PRAISE FOR THAT MAN
“Funny, sexy, perfection. Equal parts Tangled and Beautiful Bastard.”
—Adriane Leigh, USA Today Bestselling Author
“Not only is Blakemeister back, but he’s on fire!! . . . I cannot believe how even more beyond uniquely quirky, smooth, and honestly in a class of its own L’Amour’s writing style is.”
—A is For Alpha, B is for Books Blog
“The THAT MAN series keeps getting better and better, funnier and sexier. Bravo, Nelle! No wonder this series is a runaway success!”
—Arianne Richmonde, USA Today Bestselling Author
“Blake Burns . . . the most funny and charming boyfriend next to Andrew Parrish and Drew Evans”
—Bedtime Reads
“Mr. Burns is the epitome of sex on a stick. Irresistible and naughty. Perfection! And get ready to die of laughter too.”
—G The Book Diva Blog
“THAT MAN has everything readers could want. A funny and sexy read. Phenomenal!”
—The Fairest of All Book Reviews
“This is a 5-star book in a 5-star series and is sure to make you melt. Blake Burns lights up the pages with his Alpha attitude. He’ll leave you screaming, ‘MORE!’”
—Random Musesomy
Be prepared for another hot, sexy, and humorous read.”
—Love Between the Sheets Book Blog
“The chemistry between Blake and Jennifer is so hot your Kindle will melt.”
—SubClub Books
“Is it possible to love Blake even more than I did? A resounding YES!”
—Goodreads Reviewer
“Nelle L’Amour’s writing is the perfect mixture of sexy dialogue, relatable characters, and laugh out-loud moments. Get ready to fall in love with THAT MAN all over again.”
—Vanessa Booke, USA Today Bestselling Author
Copyright © 2020 by Nelle L’Amour
Kindle Edition
All rights reserved worldwide
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to events, locales, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is purely coincidental.
No part of this ebook may be reproduced, uploaded to the Internet, or copied without permission from the author. The author respectfully asks that you please support artistic expression and help promote anti-piracy efforts by purchasing a copy of this ebook at the authorized online outlets.
Nelle L’Amour thanks you for your understanding and support.
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Cover by Arijana Karčić/CoverIt Designs
Proofreading by Virgina Tesi Carey
Formatting by BB eBooks
BOOKS BY NELLE L’AMOUR
Secrets and Lies
Sex, Lies & Lingerie
Sex, Lust & Lingerie
Sex, Love & Lingerie
Unforgettable
Unforgettable Book 1
Unforgettable Book 2
Unforgettable Book 3
THAT MAN Series
THAT MAN 1
THAT MAN 2
THAT MAN 3
THAT MAN 4
THAT MAN 5
THAT MAN 6
THAT MAN 7
THAT MAN 8
Alpha Billionaire Duet
TRAINWRECK 1
TRAINWRECK 2
Love Duet
Undying Love
Endless Love
A Standalone Romantic Comedy
Baby Daddy
A Second Chance Romantic Suspense Standalone
Remember Me
An OTT Insta-love Standalone
The Big O
A Romance Compilation
Naughty Nelle
Dedicated to my fur baby Pepper, who gives me great joy every second of the day.
An in remembrance of Pokey, Luna, and Inky, who will live in my heart forever.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Praise for THAT MAN
Copyright Page
Books by Nelle L’Amour
Dedication
Epigraph
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
Chapter 28
A Note from Blake
A Note from Nelle
Acknowledgments
Books by Nelle L’Amour
About the Author
On my honor, I will do my best
To do my duty to God and my country and to obey the Scout Law;
To help other people at all times;
To keep myself physically strong, mentally awake, and morally straight.
—The Scout Oath
Chapter 1
Jennifer
Click.
“Blake, do you hear that?” I whispered, fear creeping into my bones. My heart pounded against my ribs. And my chest constricted.
Just home from our amazing trip to Scotland, in time for my twenty-sixth birthday, I’d tossed and turned for hours, unable to fall asleep. I was suffering from jet lag. I anxiously glanced at the clock on my nightstand—it was only ten p.m., but in Scotland, it was six o’clock in the morning. Almost time to wake up.
I heard another barely audible click. It sounded like it was coming from the door to our condo—like the deadbolt was unlocking. Someone was trying to break in! I was positive!
“Blake!” I repeated, my voice rising over his light snoring. He was sound asleep, his chest gently rising and falling. I swear my husband could sleep through a 9.0 earthquake unlike me, who was a light sleeper because of the deep-seated anxiety I still harbored. Someone had tried to rape me when I was in college, and that someone—a deranged game show producer—had tried to kill me shortly after I joined Conquest Broadcasting and would have had Blake not shown up—just in the nick of time—and stopped him. Don Springer was out of my life for good and while I’d gone into therapy after the harrowing life and death experience and taken a self-defense course, I was still traumatized by the slightest disturbance.
“Blake, wake up!!” I said in my loudest hushed voice, nudging his shoulder.
