From NYT Bestselling
author Lauren Blakely, comes a swoony new standalone romance…
THE SEXY ONE!
Want a romance guaranteed to make you
melt? Get ready to fall in love on October 17th!
Let me count the ways why falling into
forbidden love is not my wisest move…
1. She works with me every single day.
Did I mention she's gorgeous, sweet,
kind and smart?
Playing with my five-year-old daughter.
Teaching my little girl. Cooking for my princess. Which means…
3. She's the nanny.
And that makes her completely
off-limits…But it doesn’t stop me from wanting her. All of her.
***
The other nannies in this city don't
call him the Sexy One for nothing. My boss, the amazingly wonderful single
father to the girl I take care of every day is ridiculously hot, like movie
star levels with those arms, and those eyes, and that body. Not to mention, the
way he dotes on his little girl melts me all over. But what really makes my
knees weak are the times when his gaze lingers on me. In secret. When no one
else is around.
I can't risk my job for a chance at something more…can I? But I don’t know how to resist him much longer either…
“Your language skills
are better than your French-braiding skills,” she teases as she shuts her iPad.
I pretend to be
insulted. “So not true. I can do French braids with my eyes closed.”
She shakes her head.
“Somehow, I doubt that.”
“I’ll prove it to
you.”
She tilts her head,
and her hand freezes on her purse. “Prove it?” she asks quietly.
Somehow I’ve thrown a
gauntlet I didn’t realize I was tossing. I do the only natural next
thing—follow through. “Sure. Got one of those hair tie things?”
She nods slowly.
“Yes, but . . .” Her voice trails off. Then she resumes the thought. “You
really learned to French braid?”
I nod. “Hayden
insisted on it,” I explain then study her face. Her pupils are dilated, and she
blinks. Ah hell, I’ve made her wary with my remark. “I don’t have to prove it.
I was just teasing,” I say, giving her an out. Mildly flirty comments are one
thing—hands in hair are another.
A small grin spreads
on her face, as she dips her hand into her purse and produces a black elastic
band. “No, I insist. You were horrible last time. Have at it.”
She drops to the
floor, scoots over to me, and with her shoulder, she nudges my right knee.
Hello, slippery slope. Funny to see you again so soon.
Her other shoulder
bumps my other knee. There’s no need to think—I widen my legs more and let her
settle in between them. I’m seated on the couch, she’s on the floor, and she
waits for me to braid her hair.
As I stare at her
lush, blond locks, the breath escapes my lungs. For a moment, it’s as if I’m hovering
in a state of suspended want. Like this is the real line we’re crossing. Not me
bringing her dessert, or touching the corner of her lips, or gazing at her face
longer than I should. Not even sending texts about a pair of wild birds or
making comments about showers and nudity.
But this.
Touching her hair.
Fuck, I love her
hair.
I slide the tie over
my wrist, then gather up some strands near the top of her head. “Confession,” I
say in a quiet voice. “I watched a few YouTube videos after you taught me.”
She leans back, and I
can feel her smile. “Like I said, prove it.”
“It’s on.” I focus on
the task of separating her honey-blond hair into three sections, running my
fingers through them like a comb. I lift the first strand and lay it over the
middle one, then the left, gathering more hair into the next section.
After I failed at her
first French braid lesson, I took it upon myself to learn. I don’t like not
being able to master basic skills. A man should be able to braid his daughter’s
hair.
And his woman’s hair.
“How does it look?”
Her voice sounds a little breathy.
“Like it was braided
by a man who learned by watching YouTube videos,” I answer.
She laughs lightly
and leans into me more, inching closer. My hands still for a moment. I feel
like I’m in high school again. Like I have a crush on a girl, and I don’t know
what to do, where to go next, what to say.
The thing is, I do know. I just don’t know that I should. But I know what I want. There’s
no doubt in my mind. I want to touch her, to kiss her, to feel her body press
against mine. Even the chance to touch her like this is intoxicating, a rush of
blood to the head. Her waves of hair are soft, and they feel spectacular
falling through my fingers. I can’t picture a single thing besides running my
hands through these strands as I kiss her, as I touch her, as she moves beneath
me.
Since self-publishing her debut romance novel CAUGHT UP IN US three years ago, Lauren Blakely has sold more than 1 million books. She is known for her sexy contemporary romance style that's full of heat, heart and humor. A devout fan of cake and canines, Lauren has plotted entire novels while walking her four-legged friends. She lives in California with her family. With ten New York Times bestsellers, her titles have appeared on the New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal Bestseller Lists more than fifty times. Her bestselling series include Sinful Nights, Seductive Nights, No Regrets, Caught Up in Love, and Fighting Fire as well as standalone romantic comedies like BIG ROCK and MISTER O, which were both instant New York Times Bestsellers. In the fall she'll release WELL HUNG, another romantic comedy. To receive an email when Lauren releases a new book, sign up for her newsletter.
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