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#WildWednesday Free snippet of Wild Child by Molly O’Keefe

Book copy:
Perfect for readers of Susan Elizabeth Phillips and Rachel Gibson, this sizzling romance tells the story of a sexy small-town mayor and a notorious “bad girl,” who discover that home really is where the heart is.

Monica Appleby is a woman with a reputation. Once she was America’s teenage “Wild Child,” with her own reality TV show. Now she’s a successful author coming home to Bishop, Arkansas, to pen the juicy follow-up to her tell-all autobiography. Problem is, the hottest man in town wants her gone. Mayor Jackson Davies is trying to convince a cookie giant to move its headquarters to his crumbling community, and Monica’s presence is just too . . . unwholesome for business. But the desire in his eyes sends a very different message: Stay, at least for a while.

Jackson needs this cookie deal to go through. His town is dying and this may be its last shot. Monica is a distraction proving too sweet, too inviting—and completely beyond his control. With every kiss he can taste her loneliness, her regrets, and her longing. Soon their uncontrollable attraction is causing all kinds of drama. But when two lost hearts take a surprise detour onto the bumpy road of unexpected love, it can only lead someplace wonderful.


My first #WildWednesday snippet! I’m so excited. Wild Child is all about Jackson Davies, the mayor of Bishop a struggling small town in Arkansas. Jackson is a good guy who absolutely longs to be bad. In walks Monica Appleby a former reality TV star (think the original Kardashians) turn blockbuster author, who has made a name for herself as wild child. But Monica isn’t what people think she is and she’s ready to put her notorious past behind her. This scene is Jackson seeing her for the first time on his doorstep. . . . . .


Now the snippet —

The words died on his lips. It was a beautiful woman— more than beautiful, actually. She was erotic in her black skirt with the red belt and the green blouse that hugged her waist and her lush breasts, inviting his eyes and hands to do the same. It was a trick some women knew, how to stay totally covered, but utterly suggestive all the same. He loved that trick, highly approved of that trick. She wore red shoes, high heels with peeka- boo toes.

He approved of the shoes, too.

Jackson didn’t spend a whole lot of time thinking about all the sex he wasn’t having in this town that ex- pected him to be father figure and monk, rolled into one. It would send him over the edge if he did. But looking at this woman, and the bright pink of her toenail polish, he was painfully, tragically aware of all the sex he wasn’t having.

Her black hair was thick, nearly blue it was so dark, and in the humidity the curls were teasing her chin and the corners of her eyes. Something tickled in the back of his head. Some memory. Those purple eyes were famil- iar . . . very familiar.

“Monica Appleby?” His famous graciousness fled the scene. “What the hell are you doing here?”

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