RELEASE DAY
BLITZ & BLOG TOUR
Title: HARD
Author: Cheryl McIntyre
Release Date: March 20,
2015
HARD Synopsis:
I have been staring at her for three months. Watching her. Memorizing
her.
For ninety-two days, I’ve
looked into those lifeless green eyes.
And for
ninety-two days she has inspired me in ways I never knew possible. A muse,
unbeknownst to her. Motivating me. Encouraging my darkest desires.
I’m a man
who knows what he wants. And what I want is the beautiful and broken Holland
Howard.
My name is
Jensen Payne—photographer, autocrat, lecher, Scopophiliac. I am who I am and I will
not—cannot—change.
*This is an
Erotic Romance. Recommended for readers 18+ ONLY.
WARNING: This book contains possible emotional
triggers.
HARD is a full-length stand-alone erotic romance novel (approximately
50,000 words).
Amazon
AUTHOR BIO:
Cheryl McIntyre is the author of the bestselling Sometimes Never series,
as well as the Dirty series, Infinitely, and Dark Calling.
She calls
Ohio home, though she secretly dreams of living somewhere much warmer--preferably
near a beach. She is a mother, author, and insomniac, as well as a reader, self-
proclaimed movie critic, and incredibly bad singer. Her life revolves around four things:
family, music, books, and really bad scary movies.
You can
follow her author page on Facebook where she lives part time. On Goodreads—which is
like crack for avid readers. On Twitter, though she has still not yet mastered the art of
tweeting. On tsū. Or on her website.
AUTHOR LINKS:
Twitter: https://twitter.com/CherylHMcIntyre
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6431156.Cheryl_McIntyre&
nbsp;
Amazon Author Page: http://amzn.to/1CjEeLT
Website: http://cherylmcintyrebooks.com/
Stay up to date on all of Cheryl's new releases by joining her newsletter
here: http://bit.ly/1C2azm3
HARD by Cheryl McIntyre
Excerpts:
I have been watching her for three months.
For ninety-two days, I’ve looked into those lifeless green eyes. Let my
gaze slide over her flawless, pale skin. Fantasized about her luscious
lips.
For ninety-two days she has inspired me in ways I never knew possible.
A muse, unbeknownst to her. Motivating me. Encouraging my darkest desires to life
through my work. Just when I was so close to giving up, surrendering to my
unchangeable fate, I spotted her, and haven’t been able to look away
since.
I don’t think she has a clue that my eyes find her the moment I step into
this establishment. She’s oblivious to the way I always sit at the same table—the one
with the best view of the bar. Of her. Unaware I spend my evenings watching
her.
Memorizing her. Inch by exquisite inch.
Her soft beauty and innocent naivety keeps me coming back. Over and
over, since the day she first served me. My cock grows hard beneath the shelter of the
table as she strides toward me, her breasts bouncing lightly with each step. My arousal
has nothing to do with sexual gratification. Though she has a beautiful body, curvy in all
the places a man’s hands like to grip, and hold, and conquer, I’m turned on by the way
she makes me feel inside. By the strength and craving and ambition she has
unknowingly restored in me.
A man’s wet fantasy. A woman’s aspiration. My divine
intervention.
“Take off your clothes.” My voice is gravelly and I hardly recognize it.
I’ve imagined how she looks naked a million different times. Dreamt of this moment
more than I can count. My hands circle around the device clutched in my grip,
squeezing firmly.
One auburn brow arches as if in challenge, a silent remark to my lack of
polite request. I mimic her, cocking my own brow, but give her nothing else. Manners
don’t belong in the bedroom. This is who I am and I do not apologize for
it.
I ask once—and only once. I offer a choice and they make their
decision. After that, it’s my way. Anybody who doesn’t agree is free to leave. I don’t
want her to go—I’ve waited far too long for this—but I am who I am and I will
not—cannot—change.
She threw me off with the striptease and the drink. And that kiss. That
hot as hell, fucking kiss. But I’ve had enough questions and more than enough
storytelling for one night. Talking like this, sharing my personal shit—I don’t do it.
I bind. I photograph. And I fuck. There’s no point in anything else.
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