Part-Time Lover
Page 1
Part-Time Lover
Lauren Blakely
Contents
Copyright
Also By Lauren Blakely
About Part-Time Lover
Author’s Note
1. Elise
2. Christian
3. Elise
4. Christian
5. Elise
6. Elise
7. Christian
8. Christian
9. Elise
10. Christian
11. Elise
12. Elise
13. Elise
14. Elise
15. Christian
16. Christian
17. Christian
18. Elise
19. Elise
20. Christian
21. Elise
22. Elise
23. Elise
24. Christian
25. Elise
26. Elise
27. Christian
28. Elise
29. Christian
30. Elise
31. Elise
32. Christian
33. Elise
34. Elise
35. Christian
36. Elise
37. Christian
38. Elise
39. Christian
Epilogue
Another Epilogue
And One More Epilogue
Also by Lauren Blakely
Acknowledgments
Contact
Copyright
Copyright © 2018 by Lauren Blakely
LaurenBlakely.com
Cover Design by © Helen Williams
Photo: Rafa Catala
* * *
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 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. 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
Big Rock Series
* * *
Big Rock
Mister O
Well Hung
Full Package
Joy Ride
Hard Wood
* * *
One Love Series dual-POV Standalones
The Sexy One
The Only One
The Hot One
* * *
Sports Romances
Most Valuable Playboy
Most Likely to Score
* * *
Standalones
* * *
The Knocked Up Plan
Stud Finder
The V Card
Wanderlust
Come As You Are
Part-Time Lover
The Real Deal (July 2018)
Unbreak My Heart (August 2018)
Far Too Tempting
21 Stolen Kisses
Playing With Her Heart
Out of Bounds
* * *
The Heartbreakers Series
Once Upon A Real Good Time (Fall 2018)
Once Upon A Sure Thing (Fall 2018)
Once Upon A Wild Fling (Fall 2018)
* * *
The Caught Up in Love Series
Caught Up In Us
Pretending He’s Mine
Trophy Husband
Stars in Their Eyes
* * *
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)
* * *
The Joy Delivered Duet
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 Part-Time Lover
I’ll say this about Christian — he made one hell of a first impression. When I first saw the strapping man, he was doing handstands naked on a dock along the canal. His crown jewels were far more entertaining than anything else I’d seen on the boat tour, so I did what any curious woman would do — I took his photo. I might have looked at the shot a few dozen times. Little did I know I’d meet him again, a year later, at a secret garden bar in the heart of the city, where I’d learn that his mind and his mouth were even more captivating. But given the way my heart had been trampled, I wanted only a simple deal — No strings. No expectations.
* * *
Our arrangement worked well enough until the day I needed a lot more from him…
* * *
***
* * *
Let me just say, this whole part-time lover thing was her idea. I’d have gone all-in from the start, but hey, when a gorgeous, brilliant woman invites you into her bed, and only her bed…well, I said yes.
* * *
But then, one hysterical phone call from my brother later, begging me to find myself a wife so grandfather’s business stays in the family, and I need a promotion with Elise. Turns out a full-time husband suits her needs too, and a temporary marriage of convenience ought to do the trick, until we can simply untie the knot…
* * *
As long as no one finds out…
As long as no one gets hurt…
As long as no one falls in love…
* * *
But our ending was one I never saw coming.
Author’s Note
Hello! If you’ve already read the prequel, ALMOST LOVER, go ahead and skip to chapter 5! If you haven’t read Almost Lover, dive into chapter 1!
1
Elise
A year ago
* * *
Something about the last night in a foreign city makes you want to do crazy things. You want to drink it all in and taste every single dish on the menu. After all, tomorrow you’ll be gone.
Left with only memories.
The last night is the last stop on the merry-go-round of memory-making.
The last afternoon is too, and as the sun careens mercilessly toward the horizon, it’s a
reminder that I need to jam everything in.
“Do you feel like going a little bit wild?” I ask Veronica.
She wiggles her eyebrows. “If you mean day drinking, we’ve already done that.”
I wag my finger as we stroll down the middle of a cobbled street. “One glass of wine at lunch does not constitute day drinking.”
“No? That seems the very definition.”
I link an arm through hers. “One glass is simply a beverage at lunch. The meter doesn’t start on day drinking until you hit two glasses, silly goose.”
“How good to know the scale for lushness,” she says drily as she stops to stare at a handbag in the Prada store window.
I give her a few seconds to worship at the altar of designer goods. “In any case, I was thinking we ought to do something we’ve never done before.”
She snaps her gaze from the far-too-expensive leather item she’ll never buy and presses a hand demurely to her chest, batting her hazel eyes innocently. “I’m not that kind of girl.”
I laugh. “As if.”
“I know. You like your sausage too much.”
“As do you. You’re practically a butcher,” I say as we sidestep a pair of strapping, chiseled blond men, who look like twin models for Scandinavian Design’s "Catalog of Men—Denmark.” Their blue eyes linger on both of us, and one smiles and offers a confident, “Hello.”
“Hello to you too,” I say with a grin.
They continue in their direction and we head in ours. “Should we wander down the streets and say hello to random hot men?” Veronica offers.
“I don’t think that’s a bad idea, but no, that’s not my notion of wild.”
This urge to have one wild night is in complete contrast to the purpose of the three-days-in-Copenhagen getaway Veronica insisted I needed.
It’s been a year since . . .
I shake away the dark thought.
Anniversaries of horrible days require trips. And day drinking. And refocusing on things that you control.
“If I want to explore the travel sector more at work, I need to know even more about this city, so I can advertise it better. What if we take one of those buffet boat tours?”
She laughs. “What’s a buffet boat tour?”
