Who knew things could get even darker and dirtier in New Orleans? New York Times bestselling author Meghan March introduces the Savage Prince of the city, the man you never want to meet.
I do what I want and who I want. I don’t follow anyone’s rules—even my own.
I knew I shouldn’t touch her, but it didn’t stop me.
Didn’t stop me the second time either. Only made me want a third.
My lifestyle suits the savage I am, and she doesn’t.
But Temperance Ransom is my newest addiction, and I’m nowhere near ready to quit her yet.
I’ll have her my way, even if it means dragging her into the darkness.
Hopefully it doesn’t kill us both.
Savage Prince is book one of the Savage Trilogy, set in the same world as Ruthless King, however you do not need to read the Mount Trilogy to devour this scandalously hot new story.
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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 firstname.lastname@example.org.
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I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Friday night, and not just because I can feel him with my every step. No other experience in my life comes remotely close.
And I have absolutely no idea who he is or how to get in contact with him.
That’s probably a good thing. Right?
He’s still on my mind when I walk into the distillery on Monday morning. As soon as I turn the key, the heat, humidity, and scents wash over me. This is familiar. Sane. Not impulsive and crazy.
I’ve made a career for myself. A name for myself. Within these walls, I have respect, and no one questions that I deserve it. I’m not some girl from the bayou, running wild and trying to survive despite the shitty hand life dealt me.
As my heels click on the old concrete floor, I remind myself that even though whiskey isn’t my passion, this is the right path for me. It doesn’t matter that I spend more time here than I do in my own apartment. This job is a privilege that I’m doing my best to prove I deserve.
Going off the deep end and letting my wild side come back to life isn’t going to help me prove a damn thing except I’ve lost my mind. I have to put him out of my head.
No more club.
No more beautiful tattooed man.
No more getting off track.