My One Week Husband
Lauren Blakely
Little Dog Press
Contents
Also by Lauren Blakely
About
My One Week Husband
1. Scarlett
2. Daniel
3. Scarlett
4. Daniel
5. Scarlett
6. Daniel
7. Scarlett
8. Daniel
9. Scarlett
10. Daniel
11. Scarlett
12. Scarlett
13. Daniel
14. Scarlett
15. Scarlett
16. Daniel
17. Daniel
18. Scarlett
19. Scarlett
20. Daniel
21. Daniel
22. Daniel
23. Scarlett
24. Scarlett
25. Daniel
26. Daniel
27. Daniel
28. Scarlett
29. Daniel
30. Scarlett
31. Daniel
32. Daniel
Epilogue
Final Epilogue
Also by Lauren Blakely
About
Copyright © 2021 by Lauren Blakely
Cover Design by Helen Williams.
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 book is licensed for your personal use only. This 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 sexy 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
Big Rock Series
Big Rock
Mister O
Well Hung
Full Package
Joy Ride
Hard Wood
* * *
First to Score Series
The Virgin Rule Book
The Virgin Game Plan
The Virgin Scorecard
The Virgin Advantage
* * *
The Men of Summer Duet
Scoring With Him
Winning With Him
* * *
The Guys Who Got Away Series
The Dream Guy Next Door
Dear Sexy Ex-Boyfriend
The What If Guy
Thanks for Last Night
* * *
The Gift Series
The Engagement Gift
The Virgin Gift
The Decadent Gift
* * *
The Extravagant Duet
One Night Only
One Exquisite Touch
* * *
MM Standalone Novels
A Guy Walks Into My Bar
One Time Only
* * *
The Heartbreakers Series
Once Upon a Real Good Time
Once Upon a Sure Thing
Once Upon a Wild Fling
* * *
Boyfriend Material
Special Delivery
Asking For a Friend
Sex and Other Shiny Objects
One Night Stand-In
* * *
Lucky In Love Series
Best Laid Plans
The Feel Good Factor
Nobody Does It Better
Unzipped
* * *
Always Satisfied Series
Satisfaction Guaranteed
Instant Gratification
Overnight Service
Never Have I Ever
PS It’s Always Been You
* * *
The Sexy Suit Series
Lucky Suit
Birthday Suit
* * *
From Paris With Love
Wanderlust
Part-Time Lover
* * *
One Love Series
The Sexy One
The Only One
The Hot One
The Knocked Up Plan
Come As You Are
* * *
Sports Romance
Most Valuable Playboy
Most Likely to Score
* * *
Standalones
Stud Finder
The V Card
The Real Deal
Unbreak My Heart
The Break-Up Album
21 Stolen Kisses
Out of Bounds
My One Week Husband
* * *
The Caught Up in Love Series
The Pretending Plot (previously called Pretending He’s Mine)
The Dating Proposal
The Second Chance Plan (previously called Caught Up In Us)
The Private Rehearsal (previously called Playing With Her Heart)
* * *
Seductive Nights Series
Night After Night
After This Night
One More Night
A Wildly Seductive Night
About
A week-long trip. A fake marriage. And seven delicious nights with only one bed in the hotel room.
* * *
He’s my business partner, my good friend, and the man I’ve craved for years.
* * *
But I’ve resisted the sexy Brit, and I plan to keep up my walls because I’ve been there, done that, and I know how much it hurts when you let someone into your heart.
* * *
Then an opportunity comes along for us to snag the business deal of a lifetime.
* * *
The catch?
* * *
We need to pretend we’re married to pull off this high-stakes deal.
* * *
So the clever, charming man with secrets a mile deep becomes my temporary husband, as we travel around Europe. Soon, we fall into bed, tangled together like newlyweds who can’t keep their hands off each other.
* * *
One week to explore our fantasies, then we return to who we were.
* * *
But when I learn the dark secrets he’s been keeping, I doubt we can go back.
* * *
Because they change everything.
