The Sexy One Read online

  The Sexy One

  Lauren Blakely

  Contents

  Copyright

  Also By Lauren Blakely

  About

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Epilogue

  Another epilogue

  The Hot One

  Coming Soon!

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Lauren Blakely

  Contact

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2016 by Lauren Blakely

  Cover Design by Helen Williams. Photography by Perrywinkle Photography

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This contemporary romance is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. This ebook is licensed for your personal use only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with, especially if you enjoy sexy, hilarious romance novels with alpha males. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Also By Lauren Blakely

  The Caught Up in Love Series (Each book in this series follows a different couple so each book can be read separately, or enjoyed as a series since characters crossover)

  Caught Up in Her (A short prequel novella to Caught Up in Us)

  Caught Up In Us

  Pretending He’s Mine

  Trophy Husband

  Stars in Their Eyes

  * * *

  Standalone Novels

  BIG ROCK

  Mister O

  Well Hung

  The Sexy One

  Full Package (Early 2017)

  Joy Stick (Spring 2017)

  Far Too Tempting

  21 Stolen Kisses

  Playing With Her Heart (A standalone SEDUCTIVE NIGHTS spin-off novel about Jill and Davis)

  * * *

  The No Regrets Series

  The Thrill of It

  The Start of Us

  Every Second With You

  * * *

  The Seductive Nights Series

  First Night (Julia and Clay, prequel novella)

  Night After Night (Julia and Clay, book one)

  After This Night (Julia and Clay, book two)

  One More Night (Julia and Clay, book three)

  A Wildly Seductive Night (Julia and Clay novella, book 3.5)

  Nights With Him (A standalone novel about Michelle and Jack)

  Forbidden Nights (A standalone novel about Nate and Casey)

  * * *

  The Sinful Nights Series

  Sweet Sinful Nights

  Sinful Desire

  Sinful Longing

  Sinful Love

  * * *

  The Fighting Fire Series

  Burn For Me (Smith and Jamie)

  Melt for Him (Megan and Becker)

  Consumed By You (Travis and Cara)

  * * *

  The Jewel Series

  A two-book sexy contemporary romance series

  The Sapphire Affair

  The Sapphire Heist

  About

  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?

  2. She works in my home.

  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 . . .

  1

  Abby

  * * *

  Attraction is a funny thing. It’s chemical, right? At first it’s all snap, crackle, pop—a cocktail of desire. And what an intoxicating mix it is. It’s a rush, it’s a thrill . . . it’s pure exhilaration uncorked. It makes you giddy. It makes you feel like you can run a marathon and still scale a building even after the twenty-sixth mile is complete.

  And I really hate running.

  Attraction can turn ordinarily sensible men and women into single-minded hunters, silly fools, and sometimes into lucky lovers.

  When the feeling is mutual, most of the time everyone is happy and they go about their merry business. No one hears about these couplings, because little gets in the way. Good for them, and tra-la-la-dee-dah.

  But sometimes, attraction is unrequited, and sometimes we don’t even admit it exists. I’m about to vehemently deny it, as the other nannies and babysitters scoot closer on the bleachers and whisper.

  Simon walks onto the deck at the pool where his daughter takes swim lessons. The reaction is predictable as clockwork. The redheaded sitter of the unruly twin girls fluffs her hair; the brunette with the cat eye glasses crosses her tanned, toned legs that go on forever; and the petite Australian nanny with her ponytail of silky black hair just gasps.

  All eyes follow the man as he strides past the deep end, looking too gorgeous to be real.

  “How do you manage working for him?” Ponytail Aussie whispers to me in a hushed breath.

  “He’s easy to work for,” I say, though I know that’s not what she’s asking.

  The real question comes next, landing in the chlorinated air.

  “Seriously,” the leggy one says. I’m jealous of her. I’ll admit it. I’m a short girl, and I would love to borrow her legs for a night. I’d swap them out for my boobs, and that’s a more than fair trade, because what I lack in height, I make up for in the girls. “How do you work with all that hotness?” she continues, prodding. “If you looked up ‘hot single dad’ in the dictionary, you’d find his picture.”

  Yeah.

  He is.

  He’s the prize in the available dad sweepstakes.

  Because . .
.

  Six foot three. Broad shoulders. Flat stomach. Trim waist. Square jawline. Hint of stubble. Dark blond hair. Light blue eyes. And a smile that makes you melt into a puddle of lust.

