May 18, 2016

BLOG TOUR REVIEW & EXCERPT: Dirty Girl (Dirty Girl Duet #1)

Ever since encountering Creighton and Holly in Meghan March's Dirty Billionaire series, I've wanted more from her in this world. And now I'm getting it in the form of Creighton's sister Greer's story. Read on for my review and an excerpt from Dirty Girl.

Dirty Girl (Dirty Girl Duet #1), by Meghan March
Publish Date:
May 17, 2016
Publisher: self-published
Format: e-ARC, provided by Inkslinger PR
Genre: adult contemporary romance
To Buy: Amazon | Barnes & Noble

Rating: 4.5 STARS

(Synopsis) From USA Today bestselling author Meghan March comes a sexy new spin-off duet from The Dirty Billionaire Trilogy. Are you ready to get dirty again?

Desperately seeking rich, famous, single guy with a giant cock to make my lying, cheating, should’ve-been-born-dickless ex-boyfriend realize what he’s just lost.

Oh, and I give great head. Just sayin’.

No man in his right mind would answer that ad.

Except thousands did.

My name is Greer Karas, and I should never be allowed near another bottle of booze again. Because when I drink, my friend and I do stupid things. Like take a page out of my older brother Creighton’s playbook and post something completely asinine on the Internet. Waking up with a giant hangover to find my humiliating personal ad has gone viral is not my finest moment.

Cue my look of shock when one of Hollywood’s hottest new bad boys, Cavanaugh Westman, comes knocking at my door and drops his pants to prove that he does indeed have a giant cock.

What he doesn’t have is an explanation for why he disappeared from my life without a word three years ago, only to show up on the big screen two years later, killing bad guys in action flicks.

And now he wants me again.

What the hell do I do now?

The first time I experienced anything written by Meghan March was when I spent time in her Dirty Billionaire world and fell in love with Creighton and Holly Karas. Since that time, I've read the first two books in her Beneath series (and am loving them!), but when I found out she was going back to the Dirty Billionaire world to write a story about Creighton's half-sister, Greer, I was all,

Greer Karas' problems might not be ones that I recognize in my very typical middle-class world, but that doesn't mean they aren't real. Being a member of a famous, filthy rich family means that her life is constantly under a microscope. Freedom to make choices and succeed or fail because of them is nonexistent when her brother's company's stock prices can be affected by the most seemingly harmless thing.

Can you even imagine what that's like? Greer can't have a girls night out where she gets plastered and goes home with a hot guy for a one-night stand. She can't even get trashed in the comfort of her own home with her bestie and post something ridiculous online without affecting everyone around her. She knows about THAT ONE firsthand.

After being cheated on, Greer's "one that got away" has been haunting her even more than usual. It doesn't help that Cav Westman is now a big time movie star and on billboards and in magazines and on TV interview shows. Greer can't escape the "what ifs." And, after basically calling him out on social media one drunken night, her new "what if" question to be answered is, "What if Cavanaugh Westman shows up outside my door ready to pick up where we left off?"

The Dirty Girl duet is a fantastic second chance love story, and you know how much I love those. Greer is trying to guard her heart as best she can, since Cav left so easily without so much as a goodbye once before. He can just as easily do it again. But, my goodness - how can she not fall back in love with this man? He's gorgeous and confident and sweet and sexy. And the sexual tension that Meghan March has so expertly woven into their story is off the charts.

But, Cav is very obviously holding something back. Greer never has gotten the full reason as to why he left her years ago without so much as a text. And, every time she asks, he hedges. It made me mad on Greer's behalf. As much as I loved Cav and thought that he and Greer deserved to find their happy, I was pissed at him for most of the book too. He should know by now that secrets are never, ever a good thing, and if he's as dedicated to getting Greer back as he seems to be during his introspective periods, he needed to come clean with her.

If you're familiar with Meghan March's Dirty Billionaire series, you know that the endings of each part of the story are killer. Dirty Girl was no different. You'll get to the end, and go...

But, never fear! Dirty Love, which is the conclusion to Greer and Cav's story, comes out on May 31, so you'll only have to wait for two short weeks. I, for one, can't wait to see what happens next. 


No. Fucking. Way.

Can you photoshop real life? Because that’s the only way I can possibly be seeing through my peephole what I’m seeing right now.

Cavanaugh Westman. In the flesh. Outside my door.

