be, I began to live. Then, one drunken night, Ava Links, no longer a little girl, said the right damn thing to me, and everything changed. After seven years of fucking her while home on leave with no expectations, now my life is out of control…
One bad dream, one I love you, one night of pushing her the hell out of my life, one drummer stealing her heart, and one explosion took everything away.
Lies are told.
Lies are unraveling.
Lies are going to destroy.
These are my truths.
I watch as Dad and Tessa pull away from the curb, the place where Thomas Hardy, the love of my life, smiled at me before he took his last breath. I was so sure it wasn’t his last, and I was as sure that him being on life support would eventually mean he would wake up and tell me he loved me again.
Standing erect atop the gray sidewalk is the light pole that he was crushed against, pinned between it and a car, while on his way to get me a Snickers bar that I didn’t need.
No, I need him.
I stand on the balcony and take in a calming breath. The babies are sleeping inside, freshly bathed, adorned in the cutest clothes money can buy, swaddled in their very own Bingos that I have in triplicate because my father insists I need them that way. Their bellies are full, and they have been rocked asleep in my arms.
There is no way they can actually be affected by my pain, my anger, my sadness, but I never want them to. Therefore, if I keep my grief to their sleeping hours, I know they will be okay. I close my eyes tight and pray they will be okay.
Praying. Why do I still bother?
I place my elbows on the brick overhang, peering down at that spot where black meets gray, where the love of a man and a woman got taken away in the blink of an eye.
But it’s not gone. My love. T and my love will never go away. We have a forever love.
I stand back and wrap my arms tight around myself, letting out a low groan and releasing the pain, the anger, the hate, and all the ugly in a place where I know I can, where it will not affect a soul.
The clouds use this time to part, and the sun peers through and shines down on me. Emotions come to a roiling boil in that moment, and I shut my eyes, seeing Thomas smiling back at me.
The sun … The sun is T, my T, my love and my pain.
Really, there isn’t anything I look at that doesn’t remind me of him and the insurmountable love I have for a man who loved me so much. He lied during the pregnancy so my pain wasn’t as severe, making me believe he was the father of both our children.
There are lies in love, just as much as there are truths.
A man will tell a woman he loves that she doesn’t look fat in that dress, or that she is the best he’s ever had, or that she is the most beautiful women on the planet. It may not be true, but he believes it enough to tell her those things, to make her happy and feel beautiful, and not fat, and the best he has ever had.
A man like Thomas Hardy would do that for a girl like me.
The pain of his absence is so copious it makes me sick. Sick to my stomach to the point I do throw up. My body can’t take the sickness it feels while it breathes in the air that surrounds me, in a world without T.
I slowly lower myself to my knees and cover my face as the tears spill out, the way they do when I am on this balcony that should have a rooftop garden that we grew together. A garden that grows and blooms, and comes to life, surrounded by our love.
I sit back against the brick wall as I take in the comfort of the pain’s release. I cry until I can’t anymore, and then I take a deep breath and stand up. I close my eyes once again, one last time for now, and picture him and all the beauty that is him.
Inside, I walk into the kitchen where I have moved everything back to where T had it before I moved in. I stand there and try to make sense of the way he had things put away. It’s stupid. I know it is. Somewhere deep down, though, I keep hoping he will come back, and I will want to fix it up for him.
However, he’s not coming back.
I take my multivitamins then force down the damn shake that Dr. Kennedy brought here after passing her in the hospital when Chance and Hope had their four-month checkup. She came to the apartment and told me I better be taking care of myself so I could take care of my children.
She oversteps in ways that are infuriating. I get angry every time I see her. Though I know I shouldn’t. I know I am directing my anger at her, but she asks for it, and it’s certainly easier than being angry at T for leaving me.
That’s another lie that happens when you love someone. Somehow in the grieving process, you get to a point when you feel betrayed by the one who left you. Like it was a choice they made.
I opened his closet one day and tore his clothes from the hangers. I threw them all over the floor. Then I turned to walk out and get a garbage bag to shove them in. When I returned, though, I saw the mess I made, and I crumbled into a pile of his things. I sobbed into his shirts that still smelled like him, like home and happiness and love.
I could never be mad at him for leaving me when it wasn’t his choice. He was taken away by some fucking drunk who stole a car and will never be punished for his crime.
Thomas Hardy loved me until his dying breath, just like he said he would, and I will love him until mine.
That day, in the closet, I cleaned everything up, put it all back where he had put it—or, at least I let myself believe I did—and I continued to cry while I did it.
Now I walk toward the laundry room, intent on doing something that involves taking care of our—yes our—children.
I flip on the light switch, but there isn’t a damn thing to do. All our clothes are clean, folded, and put away. I am thankful for the help Mom offered through the nanny, but it gives me too much free time.
Chance and Hope almost sleep through the entire night, only waking for one feeding each. They take two naps a day, each two hours long. There is hardly an occasion when one of them are asleep while the other is awake except the night time feeding.
When they are awake, I feed them, hold them, and simply love them. God, how I love them. They are my life, my love, the reason I breath, even though it hurts, and we watch TV.
Movies on TV.
Ones of Thomas Hardy in concert and interviews.
I walk into our room, mine and T’s, not mine and the babies, and sit on the bed that Thomas and I spent endless hours in. If I close my eyes, I can picture him here. If I concentrate, I can hear him laugh. If I let the pain go, I can smile, remembering how he took his time showing me just how much he loved me.
Until reality sets in, and the pain starts all over again.
I consider taking a shower, but then decide against it. I can sleep for nearly two hours straight if I go into the baby’s room now.
I look down as I enter, knowing if I look at the mural he painted first, I will cry. I will cry because it’s unfair that he is gone. It’s so unfair that I almost hate God. That’s why I look instead at what he left me.