  Oh, and get this. He’s also a sharp-dressed man, and that’s my weakness. Charcoal slacks, shiny shoes, and those tailored shirts that fit deliciously. You know, the kind where the fabric just slides into the waistband of his pants, and you can’t help but think how is it your belly does a perfect imitation of a washboard, and can I please conduct some firmness tests on it? For the sake of science, of course.

  When handsomeness was handed out, Simon Travers landed more than a few extra helpings. The man snagged someone else’s share, too. And another’s and another’s.

  But that’s not all he’s got going on, and I’m dying to tell the other women that there’s more to him than meets the eye. So much more.

  He’s sweet, kind, smart, funny, and good. So damn good. And, for a bonus prize, add in that he’s an amazing father. That’s some sexy kryptonite right there.

  Only, if I tried to explain all those other traits, they’d know. They’d sniff me out in the snap of the fingers. They’d see the attraction written on my face, hear it in my words.

  I can’t let on how I feel about Simon, because I’ve spent the last seven months taking care of his adorable five-year-old daughter. And I’ve spent the last six months, three weeks, and four days keeping the cat of all that attraction tucked in a neat, sealed, airtight bag.

  (That’s a metaphor, obviously. No cats were harmed in the telling of this tale.)

  And for the math wizards of the world, that means it took me three days on the clock to like the guy.

  Fine, I’ll admit that’s hardly any time at all, but he’s just that likeable.

  That also means I spend all my working days fighting this need to fling myself at him. It’s not as though he’s ever given me a sign that he’s interested, so call this crush unrequited. I’ve learned to live with it. I’ve come to accept it, the same way you accept having a spray of freckles across your nose, or curly hair that’ll never straighten. It’s a fact of my existence now, and like the freckles and the curls, I deal with it when I arrive at work, when I leave work, and when I meet him at various places in the city, including here.

  In her dolphin-decorated one-piece, Simon’s daughter, Hayden, splashes around the shallow end of the pool with the other kids and the swim instructor. When she surfaces, she pushes her goggles up her face and spots her hero. The kid beams, her smile as wide as the sky as she shouts, “Daddy! Come see me dive!”

  “On my way!” Turning the corner at the deep end, he walks past, waving as we watch the kids, and, let’s be honest, ogle him.

  His eyes meet mine next. “Hey, Abby,” he says, with an easy grin.

  My pulse speeds up, and I wave back. But I don’t blush. I don’t stammer. See? I live with this attraction, and I’ve mastered the art of self-control, revealing nothing as we hand-off the kid here at the pool today. “Hey there.”

  He nods at his adoring fans. “Hello, ladies.”

  That’s all it takes. Two words from the hottest guy around, and the hearts, they’re all aflutter as they wave back. He walks on by, crouching at the edge of the pool to say hi to his little girl and drop a quick kiss on her forehead.

  Yup, his love for his girl makes him even hotter.

  Leggy Lady leans in, pats my shoulder, and deadpans, “Nope. I’m not jealous of you whatsoever. Not one bit. Not at all.”

  I shake my head, trying to dismiss the idea. “The only thing to be jealous about is that I’m two months away from paying off my college loans,” I say with a wry smile.

  She narrows her eyes. “Now I really hate you.”

  As I steal a glance at Simon, hate is the furthest word from my mind. The four-letter word that’s now front and center is work.

  Tomorrow night, he’ll be working late. Which means I can snag a few minutes when he comes home just with him. I’ve learned to treasure those moments here and there when I get to talk to him, to know him, to learn more about him. The times when it’s only us.

  That’s the funniest thing of all about attraction. It can be so torturous, but you can look forward to it so much. It’s an exquisite kind of torment.

  It can drive you in everything, including how much I’m looking forward to tomorrow night.

  2

  Simon

  * * *

  “Looks like squirrel is on the dinner menu,” Abby calls to me as I leave the bedroom, looping a wine-red tie around my neck.

  “I mentioned he was an inventive chef, but I’m not sure he’s that inventive,” I tease as I round the corner into the kitchen. “Besides, I’m pretty sure I told you it’s a Brazilian restaurant I’m trying to back. Not a rodent one.”

