From USA Today bestselling author Meghan March comes a sexy new duet. We've all had the bad boys, now it's time for a Real Good Man.
Fall for a woman over text messages? No way in hell.
Reality can never be as good at the fantasy, right?
Wrong. It’s better.
Banner Regent is smart, funny, and she’s so far out of my league, she might as well be royalty.
I’m a mechanic from Kentucky. She’s a New York City party girl.
We were never supposed to meet, but one text started something neither of us saw coming.
How do you seduce the woman who already has everything?
Show her what it’s like to be with a real good man.
Real Good Man is book one of the Real Duet. Logan and Banner's story will conclude in Real Good Love, releasing January 17, 2017.
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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 email@example.com.
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Finally, fifteen minutes after we said we’d meet, Logan Brantley walks into the tapas bar. Every curse word known to woman—and several I make up on the fly—flash through my brain.
This isn’t fair. Logan Brantley is even sexier when he’s not dressed in camo and carrying a big gun. More than one head swings in his direction. Women flip their hair and uncross and re-cross their legs as he steps up to the hostess stand.
A shaft of possessiveness lights up inside me, right along with nervous energy and my pounding heart. Back off, bitches. He’s not here for you.
I hear the low rumble of his deep drawl when he speaks to the hostess. She gestures in my direction, and he turns. Piercing blue eyes find me at the table where a lone water glass sits in front of me.
Liquid courage should definitely have been on the menu. Why didn’t I order a drink?
Because I’m an idiot. Because I thought I could handle this.
Now my heart is hammering so loud, my voice will probably be inaudible, or even worse—quaver when I speak.
Logan walks toward me with long, sure strides. He’s taller than I realized. And broader. And bigger. Everywhere. He’s wearing a black Henley that stretches across his chest, leaving no doubt of the fact that the man is built. And his jeans. Jesus. They’re worn and snug in all the right places.
The picture I found was clearly not recent, and it’s not just the fact that his brown hair is longer and shaggier. He’s one of those men who age well.
Logan stops in front of me when he reaches the tall bar table. He says nothing as his gaze drops to the toes of my boots and drags up every inch of my body.
“You’re a hard woman to find.”