Overnight service always.., p.1

Overnight Service (Always Satisfied Book 4), page 1

 

Overnight Service (Always Satisfied Book 4)
 


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Overnight Service (Always Satisfied Book 4)


  Overnight Service

  Lauren Blakely

  Contents

  Copyright

  Also By Lauren Blakely

  About

  Overnight Service

  Prologue

  1. Josh

  2. Haven

  3. Josh

  4. Haven

  5. Josh

  6. Haven

  7. Josh

  8. Josh

  9. Josh

  10. Haven

  11. Josh

  12. Josh

  13. Haven

  14. Josh

  15. Josh

  16. Haven

  17. Josh

  18. Haven

  19. Josh

  20. Haven

  21. Josh

  22. Josh

  23. Josh

  24. Haven

  25. Josh

  26. Haven

  27. Josh

  28. Josh

  29. Josh

  30. Josh

  31. Josh

  32. Josh

  33. Haven

  34. Ford

  35. Vaughn

  Epilogue

  Another Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Lauren Blakely

  Contact

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2019 by Lauren Blakely

  Cover Design by Helen Williams. 1st Edition, 2019

  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

  One Love Series

  The Sexy One

  The Only One

  The Hot One

  The Knocked Up Plan

  Come As You Are

  The Heartbreakers Series

  Once Upon a Real Good Time

  Once Upon a Sure Thing

  Once Upon a Wild Fling

  Sports Romance

  Most Valuable Playboy

  Most Likely to Score

  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

  Special Delivery

  The Gift Series

  The Engagement Gift

  The Virgin Gift (coming soon)

  The Exclusive Gift (coming soon)

  The Sexy Suit Series

  Lucky Suit

  Birthday Suit

  From Paris With Love

  Wanderlust

  Part-Time Lover

  Standalones

  Stud Finder

  The V Card

  The Real Deal

  Unbreak My Heart

  The Break-Up Album

  21 Stolen Kisses

  Out of Bounds

  The Dating Proposal

  The Caught Up in Love Series

  Caught Up In Us

  Pretending He’s Mine

  Playing With Her Heart

  Stars In Their Eyes Duet

  My Charming Rival

  My Sexy Rival

  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

  Top three reasons why sleeping with the enemy is a bad idea…

  1. She’s my fiercest rival.

  2. She’s also my firey ex.

  3. We’re going up against each other in a stiff competition to win the hottest new client on the market.

  And yet, I’d like to be up against the wall in a stiff competition to get her to call out my name.

  Time to double down on my resistance to her tough-as-nails, take-no-prisoners, sexy-as-sin attitude. The same attitude I find irresistible.

  That’s a big problem, because in this race to nab the client, I run into Haven in the hotel, on the beach, in the guest quarters late at night.

  Hate sex would be a terrible idea.

  Except, it’s the complete opposite, and now we can’t keep our hands off each other.

  Trouble is, I’m not so sure it’s hate I’m feeling anymore.

  And that’s the biggest reason sleeping with the enemy you’re falling for is a bad idea — my job literally depends on never letting her into my heart.

  Overnight Service

  by Lauren Blakely

  Prologue

  Josh

  Show of hands: sleeping with the enemy—good idea or bad idea?

  Wait. Don’t answer that.

  I know it’s a motherfucking terrible idea.

  As in, shut it down, zip it up, turn around, and run.

  Do not pass Go, just run as fast as you can.

  Why?

  Because enemies are enemies for a reason. For all the reasons.

  But remembering that can be challenging.

  Especially when some enemies are so damn good at tricking you into bending rules until they break one night in her hotel room.

  Fine, fine. Maybe going to her room was my first mistake if I wanted to keep her far away.

  And I absolutely do.

  I have to.

  That’s why I’ve laid down a new set of rules for this one foe in particular.

  One gorg
eous, brilliant, too-seductive-for-my-own-good archenemy.

  This is how it needs to be:

  Don’t be distracted by her sassy, fiery mouth.

  Don’t get waylaid by her sexy-as-sin attitude.

