✮✮✮WELL HUNG is now available! ✮✮✮
A hot and hilarious standalone romantic comedy, WELL HUNG is about an easy going, and well hung gentleman who’s been burned by love in the past but finds himself falling fast and hard for the one person he cannot have. It takes everything you love about a Lauren Blakely novel –witty dialogue, smoking hot sex scenes, and heartfelt moments –and puts them into one fantastic book! Told in the guy's POV, WELL HUNG is the sexy, irreverent tale of what happens when a carpenter who's good with all his tools accidentally marries his gorgeous and fiery assistant one night in Vegas. The trouble is...what happens in Vegas doesn't always stay in Vegas in this twist on an office romance.
"Well Hung should come with the label 'Satisfaction Guaranteed' because there isn't one single sentence I didn't absolutely love of this story! This book has laugh-out-loud humor as well as a romance that's both heartwarmingly sweet and deliciously dirty."
-Yvette at Nose Stuck in a Book
"Deliciously naughty and side-splittingly hilarious!"
-Kelly at Beneath the Covers
✮✮✮ WELL HUNG is here!✮✮✮
From the NYT Bestselling author of MISTER O, comes a hot and hilarious new standalone...
Here's what you need to know about me -- I'm well-off, well-hung and quick with a joke. Women like a guy who makes them laugh--and I don't mean at the size of his d*ck. No, they want their funny with a side of huge... not to mention loyal. I've got all that plus a big bank account, thanks to my booming construction business. Yup. I know how to use all my tools.
Enter Natalie. Hot, sexy, smart, and my new assistant. Which makes her totally off limits...
Hey, I'm a good guy. Really. I do my best to stay far away from the kind of temptation she brings to work. Until one night in Vegas...
Yeah, you've heard this one before. Bad news on the business front, drowning our sorrows in a few too many Harvey Wallbangers, and then I'm banging her. In my hotel room. In her hotel room. Behind the Titanic slot machine at the Flamingo (don't ask). And before I can make her say "Oh God right there YES!" one more time, we're both saying yes--the big yes--at a roadside chapel in front of a guy in press-on sideburns and a shiny gold leisure suit.
But it turns out what happened in Vegas didn't stay in Vegas. And now, my dick doesn't stay in my pants when she's around. I try to resist. Honest. But the more we try to keep our hands to ourselves, the more we end up naked again, and the more time I want to spend with her fully clothed, too. The question now is...do I take this woman to be my ex-wife?
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She twirls the pen in her hand. “So who caused the contamination today? Was it Floyd or Kevin the oily electrician you tried to put a chokehold on?”
“Oily Kevin needed the chokehold. Agree or disagree?”
She nods. “Completely agree. There’s so much agreement in me, I can’t imagine how much more I could possibly agree.”
“The chokehold was one hundred percent certifiably necessary,” I add, since Kevin had hit on her when he stopped by a few weeks ago. Here’s the thing—Natalie could dropkick him in the blink of an eye. She could slam him to the ground herself. But that shit he pulled with the leering and lewd comments does not fly with me. I would have done the same if a dude tried to get fresh with my little sister, Josie, at the bakery where she works. So I’d dropped a hand on Kevin’s shoulder, Vulcan style, and promptly escorted him the fuck out of my office. No one, and I mean no one, gets to put the moves on my employees.
“It was Floyd today,” I tell her, then give her the safe-for-work version of the story—the one about Floyd’s client conquests, not his comments about banging assistants. There’s no need to have that hanging out there in the air between us. Can’t plant that forbidden idea in her head.
That risky, dangerous, dirty, filthy, completely fucking alluring idea. My eyes roam the office briefly, and I catalogue all the places that are calling out to be christened. Her desk, her chair, the floor…
Just like that, my head is a wild rumpus of inappropriate ideas. Exactly what it shouldn’t be. It’s like horny aliens have invaded my mind.
But I’m not Floyd. I can do better, so I picture a vise, jam the images into it, and crush them out of my mind. The dirty images and the horny aliens, too.
“And then I escorted him out of Lila’s home and said see ya later,” I tell her, finishing the story, as I drag a hand through my dark brown hair. “Like, in another lifetime later.”
“Hmmm…” she says.
“Hmm, that’s great, or hmm, why did I give one of our suppliers the heave-ho?”
“Hmm, as in your story gives me a good idea. Something I’ve wanted to do for a long time.”
Her eyes sparkle. Hers are a lighter shade than my dark blue. “Want me to find a new hinge supplier?”
The idea is beyond perfect. I smack my palm against the edge of her desk enthusiastically. “Yes. And for the record, you’re brilliant and beauty—“ I cut the last word off so it sounds like a low bass note. Note to self: Don’t call her beautiful when you’re berating other men for hitting on her at work.
She’s watching me, waiting for me to finish my sentence, and somehow I twist the words into a new compliment, as I say, “Brilliant, and…bountiful.”
Bountiful? Seriously? What the hell was that? Maybe she won’t notice.
No such luck.
“Bountiful?” she asks, skepticism thick in her tone. As it fucking should be. “I’m bountiful?”
I nod, going with it, owning it. “Your brain. It’s like a cornucopia of ideas. It’s a Thanksgiving bounty. It’s bountiful,” I say, because I’ve got to sell this cover-up.
She squares her shoulders. “If you say so, Hammer.” And this bountiful brain was two steps ahead today. I already found a new supplier. I called around, talked to some of our colleagues, and got some great recommendations. I already have a new hinge guy lined up.”
My smile spreads quickly. “Damn. You are three steps ahead of me.”
“A good assistant should be.”
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