by Lili Valente
Table of Contents
Title Page
All Rights Reserved
About the Book
Dedication
PROLOGUE ONE
PROLOGUE TWO
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
EPILOGUE ONE
EPILOGUE TWO
Sneak Peek
Acknowledgements
Tell Lili your favorite part!
About the Author
Also By Lili Valente
INCREDIBLE YOU
A Sexy Flirty Dirty
Standalone Romance
By Lili Valente
All Rights Reserved
Copyright Incredible You © 2016 Lili Valente
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 the copyright owner. This erotic 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 e-book is licensed for your personal use only. This e-book 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 hot, sexy, emotional romantic comedies featuring 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. Cover design by Bootstrap Designs. Editorial services provided by Help Me Edit.
About the Book
From the USA Today Bestselling author of Magnificent Bastard comes a sexy, flirty, dirty standalone…on ice.
They say Jake “The Dragon” Falcone earned his nickname by setting fire to the ice his first season in the NHL. But just between us ladies, I’m pretty sure he earned it for the dragon in his pants.
From my first hug as his fake girlfriend, it’s clear he’s packing below the belt. After a few fake dates I realize he’s packing…everywhere. Heart, brains, sex-vibe, a killer sense of humor-Jake is everything I’ve ever wanted in a man.
He’s also my client and OFF LIMITS. Oh, and he has a crazy ex who’s out for my blood.
I should steer clear, and I would, if my dragon weren’t so completely incredible…
***
The name sounded like a joke. Who in his right mind wants a “Miraculous Mess” running damage control on his f*cked up love life?
But by the time I leave her apartment on day one, I’m hooked on this sexy blonde. I want all of her, from the smart mouth that makes me smile to the wounded heart I know I can heal.
But can a Madison Avenue princess and a man from the wrong side of the tracks live happily ever after?
Warning: Incredible You is a standalone romantic comedy told from both the hero and heroine’s point of view.
Dedicated to my Incredible Husband,
who is lightning on the ice, but
was willing to move to Hawaii with me, anyway.
Love always and forever, babes…
PROLOGUE ONE
From the text archives of
Sebastian “Bash” Prince and Shane Willoughby
Bash: Hey gorgeous, just checking in to make sure you’ll be at poker night tomorrow. I have a proposition I want to run by you while I’m taking your money…
Shane: Hmm…
Well, you know I love poker night, but that sounds a little ominous…
Bash: Nah, not ominous.
Portentous, maybe.
Or delicious.
Or some other word that ends in “shus” that means fun, sexy things. I think you’re going to love what I have in mind!
Shane: Oh God…
You aren’t going to ask me to have a ménage with you and Penny are you?
Bash: Fuck no!
Jesus!
No!
I’m a one-woman man. And Penny would cut my dick off if she even thought that I was thinking about thinking about something like that.
Which I never would.
EVER.
Shane: Oh, good. So glad to hear that!
I mean, Penny’s a hottie, but you’re not really my type, pumpkin. ;)
Bash: Ha ha.
Christ, you actually made me blush.
I can’t remember the last time I blushed.
Penny just asked me why I’m all pink and now she’s laughing her ass off. She wanted to be the one to reach out to you about this, but I said I could handle it.
Thanks for proving me wrong, Willoughby.
Shane: My pleasure!
So what are you reaching out about? Now I’m really intrigued…
Bash: You’re a mess is what you are.
And that’s why you’re perfect for this job. I’m in need of a Gorgeous Mess…
Shane: A Gorgeous Mess…
Bash: Yes, a Gorgeous Mess, capable of taking a misunderstood man in desperate need of an image makeover and transforming him into a media darling. All while scaring off the ex-girlfriend determined to ruin his good name, and maybe faking a pregnancy if things get really dire. But that’s only if stage one doesn’t go as planned.
Shane: Faking a pregnancy? What the heck are you…
Oh, no.
No, way.
You’re not saying you want me to…
Bash: Work for me? Yes! Yes, I am.
I have a Magnificent Bastard and a Spectacular Rascal, but I don’t have a Gorgeous Mess, Shane. In fact, I don’t have a single woman on the intervention side of things in the event that a male client approaches me in desperate need of our particular brand of assistance.
Shane: Oh my God. I don’t know whether to be flattered or horrified.
Bash: Be intrigued! And excited! You’ll be wonderful.
Shane: But I already have a job!