  And definitely don’t lose your focus over that absolutely alluring voice; tight, toned body; or long, lush hair.

  Enemies can wear all sorts of faces. Mine is disguised as the woman I’m most attracted to in . . . oh, say, the entire fucking universe.

  That’s real helpful.

  I need autoplay in my brain to remind me: she’s stolen clients, she’s stolen business, and the woman has tried—oh hell, did she ever try—to steal my heart.

  But that? I won’t let that happen.

  No way.

  No how.

  Never.

  She’s not only the enemy. She’s my toughest competition and my fiercest rival. That means I won’t give in again. I can’t give in another time.

  I’ve got the arsenal to resist her. My strategies are finely tested, my approach sharpened. I don’t budge an inch. I don’t play nice. And I don’t let her know how she affects me.

  I am iron around her.

  Now, a potential client throws out the playbook, and I have to devise a whole new strategy. Because it looks like I’ll be eating, sleeping, and breathing the same goddamn air as the enemy for the next week.

  All I have to do is keep my eye on the prize.

  And I do, until the night the game changes.

  1

  Josh

  There’s a first time for everything.

  Today, it’s for tassels.

  I am wearing tassels and rocking a look a few buddies picked out for me: long, golden hair; a luau skirt; and the tassels strategically attached to seashells . . . on my chest.

  Fine. It’s a bra. Okay? I’m wearing a seashell bra.

  And I’m owning it as I stride down the concourse at Yankee Stadium, along the third baseline. Not going to lie—I’m getting a lot of looks.

  Not the New York seen-it-all-before glance, but the whip-the-head-around, is-he-really-wearing-that gawk.

  “The votes are in, and it’s unanimous—I am undeniably delectable,” I say to Ford and Viviana, the assholes responsible for picking my clothes. If you can even call this attire clothes. More like strings and doodads.

  Viviana slides into full-on faux fashionista mode, setting a long, manicured fingernail against her lips and sidebarring to her husband. “He’s definitely wearing it well, but it’s sooooo 2016, now that I see the ensemble in person. Maybe he needs to wear strappy sandals instead of those flip-flops. What do you think?”

  Ford shakes his head. “No way, honey bunny. This getup—a trend I’m going to call ‘embarrass the hell out of your friend’—is always in fashion.”

  I hold out my arms, turning in a circle outside a memorabilia stand peddling signed jerseys. “He’s right. You can never go wrong with ‘the dickheads at my office dressed me up’ look.”

  Viviana clasps a hand to her chest. “Aww. You called me a dickhead. I’m so honored.”

  “You’ve always been a dickhead, Viv,” I say.

  Ford arches a brow. “That’s my woman you’re talking smack about.”

  “Your woman who I introduced you to. So I believe you meant to say, ‘That’s my woman you’re talking smack about, and thank you for the millionth time for hooking me up with the love of my life.’”

  Ford seems to consider this for a moment as we wind our way past a pretzel vendor. “True. I do owe you.”

  Viviana nudges him. “But today, Josh owes us.” She turns to me, her green eyes chiding. “You are seriously the worst at bets.”

  I shrug, hakuna-matata style. “And I have zero complaints,” I say as we scan the stadium’s aisle numbers, finding our section. Per the rules of today’s hula-girl-meets-a-mermaid look, I bought tickets like a civilian for this game, though I could easily have pretty much any box seat in the house. But the purpose of the bet was to have as many people as possible witness my public embarrassment here at the Yankees’ first game against the Red Sox this season.

  Viviana rubs her palms together then flicks her blonde ponytail off her shoulder. “Maybe we can get the Jumbotron to capture a shot of Josh looking so stylish and sexy.”

  Ford’s eyes light up. “Yes, let’s go make a deal with the board operator right now.”

  I tilt my head in an “aw shucks, guys” false modesty, clasp my hands over my seashell covered heart, and gush, “Aww. You guys are so sweet, trying to embarrass me in front of fifty thousand people. But nothing can get me down today. Not even a shot of moi up on the screen looking fabulous.”

