Turner Campbell is an as*hole.
I f*cking hate him.
But I can’t get enough either.
He sings like an angel and f*cks like a devil.
If I could, I’d run away and never look back because to tell you the truth, I think this man might be the death of me.
& & &
Naomi Knox is a b*tch.
I can’t f*cking stand her.
But I can’t stop thinking about her either.
She looks like an angel and plays like a devil.
If I could, I’d f*ck her good and forget all about her, but to tell you the truth, I think this woman might be my last saving grace.
*This set includes the following books in the Hard Rock Roots Series:
1. REAL UGLY
2. GET BENT
3. TOUGH LUCK
4. BAD DAY
5. BORN WRONG
Short Stories Include:
1. DIRTY CANDY CHERRY POPS (Turner and Naomi’s prequel)
2. HARD HOT BLOW UP (Ronnie and Lola’s first meeting)
3. POP ROCK ROOT B*TCH (a Hayden Lee story)
Also Available From C.M. Stunich (aka Violet Blaze)
-Tasting Never (New Adult Contemporary Romance)
-Losing Me, Finding You (New Adult Biker Romance)
-Raw and Dirty (Sexy British Bad Boy MC Romance) by Violet Blaze
-Stepbrother Inked (Sexy Tattoo Artist Romance) by Violet Blaze
HARD ROCK ROOTS BOX SET EXCERPT:
Turner releases my waist and leans his back against the wall of the bar, yanking his phone from his pocket with hands dancing in stars, paw prints, spiderwebs. He’s just this dirty sexy mess of color … so wrong that he’s right. He’s got a filthy mouth and an arrogant attitude and he’s so drunk he can barely stand right now … but I like him anyway. More than I did before tonight. Most.
I’m totally in love with this guy.
I suck in a deep breath. Stupid thought. Really stupid thought. I know that, but I can’t help it. I came here tonight chasing an impossible dream and so far, it kind of looks like it’s coming true. I mean, Turner Campbell came to me. Me. He came to me, and we’re hanging out and he keeps looking at me like he can’t get enough.
I run my fingers through my blonde hair as he lifts his eyes and traces the movement.
“You’re way too hot for your own good, you know that?” Turner asks, sliding his phone back in his pocket and taking a step towards me. “Like a broken angel Barbie doll.”
“I’m no f*cking Barbie doll,” I say, but his hands are sliding along my jaw and tangling in my hair, pulling my lips to his, burning a hole straight through to my heart. Our mouths slide together and his tongue teases mine with this slow burn that makes my whole body start to ache, that encourages me to raise up onto my toes and taste him, drag as much broken royal bloody rock star into my mouth that I can get.
Turner tastes like a dirty lollipop dipped in whiskey and swirled in dirt, a little bit sweet and a whole lot sour. A little bit wrong. A little bit like mistakes.
My arms come up and wrap his neck, pull him into me as tight as I can get, my breasts smashing into his hard chest as we slide our tongues together and he grinds his er*ction into me. Turner’s music rides his kiss like a wave, crashing into my mouth and drowning me in old pain, hard lessons, fresh starts. I want to start over with this guy, chase him onto the stage and scream every thought and feeling and heartache I’ve ever had into the microphone.
I’m in heaven right now. Or h*ll. Probably h*ll, but that’s okay, too.