My One Week Husband
By Lauren Blakely
* * *
Want to be the first to learn of sales, new releases, preorders and special freebies? Sign up for my VIP mailing list here!
1
Scarlett
Some things feel true, even if you know they won’t ever come true.
But in the moment, your imagination takes hold.
Like right now.
As I stroll down the street in Avignon with my business partner, the sun shimmering low in a clear blue sky and the scent of lavender wafting in the soft breeze, I feel as if I could linger all day. Funny, because I am not known for lingering.
Yet lingering feels inherently right. “I could
spend hours roaming this town,” I declare with a deep inhale of the South of France air, far away from the glitter and lights, the hustle and bustle of Paris.
Daniel shoots me a skeptical look as we wander past a chichi boutique peddling silk scarves and sky-high heels. “You could definitely not spend hours wandering, Scarlett.”
I scoff, raising my chin. “You doubt my ability to roam?”
“I doubt your tolerance for roaming through here.” He gestures grandly to the plethora of boutiques and cafés on the street. “You don’t even like to shop.”
“I do like to shop,” I say defensively.
He shakes his head, laughing. It’s a rich, deep sound that I’ve loved to hear ever since I became his financial advisor a few years back. I’ve grown to know him even better in the past twelve months, after I bought a third of a stake in his company. “No,” he counters. “You like to buy. You like to have a list of things you need. You like to pop into stores, grab what you’re after, then scurry on out.”
I argue that point, something I do love to do. “That’s shopping. Going in, buying what you need—that’s the literal definition of shopping.”
His blue eyes glint with mischief. It’s a look I see often in those crystal irises. “Exactly. We’re only wandering down this street because our train arrived early. I doubt you’d actually spend hours strolling through this town otherwise. In fact, I don’t think you’d spend hours doing anything except work,” he says, throwing that down like a gauntlet.
I square my shoulders, bristling at his accusation, though it’s largely true. “What do you think I should spend my hours doing? Sunning myself? Being fanned with palm fronds?”
He gives me a lopsided grin that is both endearing and infuriating. “The latter sounds perfect. But I’m simply saying that you don’t lollygag. You have a plan for everything. A strategy for ‘tackling every day because days should be tackled.’”
He sketches air quotes around those last words—words I use, well, daily.
I toss my head back, laughing as we near a café with its red windows flung open, green tables spilling across the sidewalk. “So this is what we’ve come to? You mock me for having strategies?”
“Well, you do make it easy,” Daniel teases.
A waiter rushes out of the main door of the café with a tray of wineglasses balanced on his forearm expertly, different shades of crimson in the glasses.
“Strategies are a woman’s best friend. And a man’s,” I add, making a move to swat Daniel’s elbow.
Playfully, of course.
He sidesteps me.
The waiter bumps into him.
“Excusez moi,” the waiter says, an apologetic frown creasing his brow.
“De rien,” Daniel quickly reassures the man. The waiter smiles, nods, and weaves through the tables.
The Englishman by my side returns to ribbing me. “As I was saying, you don’t actually like to linger, wander, or roam, Scarlett. You like to do. You like to accomplish. I suspect you’re secretly pissed that our train was early, since now we have to kill a whole half hour before our meeting.”
“Oh yes, that’s me. Secretly mad,” I say deadpan. Then I deal him a sharp stare. “I don’t get mad in secret.”
He taps his chin. “True. You have been known to march right up to me and give me hell though.”
“When you deserve it. Which is often.” I glance his way, then flinch when my gaze catches on a spot of burgundy on the sleeve of his silk shirt.
“Daniel,” I say, touching his forearm.
“Yes?”
“It seems your shirt might have been the collateral damage back there,” I say, gesturing to a small but stands-out-like-a-sore-thumb spot on the expensive fabric.
His eyes drift down to the red stain on his sleeve. “Huh,” he says, amused. His lips curve into a grin. “C’est la vie. Or perhaps that’s one of the hazards of lingering?”
“Do you want to go back to the hotel so you can change?”