  “Then,” Ford says importantly, stopping in his tracks at the steps and motioning to his wife, “you deserve all eyes on you.” Ford spins in a circle, cups his hands in a megaphone around his mouth, and shouts, “This man is the man! Just look at him. He is a badass in the negotiation room, even in a clamshell brassiere.”

  A guy in glasses strolls by, scratches his chin, and says, “What bet did you lose?”

  I smile. “Exactly. Thank you. Clearly you understand the ways of the world.”

  That’s the only reason I would show up at the ballpark looking like it’s Halloween night at a frat house. Nothing against dudes who dress in drag. To each his own bra and wig. But . . . time and place, you know.

  This time, I lost a wager with these guys, my fellow agents.

  “All right, hula mermaid girl, time to get us beers,” Viviana says.

  “Beers too? As well as all this?” I gesture to the outlandish getup and the seats we’re sitting in.

  “Don’t try to get out of it now, Summers,” Ford says. “A bet is a bet.”

  “And it’s all worth it, thanks to that glorious bonus clause my client activated when he was World Series MVP.” I stroke my chin like I’m lost in a fond memory.

  Viv lifts a finger. “Which led to a glorious book deal,” says the shark of a literary agent, who works at our firm on the publishing side. She blows on her red fingernails. “I love multiple zeroes.”

  “I love multiples of nearly everything,” Ford chimes in.

  “And, yes, I will buy the beers as promised, and in fact, I’ll buy beers for the whole section at the end of the first inning,” I add.

  Ford thrusts his arms in the air, whooping for the hundreds who have just become my temporary best friends. “Free beer. I’ll do anything for free beer.”

  Viv furrows her brow. “Let’s define ‘anything.’ Because you haven’t mowed the yard in . . . oh, say, forever. Will you mow the lawn for free beer? Or do you actually want me to hire a hot lawn boy?”

  Ford growls, and I swear steam billows from the top of his skull. “You are not hiring a hot lawn boy.”

  I cup my hand over the side of my mouth, whispering to his wife, “Now we know his weak spot. The fear of the lawn boy. Just imagine if you had horses, Viv. You could hint at hiring a hot stable guy.”

  “I’ve always seen myself as the kind of woman who’d have a menagerie of hot boys—stable boy, pool boy, lawn boy . . .”

  Ford shoos me off. “Go. I need to have a chat with my woman about this hot-lawn-boy threat.”

  “Rather than chat, it seems like maybe you ought to mow the lawn,” I tell him. “Just an idea though.”

  “And if you don’t,” Viviana says to Ford, “I promise I’ll only hire a lawn boy who’s younger and better looking than you. Fair deal, right?” she asks.

  His eyes narrow to slits. “Woman, I am going to put you over my lap and spank you tonight.”

  “You say that like it’s a threat,” she says.

  I cover my ears. “Get a room, get a room.” I point in the direction of the beer stall that sells the good stuff—craft beer, since I am a certified beer snob. “And on that note, I will fetch your beers, dickheads.” To the stands, I say, “And I’ll cover everyone else’s here when the beer guy comes around.”

  I leave to a chorus of
“Love you, man” and “You’re the best” and “You can wear that skirt anytime.”

  I head toward Lana’s Beer Den, a bar behind home plate that sells excellent pale ales. It’s new, but a guy I know who runs a beer podcast recommended the place, and he wasn’t wrong.

  Once more, I draw a lot of side-eyes, double takes, and whispers on my way.

  And I do not care. Because my colleagues and I all benefited from the Yankees winning the World Series last year and we’re celebrating now.

  Even several months later, I’m still riding that World Series high, especially here in the stadium. I happily run the mental tape of the last five minutes of that game as I head along the concourse to the beer stand and get in line. The sun beats down on my shoulders, and I lower my shades over my eyes, savoring the moment.

  Life is grand.

  “Wow, I had no idea you’d look so good in a skirt.”

  I close my eyes, groaning privately, wishing I wasn’t hearing the sexiest voice in the entire universe. But I’d recognize it anywhere. Especially at a ballpark, because this is her stomping ground as much as it’s mine.

 
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