Bash: Not a full time job. You said yourself that your aunt’s charity practically runs itself.
Shane: Sometimes it does, but sometimes I’m very busy raising funds and throwing benefits and changing lives.
Bash: Which is what you’ll be doing for me! You’ll be changing l
ives—or at least one man’s life. The guy really needs your help.
He’s like a big, sad puppy. A big, sad, sexy puppy.
(Penny told me to add the sexy part so you would know that spending a few weeks making out with the dude won’t be any hardship on your part. And it’ll put a cool ten grand in your pocket! You can’t beat that.)
Shane: I don’t need ten grand, Bash. You know my aunt left me a very ahem comfortable inheritance.
Bash: So give the ten grand to charity!
It’s the work that counts, doll. The good work on behalf of a deserving soul who has the right to go about his business without having his good name ruined by a spiteful nightmare of a person who thinks a man ending a relationship is grounds for her to set a bomb off in the middle of his life.
And who knows, you might even have fun!
Dating an NHL star comes with certain perks. I’m sure he can get you season tickets, at the very least. Or maybe a monogrammed hat. Or mittens. You like mittens, right? I mean, who doesn’t like mittens? They make you feel like a kid again!
Shane: He’s a professional hockey player? You’re kidding.
Bash: I’m not.
Shane: But not for the Rangers, though. Some other team?
Bash: No, he’s with the Rangers. Why, are you an Islanders fan?
Shane: No, I’m just…
You wouldn’t by any stretch of the imagination be talking about Jake “the Dragon” Falcone, would you?
Bash: I am. But I swear everything you’ve been reading about him is a pack of lies. The guy is innocent.
Shane: snort Like hell he is.
Bash: No, seriously, Shane.
I mean, yes, he’s banged his share of starlets and supermodels, but I verified his side of this particular story myself. After what happened with Aidan and the mob, I’m taking background checks on the clients very seriously these days.
Jake is being framed. He’s a good guy and he really needs our help.
I don’t think he has anywhere else to turn…
Shane: You’re laying it on pretty thick, Prince.
Bash: The guy is really devastated, Shane. (This is Penny, by the way.)
I just wanted to let you know that I think you would do an amazing job with this intervention and really make a difference in this man’s life.
But if you need to say no, I understand. We’ll just have to tell him we can’t help him and wish him luck finding someone else who specializes in taking down evil ex-girlfriends. I’m sure he’ll be able to find someone out there like that.
I mean, I’ve never heard of anyone who does what we do here at MBC, but…
Shane: Fine! Ugh! I’m helpless against the double guilt-trip.
I’ll do it. You can fill me in on all the details over cards tomorrow.
Bash: Thank you, Shane! Thank you so much. We really appreciate this. And you’re going to have some extra good karma coming your way, Babes.
Shane: Yeah, yeah. Make that a bottle of really nice scotch waiting for me at my poker spot. Scotch goes down easier than karma.
Bash: Done!
Shane: Oh, and Bash. I want my name to be the Miraculous Mess.
Bash: Gorgeous wasn’t alliterative enough for you?
Shane: No.
Because to get “the Dragon” out of the public relations shit pit he’s in, I’m going to have to be a fucking miracle worker.
PROLOGUE TWO
A little something from
Shane “Miraculous Mess” Willoughby
Dearest Reader,
Hello! Hi! How are you? Good, I hope…
Yes, you. Sorry!
I know… I’m not what you were expecting, am I? Especially if you’ve read Bash and Aidan’s stories. You came here for dick lit, and here I am bringing the chick, full force.
And I’m all chick, I’m afraid. I’m not one of those women who can rock the gender-neutral look, or who has a well-developed masculine side. I get my nails done every week, have a deep and abiding love for the color pink, and always ask for the super fluffy, sex-kitten styling at the blow out bar. (I think the look is actually called The Sex Kitten in that book they give you when you sit down to order. See? I have no shame.)
I also have no idea how to fix a garbage disposal or much of anything else that breaks, am mind-numbingly bored by ESPN and all other typically male forms of television, prefer to have someone with larger muscles lift heavy things for me, and consider camping a bug-spray-scented form of torture. I have been known to kill roaches and relocate spiders on my own with a minimum of squealing, but that’s only because I live alone and as a vet I feel obligated to project a calm, capable aura around non-human creatures—even insects and arachnids.
