Through Your Eyes
For Your Love #3
By: Shannyn Schroeder
Releasing May 30, 2017
Deirdre Murphy has had her life planned for her since she was born: Work in her parents’ noisy pub in rural Ireland. Live with her family until she marries. Marry her childhood sweetheart ASAP, since he’s decided sexy fun time should wait for marriage. None of it excites her. But before her fate closes in, Deirdre’s got one last visit to her Chicago cousins—where she can spend her mornings in a peaceful bakery, keep to herself, and savor the space she needs…. Until she meets Tommy O’Malley.
Tommy is as tough as his city and twice as ready to welcome her in. He’s covered in tattoos, stays up half the night inking them on other people, and has a reputation for being good with his hands. And he’s heart-pounding, forgot-her-words, can’t-stop-staring exciting.
Tommy knows he’s the opposite of everything Deirdre has prepared for. But to watch her set herself free, he’s willing to risk almost anything…
Link to Follow Tour: http://tastybooktours.com/tours-master/2017/2/26/through-your-eyes-shannyn-schroeder
Goodreads Link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/32453936-through-your-eyes
Goodreads Series Link https://www.goodreads.com/series/180591-for-your-love
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Tommy snuggled against her, his breath fluttering her hair. His erection pressed into her back. Then she remembered why she’d come here last night. She’d wanted to have sex with Tommy. He pulled away and the mattress shifted as he stretched. She was afraid to move, unsure how bad the pain would be. She ran a hand over her body to discover she still wore her clothes from last night.
“How’re you feeling?”
His voice was low and rough and sexy.
The first two adequately described her. “I think something died in my mouth.”
He chuckled. “That happens when you mix a bunch of booze and then puke.”
Crap. She had puked. She groaned. “You held my hair.”
He sat up, patted her hip. “Having a little sister teaches you about those things. Sit tight.”
She had no plans to go anywhere. Reclosing her eyes, she tried to bring back more of her evening. Maggie, Cara, and Alyson had plied her with drinks all night. They’d danced a lot. She’d flirted with men. A lot of them. She had not been herself. Further evidence of that was the fact that she was in Tommy’s bed.
She couldn’t imagine the stupid things she’d said to him last night. The bedroom door swung open and Tommy was back. He set some clothes at the foot of the bed.
“I borrowed clothes from Norah, and there’s a toothbrush. Take a shower. You’ll feel better. I’m going to get us some food.”
Her stomach clenched. “God, no.”
“Trust me.” He stood next to her, handed her a glass of water and some pills. “Take these.”
She levered herself up on an elbow, putting her eye level with his crotch. His penis had made quite the impression on her back. She accepted the glass and pills. After swallowing, she swung her legs over the edge and let her head hang on her shoulders.
Tommy moved around the room. “Make sure you lock the bathroom door so Sean doesn’t walk in on you.” He paused in front of her again, fully dressed. Then he kissed the top of her head. “I’ll be back. Don’t go anywhere.”
She barely lifted her head to look at him. “I’m in no hurry to face Aunt Eileen.”
“Maggie said she’ll assume you spent the night at her house, so no worries.”
“When did you talk to Maggie?”
“After you fell asleep.” He pulled on his shoes. “Hope you don’t mind. I used your phone. You should probably have a passcode on that, by the way. I figured your aunt would worry about you not coming home.”
If Deirdre had been in her right mind, she probably would’ve worried. “Thank you.”
He smiled. “No problem.” Then he grabbed his keys from the dresser and left.
Deirdre felt weird sitting in Tommy’s room, especially when he wasn’t there. The room wasn’t very homey. Minimal furniture filled the space. A flat screen was mounted above the dresser. The bed took up most of the space. It was much larger than the one she slept on across the street.
Thoughts of her last visit barged into her pounding head and she shook them off. Only mentally, though, because moving her head hurt far too much. She grabbed the clothes and toothbrush and poked her head out. Sean’s door was still closed.
In the bathroom, she brushed her teeth twice and slurped some water. She still felt gross, so she brushed again. Starting the shower, she fought the awkward feeling of being in a stranger’s house naked. She’d never been in this position before. She’d had friends who talked about the walk of shame, but being a virgin in a serious relationship, she hadn’t experienced it. More firsts in Chicago.
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By: Shannyn Schroeder
I’ve never had a real fascination for tattoos. I don’t have any. I never gave it much thought. For me, if I were going to mark my body permanently, it would have to be something pretty special. I’ve yet to think of a symbol that I would enjoy that much.
All that being said, I can totally understand the appeal. The hero in my latest book, Through Your Eyes, is a tattoo artist. Tommy is an artist at heart. He began doing tattoos because he thought it would be an acceptable job in his dad’s eyes. It would be a respectable way to make a living.
Tommy’s body has ink all over. He has a pair of crossed hockey sticks on his forearm that matches the tattoo he created for his older brother. By the end of the book, he has a new tattoo over his heart as a symbol of his love for Deirdre. One of things that the heroine, Deirdre, loves is finding out the story behind Tommy’s tattoos (here’s a bonus snippet):
Tommy was already tugging off his shirt as he ran into the bathroom. A small sigh slipped past her lips. She loved watching him. His body was like the artwork they’d seen at the museum. Sometimes, while they lay in bed, he’d tell her the story behind one of the tattoos. Little glimpses of the boy he’d been and the man he was still becoming.
Every snippet she learned about him intrigued her, and it seemed as though he’d never run out of stories. Many were designs that he simply found cool. Others held deep meaning and it was those she longed to hear about. Like the angel on his left shoulder blade, an image for the mother he had no memory of. Or the fire-breathing dragon that ran down the length of his upper arm because he’d been small as a boy and he wanted to grow up to be fierce.