He left me two beautiful children. I will always be grateful for them. Always. But would He take them, too?
Haven’t read this series yet?
Now is your chance, 27 Truths is NOW AVAILABLE!
From USA Today Bestselling author, MJ Fields, comes a gripping story of love and it’s many truths. #Whatsyourtruth
27 Truths: Ava’s Story
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2adHBtc
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2aqLnA6
About the Author
USA Today bestselling author MJ Fields love of writing was in full swing by age eight.
Together with her cousins, she wrote a newsletter and sold it for ten cents to family members.
She self-published her first contemporary, new adult romance in January 2013. Today she has completed seven self-published series, The Love series, The Wrapped series, The Burning Souls series, The Men of Steel series, Ties of Steel series, The Rockers of Steel series and The Norfolk series.
MJ is a hybrid author and publishes an Indie book almost every month, and is signed with a traditional publisher, Loveswept, Penguin Random House, for her co- written series The Caldwell Brothers. Hendrix, Morrison, and Jagger. All three books in the series are published. The Caldwell brothers don’t grow into alphas, when their mother passes away they become her legacy, her good in the world of bad.
MJ was a former small business owner, who closed shop so she could write full time. She lives in central New York, surrounded by family and friends. Her house is full of pets, friends, and noise ninety percent of the time, and she would have it no other way.
Sign up for MJ’s monthly newsletter with giveaways: http://bit.ly/mjupdates
Enter to win a Coach Handbag & $100 Amazon Gift Card
Boys, Toys – Oh My! Vol 1
Facebook Release Party: https://www.facebook.com/events/622469234588455/
Charlie Evans is the kind of woman who turns crimson red when she hears the word penis, so just imagine what happens when she has to say it to a crowd of strangers.
Cooper Fields is all business, well, that is until Charlie the blushing beauty stumbles into his life.
Mixing business with pleasure is never a good idea, but their attraction is strong and neither can resist the urge to test the limits of a relationship.
A misunderstanding involving a stripper, a sex toy consultant, and a bachelor party is what it takes to give Charlie the confidence she needs, but it also causes Cooper to ask himself if he even knows her. Will this situation push Cooper away for good, or can they put the dildos behind them once and for all?
Find out now in author A.M. Willard’s romantic comedy where massage oils, suction cups, and training kits are invited along for a wet ride.
Pre-Order now on iBooks for 99 cents
“It’s okay… I’ve been sitting here like a lonely cat lady for all the people to judge.”
“Stop being so dramatic; no one cares that you’re here alone. Plus, don’t you go to that pizza place at night and eat by yourself?”
“I do, and that’s not by choice you know.”
“I know. Since we don’t have much time left, you ready for this?” she asks, but the look on her face reassures me that I’m not going to be happy about this.
“No, I’m not ready. I still think you have something up your sleeve and aren’t telling me. I swear Ginger, this will be the end of our friendship if you’re tricking me into anything illegal, hazardous to my health, or something that could possibly get me killed or kidnapped. Do you understand?” I finish as my finger’s pointing at her.
“Calm down and untie those granny panties. I told you, this is perfectly legal and legit. Plus, my friend Megan owns the business.”
“Fine, what is this great plan to get me out of financial debt?”
“Sex toys. You’ll be a consultant while hosting parties. Isn’t it great?” she finishes saying to me rather loudly as she passes me the folder.
“Sex toys? What the hell are you talking about? I’m not using sex toys or videoing myself using them. No way Ginger… This totally crosses the line.”
“No, you ding bat. It’s like those parties where you have a girl’s night out and order sex toys. You know, you explain what each item is and make it fun, they buy, and you make money. I swear Megan brings in over sixty thousand a year from this; you can totally pay off your loans and get ahead.”
“Ginger, have you forgotten one tiny little problem?” I say and lean over the table so I can whisper the next part. “I can’t say the word penis in front of anyone without turning red like a tomato. How in the world do you expect me to say it in front of people I don’t even know, and describe what to do with all of them?”
International Bestselling Author, A.M. Willard resides in Savannah, Georgia. She joined the Peach State many years ago after leaving the crystal blue waters and sugary white sand behind from the Panhandle of Florida. She’s also known for being a wife, mother, and caretaker for her farm animals. A.M. loves anything sassy, glittery, and is a sucker for the Hallmark Channel. That last one might be the reason she believes in soulmates or it could be because she married her high school sweetheart almost twenty years ago.
After releasing her first novella series back in 2014, A.M. set out on a new goal to bring her readers a broad range of romantic stories from her desk. This includes Romantic Comedy, Contemporary Romance, and from time to time some Sexy Romance.
A.M. is an active member of RWA (Romance Writers of America) and has also had an article published in the Writer’s Monthly Review Magazine.
Facebook Author Page http://tinyurl.com/nnx2s8m
Twitter @AMWillard1 or https://twitter.com/AMWillard1
Amazon Author Page http://tinyurl.com/lbpdpgr
Blog – Website http://amwillard.com/
Google + Author Page: http://tinyurl.com/ncmxhad
Hosted By Nell’s Book Blog & Marketing
/* Style Definitions */
mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt;
Feeling good when it's bad
romance book blog
We live to read!!!!
Welcome to the dollhouse, sugar
Eat, write, yoge
We Won't Tell If You Won't...
I am an author and it is about all of my current and upcoming books
Reader of YA, Romance, Erotica, Paranormal, and whatever else catches my eye.....
Contemporary & Erotic Romance Author
Where epic love meets epic adventure.
The best books from the romance genre's best authors.
Covers / Teasers / Promos / Logos / Graphic Design / Book Tours & Blitzes