It’s the release day for Dirty Girl by Allie Cooke! I am so excited for this fantastic new erotic novella. It’s the first in a trilogy and book two is coming March 30th! Check out the excerpt and Allie’s giveaway, and grab your copy today!
About Dirty Girl:
Angus Boone is the devil.
He lured me in, but not with candy or treats. And like the devil, he saw what no one else did.
All of my sins…all of the stains on my soul.
And then he smiled.
I should have run…far far away.
Instead I made a deal that changed us both forever.
***This is part one of a three-part serial***
Warning: This is non-traditional romance,with adult content, sexual situations and a non-traditional ending.
Exclusive Excerpt:
“Georgia,” she whispered from behind me.
“No, it’s me, Charity.”
Georgia was my stupid bitch of a mother. She’d sent a card when Henry died—a card with no return address and a half-legible signature.
I quit fussing with the flowers and circled the bed to go sit next to her. “How was your week?”
Her eyes flashed a lucid blue as she registered who I was, then faded and lost focus. “I wish your grandfather would hurry up, dear. I’m tired. I want to go home.”
It was a variation of the eerily similar conversation we’d been having since she’d moved rooms nearly eighteen months ago. The doctor’s said this was just part of end-stage Alzheimer’s. Rowena could be perfectly lucid, then not thirty seconds later.
“You just had a nap. How can you be tired?” Forcing a smile, I covered her hand with mine, trying not to think about how tiny and fragile—and useless—she was. Had been, I reminded myself. She couldn’t help the state she was in now. How useless she had been. Her only skills had been as a hostess, throwing dinner parties…and raising me. I guess my life wasn’t much more exciting but at least, I was living on my terms, and nobody got hurt. Maybe she had lived on hers, but I’d never know. We’d never had those sorts of conversations, and I’d honestly never thought to ask.
At least I hadn’t forgotten what was important—family. At least I hadn’t blown her off like Georgia had. “WeMaw, Gramps is coming. You want to tell me about your week while we wait?”
“Fine, dear, fine.” She shifted in her chair and sat up, tucking a hank of faded red hair behind her ear. “I had…I’m fine. Just fine. Fine, fine,” she practically spat and her face hardened as she spoke.
The only thing I could do when she got agitated like this was wait and see if we’d need a nurse’s help.
“Georgia!” Her tone louder now, she pushed herself upright in her chair. “You’re going to hell! Hellfire and dam-nation, girl.”
“I’ll get a nurse, WeMaw.” Calling her Rowena while she was like this was also a bad idea. Even a crazy old woman had her limits. I stood on shaky legs, but she grabbed my wrist before I could make a run for help.
“For shame!” Her hand connected with my cheek hard enough to bring tears to my eyes. “You’re a bad girl! A horrible, bad girl!” Her grip tightened as she continued to rant, “The things you’ve done.”
My face stinging, I struggled to swallow the ball of nausea that came hurtling upward, trying to bring my breakfast with it. This wasn’t the first time she’d hit me, and I reminded myself to just keep breathing. This wasn’t really her. I push back the tears and sucked in a deep breath. This wasn’t the woman who’d raised me.
Buy Links:
Dirty Girl: Part 1
Amazon | ITunes | Barnes and Noble
Dirty Girl: Part 2
Amazon | Barnes and Noble | ITunes
Exclusive Excerpt:
She was nothing if not predictable. I’d watched her for weeks on the security monitors, traipsing from club to club. Smiling. Flirting. Seducing. It had taken me a while to figure out her system—her game—but I hadn’t minded. It was time well spent watching her work her magic wherever she showed up.
I knew if I was just patient, my persistence would pay off, because like I said, she was nothing if not predictable. Ten o’clock every third Friday night at The Alibi Room. I shook my head and took a sip of my coffee, wishing I had something stronger to drink.
I watched her smile at the bouncer and step inside the club, the knot in my stomach loosening and tightening by degrees. She shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be watching but that’s how obsessions went.
And obsession was something I knew a lot about. As much as I hated seeing her on my screen, I couldn’t stop myself from watching her. And every time she showed up I leaned a little closer, unable to take my eyes off of her, unable to stop myself. Unable to stop her.
“Fucking stupid girl.”
Tonight she wore a short gray skirt and a pink sweater. Tonight she was all legs.
Tonight I was all hard on. I licked my lips and settled in for the show, hating myself just the same. I should do something, I should stop her, I should help her, but I don’t.
I shouldn’t enjoy this as much as I do.
About Allie Cooke:
Indie author and die-hard Southern girl, Allie Cooke has been reading and writing romance since she was old enough to hold a crayon, so a future as a romance writer wasn’t very farfetched for her. From billionaires to blue collar, from CEO to sexy entrepreneur, whether they’re wearing jeans or suits, Allie’s always had a thing for hot, hunky Alphas who need to be saved from themselves…Usually with the help of the right woman.
When she’s not writing, editing, or reading. Allie can be found cooking up mayhem in the kitchen or catching up on the latest and greatest TV shows with her favorite man.
Links:
Website | Twitter | Facebook Fan Page | Facebook Group: Allie Cooke’s Salon) | Newsletter Subscribe | Goodreads |
Enter Allie’s Giveaway:
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Look, but don’t touch…she might as well wear a neon sign that says it. It just makes me want her more.
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 
He’s a sex addict. I’m a love addict.
w York Times and USA Today bestselling New Adult author Emma Hart dons a cape and calls herself Super Mum to two beautiful little monsters. By night, she drops the cape, pours a glass of whatever she fancies – usually wine – and writes books.
About Lauren Blakely:
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