So now, I’m positive she must think I have some mental disorder. Every time I’m near her, after a few minutes, I haul ass. No question, the gorgeous girl addles the hell out of me. But why wouldn’t she? She’s everything I’ve never dreamed of. A tall, redheaded American with a southern accent. I always thought, if I ever pulled my head out of my arse long enough to actually go after a girl, I’d end up with a blond Iris-look-alike. But this one with her gray eyes and full lips I want to lick and suck until I hear her moan… well, damn… this writer here is suddenly at a loss for words.
This potential complication is one I must avoid. I can see myself falling head first into those gray eyes and never climbing back out. And that damn body of hers. When I close my eyes I can imagine the way her skin would feel beneath my fingers and it traps the damn air in my chest. Why the bloody hell does she have to show up here, and looking like that no less? I would pay her to let me slide my thumbs across those nipples of hers. Or better yet, mold my hands around the perfect cheeks of her arse.
Hell, I need to go home and take a cold shower. That girl has me way too jacked up for my own good. I feel like writing erotica instead of a romance novel right now. It would probably be a best seller, too, if I kept her on my mind the whole time.
Since the temps had dropped somewhat, I decide I’d rather walk the few blocks to the hotel versus taking a cab. Maybe it’ll help calm my dick down and clear my head. As I enter the lobby, my phone vibrates and I see it’s Tilly.
“Why did you abandon Fallon?” Her voice is harsh with disapproval.
She knows. I didn’t realize old hawk eyes had been watching.
“Tilly, doesn’t anything I do get past you?”
“Nothing. Answer me, Ryland Thomas.”
“Bloody hell, I didn’t abandon her. I simply left after the song ended.”
“Well, she thinks she has bad breath.”
“What?” Then I laugh as I think about it. It really does make perfect sense.
“So you have to apologize to her.”
“For what? Making her think she has bad breath. It’s funny, Tills. Come on.”
“It’s not. She’s a lovely girl with hurt feelings.”
“Because she thinks that I think her breath stinks when it doesn’t? That’s rubbish.” It’s a wonder I ever sold any books. The mechanics of a woman’s mind escapes me, so how the hell do I ever write romance?
“No it isn’t. What if someone told you your teeth were wonky? Wouldn’t that hurt your feelings?”
“No. I don’t care what my teeth look like!”
“Bollocks! You do care. You’re always flossing and brushing. I’ve seen those bleaching whatchamacallits in your bathroom, too.”
Oh God. I groan. “Okay, so I care about my teeth. Come on, Tills. This is crazy. Why are we discussing my dental care?”
“If you don’t tell that poor thing you’re sorry, I’m going home tomorrow morning.”
“You can’t do that. You’re up for an award tomorrow night. What if you win?”
“It’s not me, you bloody fool! It’s you and you’ll just have to accept it, like you should’ve been doing now for the past three years.”
I harrumph and scowl at my phone. I can’t possibly reveal the true identity of R.T. Sinclair and risk everything I’ve worked so hard for over the last three years.
“Okay. You win. I’ll find her tomorrow and apologize.”
“That’s not enough. You’ll take her out tomorrow night and act the perfect date, too.”
“Absolutely. And if you run off with your tail tucked between your legs, I’m done with this whole charade of yours.”
She isn’t kidding. I know Tilly as well as I know myself. We’re two peas in that stupid, rotten pod. “Damn you, Tills. Your fucking chain is squeezing the damn life outta me. Loosen it up some.”
As I was writing Exquisite Betrayal, I hopped on Twitter one day and noticed I had a new follower. It was a band called She Said Fire. Their name grabbed my attention so I followed the link to their website and took a listen to their music. Fate is a funny thing really. I’d been working on a scene between Fallon and Ryland Thomas, and it was one of those heart-wrenching scenes where blood is spilled (well, not quite, but you know what I mean). As I listened to all the tracks on She Said Fire’s Boom! EP, I absolutely fell in love with the song Better Ways. It was perfect for the scene I was writing and I knew I had to have the lyrics as the foreword for the book.
I hopped back to Twitter and sent She Said Fire a tweet along with a DM and got a quick reply. From there, Joshua Hawskley, the lead singer for the group, and I began exchanging emails. He and the rest of the gang at SSF graciously agreed to allow me to use the song in my book. So not only does Better Ways appear in the foreword, but She Said Fire is also mentioned in the book, along with some of their other works. This band is AH-Mazing. They are a highly talented group of four—three hot guys and one gorgeous girl—and they play such a diverse sound that you can’t stop listening to them. My only problem is that I want MORE! If you want to learn more about them, you can stalk them on Facebook at
So, if you go to Spotify and check out the Exquisite Betrayal Playlist, you can’t help but notice that She Said Fire has a few songs featured on it, namely, Better Ways, Funhouse and Sleeping Through The Revolution.
*pssst… as part of the Exquisite Betrayal release giveaway, the She Said Fire Boom! EP Download will be included! So don’t forget to enter!
Win a bracelet, a “She Said Fire” t-shirt & Boom! EP album download, signed copy of Tragically Flawed, & $100 Amazon Gift Card.
One day, on her way home from work as a sales manager, A. M. Hargrove, realized her life was on fast forward and if she didn't do something soon, it would quickly be too late to write that work of fiction she had been dreaming of her whole life. So, she rolled down the passenger window of her fabulous (not) company car and tossed out her leather briefcase. Luckily, the pedestrian in the direct line of fire was a dodge ball pro and had über quick reflexes enabling him to avoid getting bashed in the head. Feeling a tad guilty about the near miss, A. M. made a speedy turn down a deserted side street before tossing her crummy, outdated piece-of-you-know-what laptop out the window. She breathed a liberating sigh of relief, picked up her cell phone, called her boss and quit her job. Grinning, she made another call to her hubs and told him of her new adventure (after making sure his heart was beating properly again).
So began A. M. Hargrove's career as a YA/NA and Adult Romance writer. Her books include the following: Edge of Disaster, Shattered Edge and Kissing Fire (The Edge Series); The Guardians of Vesturon series (Survival, Resurrection, Determinant, reEmergent and Beginnings); Dark Waltz and Tragically Flawed.
Other than being in love with writing about being in love, she loves chocolate, ice cream and coffee and is positive they should be added as part of the USDA food groups.