  She shakes her head, her honey-colored hair curling over her shoulders. It’s long and shimmery; sometimes she wears it in a French braid, sometimes in a twisty thing, sometimes in a ponytail, and sometimes down. Not that I’m paying close attention to her hair. I couldn’t tell you she wore it pinned up earlier today when she’d first arrived at my home, and all I could think about was her neck and how her skin might taste if I brushed my lips along the column of her throat. Or that she had it pulled back in a loose ponytail yesterday, making her look younger and even prettier. Or how the day before that she ran a hand through her wild, wavy hair and I couldn’t help but wonder how those soft strands felt to touch.

  No, I don’t notice every little detail about Abby Becker. Not at all.

  “I’m talking about the eagles. You already forgot about the eagles?” She points to the screen of her iPad as I join her at the kitchen counter, adjusting the silk knot of my tie.

  “I could never forget the eagles,” I say, and it’s true. I’ve checked them out a couple of times during the last few days, though Abby’s done most of the eagle viewing. She’s a tiny bit obsessed with nature documentaries. I don’t mean obsessed in a bad way. They’re her thing, and so they’ve become Hayden’s thing, since Abby spends so much time with her, taking care of her when I work. Last week, Abby discovered a webcam the American Bald Eagle Association had focused on a pair of bald eagle mates in a nest high up in a poplar tree in the National Arboretum in Washington D.C. Two baby eagles hatched a few days ago, and Abby and Hayden have been logging in regularly, watching the mom as she sits on the tiny birds, as she grooms them, and as she feeds them.

  “Mr. Eagle usually brings fish deliveries, but tonight he brought Mrs. Eagle a squirrel,” Abby says, her amber-flecked eyes sparkling with excitement.

  “Must be a special night. Because you know the saying?”

  “Which one is that?”

  “Nothing says true love like a squirrel.”

  “It’s the complete and absolute proof of his devotion,” she says with a laugh. “I took a screenshot to show Hayden in the morning.”

  On the tablet, a huge bald eagle is feeding her two babies, tugging at the meat between her claws with her beak and dropping it in hungry mouths. It’s ridiculously adorable and completely badass at the same time. Hayden will love it. She conked out early tonight. Another swimming lesson late in the day did the trick, sending her to the land of nod ahead of schedule.

  “This is Mother Nature at its finest, capturing these animals doing their thing.” Abby parks her chin in her hand and watches the evening feast in the poplar tree, wonder in her eyes. I lean closer. My shoulder is next to hers, a mere sliver of space between us. No, this is not the fulfillment of all my dreams about Abby, but I can’t deny that being this near to her is borderline arousing. Could be because it’s been a while. Could be because she smells like vanilla and sunshine. But it could also be because I’ve been wildly in lust with her for precisely seven months longer than I should.

  It was kind of a first-day thing for me. Wish I could say otherwise, but that’s the truth. Insta-lust. Trouble is, it’s morphed into a helluva lot more than lust in all this time she
’s spent in my home, with my family, with my kid.

  Admiration. Fondness. The real deal.

  It’s turned into exactly what I cannot have.

  A big thing for the nanny.

  If I could roll my eyes at myself, I would. Maybe even kick myself. But I can’t, so I zone in on the screen instead.

  The mama eagle drops a piece of food into one eaglet’s beak, then the other.

  “I guess we call that mouth-to-mouth squirrel delivery, and it is pretty awesome,” I say, because you’d have to be heartless not to find this webcam footage fascinating. The big bird gathers the babies underneath her when the feast is over, keeping them warm. I point to the uneaten portion of the dinner. “They have enough left over for a few more meals. She should really put that in Tupperware.”

  “I’m sure Mr. Eagle is at the market, picking some up right now. It’s important to keep it fresh,” she says in mock seriousness. Then she turns to me. “Want me to let you know when they go back for seconds?”

  “Absolutely. Please send me a full report on the next eaglet feeding.” I look at my wristwatch. “I need to head to my dinner. I should be back by eleven.”

  “If you need to stay later to entertain Gabriel, it’s totally fine. I have a book, and my Italian app to work through,” she says, tapping her iPad. She already speaks four languages and is learning a fifth. When I interviewed her for the job, she told me she spent her junior year of college in Barcelona on a study abroad program. She grew up knowing Spanish, but wanted to master it, and she has. She offered to teach some basics to Hayden, and now my daughter is picking up a few new phrases. That’s one of the many perks of working with someone like Abby.

  “I’ll definitely be back on time,” I say, because I don’t want this dinner with the hot new chef everyone is wooing to last forever, and because I need to be considerate of Abby’s time. She works full-time for me, since I have primary custody of my daughter.