He shifted in the bed, pulling the duvet up to his chin. “What’s going on?” he murmured, his voice groggy and his eyes still glued shut.
“Listen! Do you hear that?” I repeated. The rattling sound was unmistakable. The front door had been opened. “Someone’s in the house!” Panic in my voice, I bolted upright. A cold shudder skated down my spine.
Consciousness slowly filled Blake. His long-lashed eyelids fluttered, then blinked open. His irises glowed midnight blue in the darkness. Shoving the covers down, he pushed himself up to a sitting position.
Neither of us said another word. Light footsteps thudded in our ears, followed by the clatter of drawers and cabinets slamming open and shut. The frightening reality finally sank into my husband. Wearing not a stitch of clothing, he jumped out of bed. My eyes trained on his magnificently sculpted body—those gorgeous rock-hard glute
s and long muscular legs—as he hurried to his walk-in closet.
“Blake, what are you doing?”
“Shh! Be quiet and stay still! I’m getting a weapon!”
A weapon? Given that we lived in a luxury, high-security doorman building, we didn’t keep a gun in the apartment. Even after the incident at my former duplex. The closest thing we had was the set of butcher knives in the kitchen. And my pepper spray, which was likewise in the kitchen in my backpack. But those weren’t going to help.
My heart beating double time, I watched as Blake flung the closet door open and re-emerged with a long stick in one hand, the other gripped around a small object I couldn’t discern.
“What are you holding?”
“My Little League baseball bat!” He held it up, flexing his pronounced bicep as he brandished it, and then tossed me the small object. With a thump, it landed on the bed close to me.
“W-what’s this?” I stammered, reaching for the small shiny object.
“My Swiss Army Boy Scout knife.”
Under normal circumstances, I would have playfully challenged my husband’s claim to being a Boy Scout—Boy Scout’s honor—but this was hardly the time. Our lives were in danger.
“Hold on to it and call 911!” Gripping the bat, he tiptoed toward our bedroom door.
“Blake, I’m scared! Be careful!”
He disappeared. Without wasting a second, I grabbed my phone and called 911.
Chapter 2
Blake
My heart beat like a jackrabbit’s as I stealthily crept down the dark hallway that led to the living room. Every nerve was on edge, every sense on high alert. More footsteps thudded in the near distance, followed by the clamor of dishes and silverware. We were definitely being robbed!
Breathing in and out of my nose, I gripped my bat tighter, willing myself to stay rational and in the moment. My mind swam with questions and worst-case scenarios. What if the burglar had a knife or a gun? What if he attacked me? Took me by surprise? And maybe there were two of them! More than anything, I hoped my tiger, whom I loved more than life itself—the woman I would slay dragons for—would be safe. Then, an unsettling afterthought hit me. Shit. I forgot to tell her to lock the bedroom door, but now it was too late. Naked as I was, I mentally donned my red cape. I was That Man, her superhero and protector.
In my head, I formed a plan of attack. The room pitch black, I would sneak up on the perpetrator and before he had a chance to hear or see me, I’d bash him over the head with the bat . . . or take a swing at him if he dared to make a move on me. Either way, knock him out cold, kick in his balls for good measure, and then tie him up, waiting for the police to arrive. Fingers crossed they were already on the way and soon sirens would be wailing in my ears.
Armed with my bat and my plan, I tried to steady my shaky breaths as I stepped foot into the living room. Suddenly, the overhead lights flashed on. I blinked once and let out a startled scream.
And so did she!
Chapter 3
Blake
“Blakela! Vhat are you doing vith that baseball bat?”
“Grandma! What are you doing here?”
“Vhat does it look like? I’m making you and Jennifer a nice Shabbat dinner with the leftovers from your parents’ house. Vhat are you doing home? Your father said you veren’t landing until midnight.”
As she continued to set the table in our dining alcove and dole out hefty portions of the brisket and kugel, I explained to her that Jen and I had managed to catch an earlier non-stop flight out of Edinburgh instead of our later one that connected in London.
“Travel shmavel,” she muttered, transferring the remaining brisket into a Tupperware container. “I’ve also got a beautiful challah and some delicious homemade matzo ball soup in my shopping bag. Vant me to heat it up?”
“No thanks, Grandma,” I muttered, still doing a mental reset. “We’ll have it tomorrow.”
“Vhatever. Just don’t let it go to vaste.” She started putting the food away in the fridge. “So, how vas Scotland?”
“It was great,” I replied, leaving out the details of our many sexcapades, including our kinky kilt sex.
“Kenahora! Did you make me some kindela?” Grandma was obsessed with Jen and me having a baby—and making her a great grandmother. She wasn’t aware of the challenges we faced on account of Jen’s partial hysterectomy.
Evading her question, I told her that we brought back kilts for both her and Luigi, her jovial second husband. My personal tailor, who added crotch room to my trousers. Go figure.
Dropping the sensitive subject to my great relief, she informed me that Luigi was waiting for her downstairs in their car. Then, her eyes roamed down my body, and I suddenly realized I was standing stark naked in front of my eighty-five-year-old grandmother! Mortification raced through me as words failed me.