I realize a lot of this may be the result of gender-normative conditioning impressed on me by society, or a by-product of being raised by a woman old enough to be my grandmother, but I can’t help it. I am who I am. I am woman, hear me roar, except if I’m at a charity function and then hear me speak softly and keep my legs crossed at the ankles.
That’s why, before we get started, I wanted to apologize for any confusion. I know it might feel strange to have a woman heading things up at this point in the game.
Believe me, it was a surprise for me, too. When I thought about taking time off from running my aunt’s charitable trust, I imagined going back to work part time as a vet. Maybe starting a non-profit clinic to help spay and neuter feral cats, or address the problem of dog-on-dog violence in the city. You wouldn’t think New York City is a place where you would need to guard your teacup Chihuahua against attacks by packs of wild, feral dogs, but you would be wrong.
It’s a jungle out there, and not even the biggest and the baddest among us are immune to the danger.
That’s why I took this job for Magnificent Bastard Consulting—get revenge on your ex or your money back. Jake “the Dragon” Falcone may be a professional hockey player with a body built for tossing boulders up mountains, and legs thick enough to snap defensive guards in two with one flex of his manly thighs, but sometimes even a dragon needs a princess to help him get out of trouble.
Look at Game of Thrones! Where would those dragons be without their Khaleesi?
If you’re not a Game of Thrones fan, just imagine a warrior princess riding a fire-breathing dragon into battle against her enemies, silver hair streaking behind her in the wind, woman and beast united in the common cause of teaching the bad guys not to fuck with people under their protection. Soak in the pure bad-assery of that image and stand up a little straighter. If that doesn’t make you excited to be a woman—no matter how you feel about the color pink or Sports Center—I don’t know what will.
Yes, Game of Thrones is fantasy, but real life women are so much stronger than people give us credit for.
Every time I hear a man call someone a “pussy,” inferring weakness and a lack of determination, I want to stomp over and remind that asshole that pussies give birth. Pussies bring new life into the world in a flood of pain and blood and sheer freaking heroism. Pussies are the original warriors—fierce, flexible, life-and-pleasure-giving masterpieces of design that should be given all the respect.
If I were the supreme ruler of the world, every man who had ever used the term “pussy” to degrade another person would be forced to dress in pink robes and make daily offerings to a statue of Aphrodite snuggling a kitten that I would build in Central Park. I would also institute a three day weekend—annexing Monday into the fun so it doesn’t have to be the most hated day of the week anymore—consign Internet trolls to my real life dungeon until they complete a course in Not Being a Cowardly Suck Ass Bully, and provide free medical care to every creature great and small, because no one should ever suffer or die because they can’t afford medicine.
Unfortunately, however, I am not the supreme ruler of the world—I really would give the post my best, however, so if Earth is in an alien invasion type situation and we’re looking for someone to take point, I encourage you to Vote Wi
lloughby for Benevolent Overlord. I’m just one woman with a better-than-average grasp on interpersonal dynamics and enough time on my hands that my friends Bash and Penny were able to guilt trip me into helping a bad boy with anger management issues turn his life around.
But Bash is deluding himself if he thinks I’m going to trust that this “dragon” is a harmless, fluffy, baby bunny simply because my new boss says so. I’m going to do this intervention my way and conduct my own analysis of the situation before hitching a ride into battle on Jake Falcone’s shoulders.
I learned to stop mistaking other people’s promises for truth a long time ago, when my trauma therapist told me that I would be “back to normal” by the first anniversary of my parents’ death. Of course I wasn’t back to normal. I haven’t seen “normal” since October fifteenth, three days before my tenth birthday, when I lost my mom and dad, two of the best friends I’ve ever had.
But then normal is overrated, don’t you think?
Normal people second guess their gut and put off for tomorrow what should be done today. But I’ve seen how quickly life can be stolen away, how you can suddenly and forever run out of time to say the things you need to say, or to be the person you want to be. Time is a line of brightly colored scarves pulled from a magician’s pocket—seemingly endless, until the moment the show’s over and you realize in a bittersweet rush that you’ve wasted your time watching when you should have been doing, speaking, learning, loving…
Before it was too late.
I’m thirty-two years old, ten years younger than my mother was when she died, and I haven’t come close to living all of the life I want to live or doing all the things I want to do. And I’m not going to waste one second of my precious time with a man who doesn’t deserve an intervention.