“A buffet of landmarks. All-your-eyes-can-eat.” As we near the wide square at the end of the block, I point to the red booth advertising canal tours. I play my ace. “It’s like a crash course in Copenhagen, and we’ll make sure we haven’t missed a single thing. It’ll help me win new business. You know I need to focus on work.”
She smiles in understanding. “Anything for you when you prey on my sympathies.” She marches up to the fire-engine-red booth and purchases two tickets for the next tour, then we head down the concrete steps to the boat.
The blond guide with shoulder-length hair flashes a bright smile as we step onboard, his name tag glinting in the afternoon sun. “Good afternoon, ladies.”
“Lars, she’s no lady.” Veronica points to me and winks.
“Ladies or not, you’re both welcome on my ship as long as you promise to enjoy the sights.”
“We will. Also, you’re handsome, Lars.” Veronica is a shameless flirt.
“Thank you very much, and I’ll enjoy the sights as well.” It seems Lars is a flirt too. His blue-eyed gaze lingers on my friend with the hourglass figure and pretty eyes as we take our seats.
We wait for the boat to fill, but only a handful of others join us. An older couple sports cameras around their necks and matching I Heart Copenhagen backpacks. There is also a gaggle of twenty-something women wearing college sweatshirts and some Japanese tourists.
I lean back in the cushioned seat, dropping my sunglasses to shield my eyes as the boat peels away from the dock. As we slide over the placid water, Lars regales us with tales of royal families and scandals, pointing out the city’s sights. I lean closer to Veronica and whisper, “Will you pick up where you left off with the handsome boat captain?”
Lars suffers from an affliction common to many men in Denmark. He’s a cut above average in the looks department. Let the record reflect, the Danes make the best-looking men.
“Of course. I’m going to talk to him when the tour ends.”
“Excellent. I love your planning skills.”
The boat slides under another bridge then motors through a more residential area, passing homes on the water and private docks every few feet. My eyes hungrily eat up the view. My current hometown of Paris is my love, but I could get used to weekends in Copenhagen. It’s a delightful mix of old and new, like a Swiss alpine town mated with a futuristic sky-rise city.
As I gaze at the sun-soaked homes, I imagine lazy afternoons drinking strong coffee on the deck, reading delicious tales under the rays. That seems like a recipe for happiness for the rest of my days.
I want to feel that way. Happy. It’s been so damn elusive lately, and for a fleeting moment, it feels as if I grasp it again, so I’m no longer teetering on the edge of grief and shame.
But that’s why I’m here, to move past that terrible duet.
I try valiantly to simply enjoy everything in front of me: the buildings, the water, the view.
As we round the bend in the canal, I blink at the view.
Holy hell, the unexpected view.
Nearby is a private dock.
On that dock is a man.
He’s performing a downward-facing dog, and his rear is facing us.
What a spectacular ass.
It’s not covered in sweatpants or basketball shorts.
It’s au naturel, as finely sculpted as the statue of David.
He’s a dog all right.
I sit up.
I practically stand. I lean on the edge of the boat, agog. I won’t even pretend I’m not looking. I’m ogling.
The Japanese friends whisper and point. The couple shifts closer to get a better look. The college girls titter and laugh.
We slide along on the calm water, and now we’re fifty feet away from a sight way better than the Little Mermaid statue, more magnificent than the royal palace.
He bends forward, pressing his palms into the wood, lifting his legs, and flipping them upside down.
Full. Frontal. Birthday suit.
He’s a tall drink of man, and I’m so very thirsty.
“Look,” I whisper to Veronica, though of course she’s already engaged in the fine art of gawking. “Did you know the Mad Naked Handstander of Copenhagen was on the tour?”
She sighs contentedly. “I am so glad you forced me to go to the buffet.” She parks her chin in her hands, watching the tall upside-down creature.
“My favorite part of the buffet is dessert,” I say, as my eyes gobble him up.
This man wears nudity well, even in this unusual position.
“I enjoyed the rubies and emeralds in Rosenborg Castle, but I like these crown jewels even better,” I say.
And hey, perhaps I’m perving, but I’m an equal-opportunity spectator at this private dock show. I don’t merely peer at the centerpiece of his physique, resting majestically against the grooves of his abs. My eyes take a most happy stroll up and down his carved body, from the planes of his stomach, to his strong thighs, to his arms ripped with muscles. His face is hard to read at 180 degrees, but I see the shape of his cheekbones, carved by angels.
Then, he moves. He walks on his hands. Back and forth.
Like he’s performing.
Showing off his most unique skill set.
I chuckle louder.
Then louder still when he holds himself up on one hand only, waving to us.
“What a show-off,” Veronica says.
Lars clears his throat. “And sometimes, we see the unexpected sights of Copenhagen.”
I do what any curious onlooker might do. I grab my phone and snap.
Snap.
Snap.
The man stands, takes a bow, and waves.
My chest heats up. The temperature in me flirts with m
ercury levels. He’s a stunner. My God, he’s like Skarsgård, from this distance.
And because I believe in speaking my mind, I cup my hand over my mouth and shout, “Bravo. All of it.”
He doffs an imaginary top hat and takes a bow. “My pleasure.” His voice booms across the water, his accent a British one.
Sparks unexpectedly race down my chest. That accent is delicious. “Oh no. The pleasure is truly all mine.”
His lips curve up in a smile. A wickedly handsome one. “Then meet me tonight at Jane!”
Veronica nudges me. “That’s a club. Say yes. Say it now.” Her voice is marked with urgency as we glide away from the dock.
“You’re insane,” I whisper.
“This is the wild thing to do. Not a boat ride.”