The knock stopped me mid-shuffle on the way to my coffeemaker. So that makes me an uncaffeinated, makeup-less, messy-bunned, legging-wearing couch surfer who hasn’t showered in the two days I’ve spent holed up in my apartment.

He can’t see me like this.

I’ve had so many fantasies of how it will go when I finally came face-to-face with Cav again. I’ll be wearing something sexy, yet classy. Perfect hair, makeup, eyebrows. I’ll adopt a casually disinterested mien. He’ll be devastated when he realizes what he missed out on by standing me up that night and disappearing without a word.

There’s no way in hell I’m answering that door. Cav Westman can sit out in my hallway all day. Not opening it.

But Cav reads my mind, the bastard.

“Open the door, baby girl. Your message came through loud and clear with that ad.”

A barely audible gasp escapes my lungs.

“That’s right, I know you’re standing there. So, open the door, Greer.”

His deep, gravelly voice stirs memories I thought I wiped out of my brain. Apparently not.

I rush to the couch to grab my phone. I need to text Banner. Need to freak out with her and schedule an emergency spa day so I can be all the things I need to be before facing him again.

My thoughts come to a screeching halt. I do not need to impress Cav Westman. He’s nothing to me. And I can prove it right now by opening the door. He’ll see exactly how much I don’t care about his opinion.

Before I can change my mind, or look down at my shirt to make sure I’m not sporting any stains from yesterday’s coffee, I reach for the dead bolts and unlock them before I twist the doorknob and tug.

As soon as the door is open, I know I’ve made a terrible mistake.

Through the peephole, he was marginally distorted. On the billboards and movie posters plastered to the sides of buses in the city, he looked like a total stranger. But Cav in the flesh?


I lose my grip on the door and it swings open.

How does he not look older? No new lines bracket his mouth or crease the corners of his eyes. Instead, a new scar curves along his jaw, giving him a sexier, more dangerous look. His shoulders are impossibly broader, making his hips seem even narrower.

His hazel eyes flash as he takes me in—at least they haven’t changed. Today they’re more tawny gold than gray or green. Guessing what color they would be was part of the game I played with myself before. His dark brown hair is sexy and disheveled, longer than the buzz cut he had before, but everything else is the same. Worn jeans, a plain T-shirt, and scuffed boots. Strong, bold features that many a man would find impossible to carry off, but are the reason millions of women would line up to have Cavanaugh Westman’s babies.

“What are you doing here?” I whisper, reminding myself that I no longer have some naive fantasy of being the one for Cav.

His gaze returns to my face, and I know his inspection of me can’t be nearly as flattering as mine of him.

I’m waiting for him to say something . . . anything. Like an apology or an explanation for disappearing three years ago, but instead I get something completely different.

His hands drop to the button of his jeans. “Based on your ad, the inspection isn’t quite complete.”

If my jaw could drop to the floor like a cartoon character’s, it would.

Oh. My. God. I never saw what he was packing before, only a grazing handful the one night I finally got bold, but he put me off, promising me a night that never happened.

I stand like a slack-jawed moron and force my gaze to his face.

“What are you doing?”

His wicked grin—one he uses so rarely, even in the movies of his I’ll never admit I’ve seen—wipes away the three years between our past and present.

The hiss of the zipper comes next.

I keep my gaze on his face as his eyes dare me. To look or to stop him, I’m not sure which.

“Apparently you’ve changed your requirements for wooing, baby girl.”

The endearment on his lips brings back another wave of memories, but the flex of his bicep against the sleeve of his T-shirt steals my attention.

Oh. My. God.

He’s gripping his cock, stroking it, isn’t he? All I have to do is look down, and I’ll have more than one question answered.

“You know you wanna look.”

The dare is there again. And he’s right. I want to look. So I do.

Sweet Jesus.

Oh. My. Hell.

Well, let’s just say Cav knocked that requirement out of the park. The sight of his long, thick cock in his big, capable hand sends heat rushing south through my body, pooling between my thighs. My nipples, sans bra, strain against the material of my shirt. Cav’s gaze drops as well—to my chest.

The room pulses with a desperate intensity. Hanging between us is the night we never had. The one he walked away from.

I have two choices. Take what I want, what I asked for, or hold on to the rejection he dealt me three years ago.

My brain short-circuits on one thought—life is short, and you never know if you’ll get a second chance.

So I step forward, wrap one hand around his neck and the other around his cock, and kiss him for everything I’m worth.

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

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