He checks his wristwatch. “Not enough time before our meeting.” He squints, peering along the street. “Looks like there’s a men’s clothing shop up ahead.”
“Ah, is that your strategy for tackling the spot?” I ask, imitating him in his crisp London accent.
He grins. “I never said strategies were bad.”
“I beg to differ.”
“You just assumed I was giving you a hard time,” he tosses back at me.
“As you do,” I say.
Of course, it’s not a bad thing to get along swimmingly with a business partner. We’re like gin and tonic, and it’s a good thing. We don’t always see eye to eye, but we complement each other. That’s how we’ve been able to make magic happen with our hotels—with our different approaches and the way we’ve been able to mesh them to grow our business.
He reaches the door to the shop and holds it open with a flourish. “After you.”
“Show me how quick you can be,” I say.
His eyes narrow, flickering with naughty intent. “I don’t think you really want me to be quick.”
Heat flares across my skin at his sexy subtext, but I do my best to ignore it. “Is everything innuendo with you?”
“Life is innuendo. Of course everything is too. Now, let’s make sure I look the part of the impeccable hotelier wooing the town historical society with our plans to renovate the inn on the corner.”
In the store, the man is the model of efficiency. He’s incredibly fast, but that doesn’t surprise me. He’s a determined guy who makes quick decisions, and usually the right ones.
He finds a white shirt with thin blue checks, then tips his forehead to the back of the shop. “I’ll go try on this one.”
“Great. I’ll wait outside and answer some messages.”
He jerks his head back. “You’ll do nothing of the sort. You’ll wait outside the dressing room and tell me how the shirt looks.”
I arch a brow, laughing. “Like we’re a married couple?”
“Yes. Pretend, Scarlett,” he says in that husky tone again as we weave our way to the dressing rooms. “Pretend you care deeply what your husband is wearing to the dinner meeting.”
“Fine. If you insist,” I say with a huff.
“I do insist.”
“Don’t you just love giving orders?”
He wiggles his brow as he opens the dressing room door, tossing me a wry look. “Yes. Yes, I do,” he says in a voice that drips with sex.
Daniel Stewart is the living, breathing manifestation of sex appeal. I’ve learned to live with his hotness. What else can I do? I work with him. I’d be a fool to entertain thoughts of him sexually.
We run a billion-dollar hotel empire together.
I heave a sigh, an absolutely aggrieved one, as if a make-believe marriage is the worst thing in the world, then I flop onto a leather chair outside the dressing rooms. “If I must check out your clothes, I will.”
He ducks into the room, his voice drifting out. “Thanks so much, my darling bride.”
I laugh, shaking my head at his antics, then reach for my phone. But as I tap out replies to emails, my brain wanders into the dressing room, opens the door, and tries to get a look at Daniel trying on the shirt.
I squeeze my eyes shut, doing my very best to banish those thoughts. To put them in an airtight container, close it up tight, and tuck it away.
Never to open it again.
The door creaks open.
I glance up as he steps out of the dressing room, showing off the new shirt, and I hum low in my throat, admiring the hell out of the view.
He’s a little over six feet tall. His brown hair is tinged with gold, sun-kissed, and his jawline could grace magazine covers. A rigorous commitment to cycling through the Alps and the streets of London and Paris has made him toned. The gym has made him muscular.
The job has made him filthy rich.
He’s the kind of man designers make clothes for. Clothes that should be so lucky to snuggle up against
his skin.
Everything he wears looks devilishly handsome because he is devilishly handsome.
That’s a thought best kept in the container with the rest. I wrestle the errant idea, intent on securing it away with the others. But as I do, Daniel lifts his hands to the shirt’s buttons, and the thought wriggles free and shoves itself front and center in my head.
Because he stands mere feet away, doing up the buttons.
Which means his shirt is halfway open.
My eyes take a stroll.
So that’s what his pecs look like. So they do sport a smattering of hair. So they are, in fact, as carved as I’d imagined.
As I’d hoped.