Bigger Rock By Lauren Blakely
The best book deal EVER is here! Grab BIGGER ROCK for $2.99 and get the first four books in the #1 New York Times best-selling Big Rock series by Lauren Blakely. Price goes up after release!
Once upon a time there was a cocky, confident, die-hard bachelor living it up in New York City. He was clever and charming, and he'd been living the good life. Then, one special woman -- one very sassy, confident, and fantastic woman -- knocked him on his butt, thanks to love that came out of the blue.
Take that story and multiply it by four. That's what's in the BIGGER ROCK box set -- four New York Times bestselling romantic comedies, told in the male POV, that established Lauren Blakely as at the top of her game in rom-com! You'll find friends-to-lovers, best-friend's-little-sister, boss-assistant, and roomies-to-lovers romances. Come meet the irreverent bachelor Spencer Holiday in BIG ROCK, the hot nerd Nick Hammer in MISTER O, his twin brother Wyatt, the sarcastic and sweet carpenter, in WELL HUNG, and the charming and brilliant doctor with the heart of gold, Chase Summers, in the #1 New York Times bestselling smash hit FULL PACKAGE. Get ready for a hot & hilarious ride!
✦Kindle ➜ myBook.to/bigger-rock ✦iBooks ➜ https://apple.co/2BpnGV5 ✦Kobo ➜ http://bit.ly/2E5o6CY ✦Nook ➜ http://bit.ly/2E2dIfr ✦Google Play ➜ https://goo.gl/Ceui8x ✦Amazon PB ➜ myBook.to/bigger-rockPB
Excerpt:
I do my best work in the
bedroom. This is completely my domain. So it should be no big deal that she
asked me to wait here. But something about being in Charlotte’s bedroom is
wigging me out.
Mostly because there’s nearby nudity transpiring mere
feet away.
She’s taking a shower, and no matter how you slice them,
New York apartments are approximately thimble size. Let me spell this out—wet, naked,
hot woman in a ten-foot radius.
Got it? Okay. Moving on.
I pick up a picture frame on her sky blue bureau of the
dog her parents have. A fluffy brown summa dog—some of this, some of that. I’m
going to focus on this mutt. Zero in on him. Look at his tail. Check out his
ears. Yup, this picture is doing the trick. It is helping me not to linger on
the naked woman and how well she kisses.
Or how much I liked it.
Why the fuck did I like it so much?
Of course you liked
it, idiot. A pretty woman kisses you, and you’re straight—you’d be stupid not
to like it. End of story. Doesn’t
mean anything. Stop analyzing.
Especially since she just turned off the shower.
Maybe she forgot a towel. Maybe she’ll open the door a
crack, and ask me to grab one for her.
I smack my forehead. Get
it together, Holiday.
I set down the picture, draw a deep inhale and
straighten my shoulders. The door creaks open. She steps out of the bathroom
wearing only a white fluffy towel wrapped above her breasts.
“You might be wondering why I asked you to wait in
my bedroom instead of the living room,” she says, in the most matter-of-fact
tone.
I have no clue how she can be talking like we’re having a
business transaction when droplets of water slide down her bare legs. But I’m a
strong man. I can handle this. I’m not tempted at all by my best friend. Though
my dick begs to differ, the traitorous prick.
“The thought crossed my mind,” I say, as I lean against
the bureau, striking a casual pose.
“Because if you’re my fiancé, you need to be comfortable
with me being naked,” she says with a crisp nod.
Shit, she’s going to do it. She’s going to drop the
towel. She’s going to make us practice fucking. I am the luckiest man on the
face of the earth.
Wait. No. I can’t fuck my best friend. I absolutely,
positively, can’t screw Charlotte. Even if she tosses the towel on the floor
and begs me to.
I lace my fingers together behind my back, linking these
twitchy hands.
“Okay, so you’re getting naked,” I say, doing my best to
imitate her cool-as-a-cucumber tone that is throwing me off big time.
“No. It’s the idea of
me naked,” she corrects.
I give her a pointed look. “Seems to me it’s both the
idea and the reality.”
“Fine, fine. They’re one and the same, and it’s part of
the debrief.”
“Is this the exam portion?”
She walks past me, her arm brushing against mine before
she yanks open the top drawer of the bureau. “Yes. This is the practical
portion.”
“And this is because you somehow think we’re going to be
required to be naked together in front of Mr. Offerman in order to pull this
off? This isn’t like some feats-of-strength style fake engagement where we have
to pass certain skill sets in an obstacle course. You know that, right?”
She nods, as she hunts around in the drawer. “I’m aware
of that. I see this as more like the Newlywed game.”
“And in this version of the game we’re quizzed on how I
get used to the idea of you naked and vice versa?”
Her breath hitches when I say that—vice versa.
I don’t know what to make of that small gasp, or if
it means something about the idea of me au
naturel.
She spins around, and holds up two pairs of panties,
one in each hand. “Quick. Do you prefer it when your fiancée wears the black
lace thong?” She waggles a scrap of silky-looking fabric that is so hot my face
might be engulfed in flames right now because Charlotte owns that? “Or do you prefer her in the white
side-string bikini?” She waves the white pair before my eyes, and all I can see
is a tiny triangular patch of fabric that’s the slightest bit see-through.
Forget the flames. I am a fucking inferno right now
knowing she owns this too. White
panties that reveal pretty much everything.
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