Get Your
First Look at A Cruel Kind of Beautiful by Michelle Hazen
"Sweet and sexy, with a
storyline that sucks you in deep, A CRUEL KIND OF BEAUTIFUL is everything I
adore in a romance." —Heather Van Fleet, author of the Reckless
Hearts series
"Smart and fun, with a
rocking voice, A CRUEL KIND OF BEAUTIFUL will keep your heart racing until the
end." —Katie Golding, author of Order Up
Here’s your FIRST LOOK at Michelle Hazen’s Rockstar
Romance, A CRUEL KIND OF BEAUTIFUL! Join us as we get our first peek at this first installment in the Sex,
Love, and Rock & Roll series. Check out the excerpt and enter to win a $50 Amazon gift card!
A Cruel Kind of Beautiful (Sex, Love and Rock & Roll) by Michelle Hazen
Release
Date: December
4, 2017
Publisher:
Self-published/Pronoun
Genres:
Contemporary
Romance
Page
Count: 344
If you can’t
get to the Big O, can you get to the happily ever after?
Jera McKnight loves music, swoons for hot guys,
but sucks at sex. Jacob Tate is her perfect storm: a pun-loving nude model with
a heart as big as his record collection.
When a newspaper-delivery accident lands him in
her living room, he’s almost tempting enough to make her forget she’s never
been able to please a man—in bed or out of it. Sure, he laughs at her obscure
jokes, and he’ll even accept a PG-rating if it means he gets time with her, but
he’s also hiding something. And it has everything to do with the off-limits
room in his apartment.
She doesn’t know if her music is good enough to
attract a better contract, or if she’s enough to tempt a man like Jacob to give
up his secrets, even if they could fix her problems between the sheets. But if
this rocker girl is too afraid to bet on herself, she might just end up playing
to an empty house.
A CRUEL KIND OF BEAUTIFUL Excerpt
Copyright
© 2017 Michelle Hazen
When the newspaper broke my window at four in the morning, I
didn’t stop to think about the fact that I was wearing sweats. Not thin,
make-your-butt-look-cute yoga pants but old school sweats: cuffs cinched tight
around my wrists and ankles like rib-knit shackles, plus deflated airbags of
material sagging at my crotch and knees.
This is definitely something I would have considered if I’d known
I was going to open the door to biceps like his.
Turns out my renegade paperboy isn’t a boy at all; more like six
feet two inches of pure man-candy. With his fist raised to knock, all his
muscles stand out in exquisitely stark lines, and I’m definitely not staring.
Or maybe I am, because he takes a step back and drops his hand, brow furrowing.
“Shit,” he says. “Shit.”
I quirk a brow. I’m five foot flat on a good posture day, so it
must be the atrociousness of my sweats that’s putting the fear into him.
“Don’t tell me this was a revenge window-breaking and you got the
wrong house.” I nod toward my neighbor’s place. “Did Mr. Schmelzly steal your
girl or something?”
His eyes dip below my collarbone for a second, but I’m not exactly
worried about my lack of a bra. This sweatshirt is so baggy I could be packing
the curves of Santa Claus or Kim Kardashian under here and he wouldn’t be able
to tell the difference.
“I wish I could claim it was revenge. More like a total failure of
motor skills.” He grimaces. “I’m so sorry about your window. They give us a
half day of training, which felt like four hours more than anybody should need,
but right now, it’s looking like I could have used five.” His shoulders hunch
as he gives me a sheepish look.
My annoyance melts, and I offer, “In your defense, it was the
Thrifty Tuesdays paper. Tuesday has some serious heft in tampon coupons.”
“Plus the supplemental entertainment section.” His face relaxes
into a smile. “If it’d been a Wednesday, you might have been safe. Here, can I
at least help you clean up the glass?” He steps forward.
“Uh…” I hesitate, surprised that he’s offering to do housework.
Not to mention he probably has another twenty miles to pedal to finish his
route, because who the hell gets newspapers delivered these days?
“I’m sorry, you probably don’t want a strange guy in your house
who just broke your window. Trust me, I’m not a serial killer or anything. If I
were going to kidnap you, I’d like to think I’d be a lot smoother about the
whole thing.”
“Good to know. There’s nothing I hate more than an inept
kidnapper.”
His eyes lighten at my response. “That doesn’t seem fair.
Shouldn’t you hate successful kidnappers more? There’s the ride in the trunk
and the whole ransom debate…it’s probably a real pain.”
“Nah, people love successful kidnappers. Because Stockholm
Syndrome.” A smirk tugs at the edge of my mouth. “Shouldn’t you be convincing
me to trust you, not defending kidnapping fails?”
“Right. I’m batting a thousand this morning, aren’t I? Sorry
again.” He blushes, actually blushes.
He’s like a walking sex
dream with close-shaved hair and a cologne-commercial jawline, and I have no
idea how a guy can be this hot without a trace of cocky to go along with it.
Enter to win a $25 Amazon Gift Card!
About
Michelle Hazen
Michelle
Hazen is a nomad with a writing problem. Years ago, she and her husband ducked
out of the 9 to 5 world and moved into their truck. As a result, she wrote most
of her books with solar power in odd places, including a bus in Thailand, a
golf cart in a sandstorm, and a beach in Honduras. Currently, she’s addicted to
The Walking Dead, hiking, and Tillamook cheese.
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