“Bubula, you should put on some pajamas. Your shmekel is going to catch a cold!”
Hastily, I dashed to the sofa and grabbed the needlepoint pillow that Jen had bought me in Scotland and held it against my groin. I looked down at the words stitched into the canvas: It ain’t easy being king. The words rang true.
“So vhere’s Jennifer?” asked Grandma with a dramatic shrug, lifting her palms up.
On cue, Jennifer appeared, her eyes wide with shock until her face relaxed with a smile of relief. My Swiss Army knife in her hand, she was wearing a pair of my polka dot boxer shorts and a tight little T-shirt that I bought her in Scotland with the words: It’s Scot to be good. Her perfectly pert petite tits grazed the thin cotton fabric. She looked adorable! And so fuckable! I was amazed by how fast I’d gone from murderous thoughts to lustful ones. My sexy wife could do that to me.
“Grandma! What are you doing here?” Sauntering toward us, she dropped her would-be assault weapon on our home bar.
I explained that Grandma had come over to deliver a Shabbat meal, not knowing we’d gotten home earlier than expected. Her eyes flitted to the dining table and her face brightened even more.
“Oh, Grandma, that’s so thoughtful of you! Blake and I thought you were a burglar!”
“Burglar, shmurglar!” With a roll of her eyes, she dismissively flicked a hand. “Eat, bubulas, before everything gets cold!”
Just as we were about to sit down, a loud knock sounded at the door. Rap, rap, rap, rap.
“Police! Open up!”
Crap! I’d totally forgotten that I’d asked my tiger to call 911. In my naked state, I stood frozen as a statue, my feet super-glued to the floor.
“I’ll get it,” chirped Jen, already darting to the door. My eyes stayed on her as she swung it open. Three stern, armed cops, two men and a woman, stood at the threshold. A shiver ran down my spine at the sight of their weapons. And then my toes curled as their gaze raked over my naked body. I pressed the pillow tighter against Mr. Burns, as I affectionately called my cock, instinctively protecting him. A heart palpitating mix of fear and embarrassment swept over me.
“Is everything okay here?” asked the staunch female cop, her dark eagle eyes scanning the apartment before returning to me in my naked state. I felt myself flushing, heat crawling to my cheeks. Sheepishly, I wiggled the fingers of my free hand and waved hi.
“Yes, officer,” chimed in Jen. “We thought we had an intruder, but it was just my husband’s grandmother. We’re so sorry for the inconvenience.”
The three cops looked at each other, not letting their guard down.
“Bubulas, vould you like some brisket?” interjected Grandma, totally nonplussed. “There’s more than enough for everyvon!”
The older male cop studied her. “You look familiar.” Then, he rubbed his dimpled chin with a thumb. “Hey, aren’t you on TV?”
Grandma explained she hosted The Sexy Shmexy Book Club. The ever-popular talk show Jen had developed.
The cop’s face lit up. “Holy baloney! My wife loves that show!”
“Mine, too!” beamed the other male cop.
“Me
too!” blurted the lady cop, adding that she’d read every single one of the books they’d discussed.
Five minutes later everything was back to normal. Grandma promised the three police officers signed books and invited them—and a guest—to one of her show tapings. And then, they all left, leaving Jen and me alone.
I let out a deep breath, tossing the pillow back on the couch. “Phew! I’m glad that’s over! If you think about it, that was pretty funny.”
Jen did not return my smile. “If you really think about it, it wasn’t that funny! What if it had been a real burglar? And even worse, what if you hadn’t been here?”
The thought of any harm coming to my tiger rattled me. She had a point. I traveled a lot for business, leaving her alone in the apartment. Often when I was away, her best friend Libby stayed over, but even though Libby was as tough as nails, she wouldn’t stand a chance against a built-like-a-brick-house intruder—armed with a weapon no less. She was as vulnerable as my beloved tiger. Maybe I needed to hire a bodyguard to protect my wife when I went out of town. I made a mental note to have my secretary Mrs. Cho look into one before I was distracted by the scrumptious smell of Grandma’s brisket. My stomach rumbled as my eyes panned to the set table.
“Hey, baby, we’re up and I’m hungry. We might as well eat.”
Jen agreed, and I was thankful she dropped the subject of a home invasion. While she went to fetch a bottle of red wine from our collection, I sat down at the table. Holding a bottle of Rutherford Cabernet and two wineglasses, she joined me and poured us each a glass.
After toasting each other, I turned the subject to our favorite sexy times in Scotland as we devoured the delicious brisket meal. The naughtiest had been an impromptu fuck on the canopied bed of Mary, Queen of Scots, when the castle guards weren’t looking. Eating my tiger’s pussy under her kilt at a local tavern came in a close, hot second. The conversation only made me hungrier. Hungry for my tiger. Gantin for her as the Scots would say. I was still naked as a jaybird and beneath the table, my cock stirred.
THAT MAN 8 Page 1
