Book Review: Tear You Apart by Megan Hart


posted by on Library, Sexuality


Note: Clicking the Amazon link at the end of this review and making a purchase will yield a small commission for this site.

5 out of 5

tear you apart
Tear You Apart
by Megan Hart
published by Harlequin MIRA
release date: August 27, 2013
provided by NetGalley

Tear You Apart excerpt

I was recently able to read a digital copy of this new book by Megan Hart and I was truly blown away. I went into it without knowing much of anything about the story. The author states that this is not a love story. I had no idea. I was prepared for just another romance novel. (which don’t get me wrong, I quite enjoy). However this book is something else entirely.

The story is about a middle aged woman in a lackluster marriage. She meets an incredibly sexy photographer by happenstance. What proceeds is an affair that screams realistic. Everything isn’t always wonderful. There’s steamy sex, of course. However there is also doubt, guilt and loneliness. The main character is imperfect. Plus she’s incredibly relate-able, even for someone like me (not at all a suburbia mom).

The vastness between the main characters’ joy with one another compared to their frequent unhappiness and uneasiness is simply amazing.

I highly recommend this novel. No, it’s not just another romance. It’s not conventional and it’s incredibly well written.

Megan Hart
via the author’s personal Facebook

For more on Megan Hart check out her official site and twitter.

You can order Tear You Apart here on Amazon.

Check out this engaging excerpt from the book, available on the author’s site:

He’s standing outside the restaurant smoking, not looking my way, and I do imagine myself walking away without speaking to him, leaving him standing there for an hour, or for forever, waiting? Hell, yeah. Do I imagine myself running across the street and leaping into his arms to babymonkey cling to him like a fucking barnacle?

Oh. Yes…

He opens the door for me, and the solicitous hand at the small of my back as he lets me go in front of him should not make my knees weak. We take a booth near the back, in the shadows. It’s curved, which means I slide in first, but I put my purse on the seat between us so he can’t sit too close.

We order drinks. We order food. We make small talk that sounds like pebbles rattling in a pie-pan. At first, Will is animated and effusive, but as he watches me pick at my salad and give him brief answers without smiles, he sits back in the booth.

“If you don’t want to be here,” he says, “maybe you should just fucking go.”

My fork shakes a little against the edge of the plate before I set it down very, very carefully. I wipe my fingers on my napkin. Then my mouth. I put my hands on the edge of the table, fingertips just barely touching the smooth, polished wood. And I say…nothing.

He shifts in his seat with a frown. “That’s it? I get the silent treatment?”

“I’m being careful with what I say, that’s all. I want to make sure nothing comes out that I can’t take back.”

“Maybe you should just say whatever you think,” Will says with a sneer. “You think I can’t handle it?”

My fingers slip on the smooth wood. “I don’t want you to handle it. I don’t want to say anything I’ll regret, that’s all.”

“If you’re pissed at me, you should just say so.”

“Should I be?” I press my lips together and rub my tongue slowly on the inside of my teeth to keep my voice low.

“Are you?”…

“I would never just stop talking to you,” I tell him, whispering only so I don’t scream. “I would never just disappear like that. That was a shitty thing to do to me, Will.”

“I was busy,” he begins, and I’ve had enough.

I need to get out of this booth, and now. But the other side is blocked by a tray of food waiting to be served and the only way out is past him. “Move.”

He doesn’t, even as I’m grabbing up my purse and sliding along the smooth vinyl toward him. I bump against him. “Move!”

He won’t. I don’t want to cause a scene. And sitting this close, I can feel his thigh on mine. I can feel the heat coming off him. When he slides a hand between my legs beneath the cover of the table, all I can do is let him.

“Everyone’s busy,” I tell him.

His fingers press, press, press. “My ex went out of town. I had my kid. I was busy, Elisabeth.”

To anyone looking at us, we simply appear to be deep in conversation. There’s enough distance between us, the angle is just right to hide the fact he’s inching up my skirt to get inside my panties. At the last minute, I clamp my thighs shut, trapping his hand before he can.

“Then you should’ve told me.”

There’s more to it than that. I can see it in his face. He twists his wrist a little, but I don’t give him even a quarter of an inch.

“I told you —”

“Bullshit.” I lean a little closer when the waiter passes by, lowering my voice to keep it from attracting attention. The heat of his hand against my bare skin is beginning to burn. “It’s an excuse, and a shitty one. You think I wouldn’t understand if you told me you had to take care of your kid? You think I’d be some kind of bitch about it?”

Steadily, he works his hand a little higher. His knuckles brush my panties before he twists again to press my clit. I do not move except for the rise and fall of my shoulders when I take a breath. My muscles ache from the effort of keeping him away. When I relax the tiniest bit, he takes advantage, pressing harder. Twisting so infinitesimally that nobody would be able to tell.

He can’t see the golden stars beginning to creep into the edges of my vision, but I’m sure he must see something in my eyes, because his hand moves just a little faster. His pupils are so wide open his eyes have gone dark. His tongue slips out to touch the center of his bottom lip.

“I don’t owe you anything,” Will says, but low and under his breath.

I do not want to let him see how good he’s making me feel, because I don’t want to be feeling it. But when I put my hand over his, it’s not to push it away. I grip his wrist tight, holding him closer.

“Yes,” I tell him. “You do.”

I am close, so close, but not going over. The waiter shows up then with a dessert tray, and I pull away. I shake my head at the pies and cakes and decline a box for my leftovers as I slide toward the other end of the booth, now cleared by the busboy who took away the tray of dirty dishes. I assure the waiter everything was fine, though I can see by the way he eyes my plate that he takes my uneaten food as a personal affront. I get out of the booth and push past him and out of the restaurant to the New York City street outside, and I breathe in exhaust and heat and the scent of puke and piss, and I blink away the last flutters of gold Will’s touch gave me.

I’m halfway back to the gallery when he catches up to me. He falls into step beside me without saying anything. He follows me through the door I don’t bother to hold open for him, and down the hall past Naveen’s blessedly empty office and into my own. Then, when I whirl on him to tell him to get the fuck out, he shuts my door. The lock clicks.

We sweep my desk clean. Paperclips scatter. Then he’s inside me, and nothing else matters but this.

After, his forehead pressed to mine and the taste of his sweat on my lips, Will says, “I was ignoring you on purpose.”

I cup his face in my hands and kiss him. “I know you were.”…

“You’re my kryptonite. I don’t know why.” My words are muffled against his neck. I can’t stop myself from nibbling, just a little, and I can’t stop myself from telling him the truth. “But if you don’t want to talk to me anymore…if you don’t want to see me…”…

Then I kiss him, kiss him, kiss him until neither of us can breathe.

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