Newly-single attorney Gwen Cooper’s list of things that make her happy is pretty simple:
1. her teenage sons
2. her stilettos
3. finally taking control of her own life
While texting the first on the list to warn them she’s missed her flight home, she plows into a hot-shot movie star, has a lukewarm latte dumped down her blouse, and snaps a heel off item number two. When the actor shows up at the hotel bearing an apology of replacement Louboutins, she should be wondering how he got her room number. Instead, she’s simmering over his well-tailored suit and conjuring more sinful ways for him to make things up to her. And why not? The notorious bachelor is the perfect guy to kick off her post-divorce fantasies of no strings attached. Ever again.
Blake Donovan claimed Hollywood’s top spot by playing the self-centered bad boy his manager and publicist created. Lonely as it is, he’s long since accepted the image he portrays to the world. Until the gorgeous lawyer pegs the man behind the façade in minutes flat. After the hottest one night stand in history, he tracks her down in hopes of a repeat performance. And the encore has him craving far more than being tied up in her strings.
Blake will have to step into the role of a lifetime—himself—in order to convince Gwen that taking a chance on him won’t mean giving up on number three.
Heat licked at my ear, or it could have been his tongue. Things were starting to go a little numb from all the closeness so I couldn't tell.
"I'm forty." Great, my weight, my age. Apparently none of my feminine secrets were safe around him. The later it got, the more my nerves kicked in. I so wanted to be that girl. The one who could throw out all reason and go for it. But this was Blake Donovan, or Donovan. Or whatever.
"I'm forty-one." The vibration of his words touched my lips. "But not helpless. Yet."
My back hit the door and I automatically reached to his arms, rumpling the pressed suit in my fists. I'd used that word, helpless. Was he offering permission?
He pressed hard into me, running the tip of his finger over my collarbone, down, stopping just before sliding into my cleavage. "And this old dog is dying for some new tricks."
Oh God, he was offering. It was my chance to live out my fantasy. In so many ways.
"That's the thing about men and women of a certain age." I shoved his jacket to his elbows, flicking my tongue across his chin, nipping it, kissing. No longer giving a damn about the what-ifs. Or consequences. It was all about the right freaking now. "I'm in my prime and you're on your downward spiral."
"Oh, you're wrong." He dropped his arms to let the jacket fall to the floor then slid his warm hands inside my robe, gliding until they clasped behind my back. He swung us around so he was against the door then pulled me into his hard frame. "So very, very wrong."
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