The Only One (One Love #1.5) by Lauren Blakely
From New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Lauren Blakely comes a new story in her One Love series…
Let’s say there was this guy. And he gave you the most mind-blowing night of sex in your life. And you never saw him again.
Until ten years later.
Now, it turns out he’s the ONLY ONE in all of Manhattan whose restaurant is available for my charity’s event.
The trouble is, he doesn’t recognize me.
This woman I’m working with is so damn alluring. The first time I set eyes on her, I’m captivated and I can’t get her out of my mind. Even if it’s risky to tango with someone I’m working with, she’s a risk I’m willing to take.
The trouble is, she won’t give me the time of day.
But I’m determined to change that.
Excerpt The Only One (One Love #2) by Lauren Blakely
I lean closer to the table, soften my voice. “Forgive me, but you look so familiar…”
Her eyes widen, and something vulnerable seems to flash in them. She brings a hand to her hair. “I do?”
I nod vigorously. “Yes. So much. It’s eerie.”
She swallows. “We all remind each other of others, don’t we?”
“Perhaps we do,” I say. I’m not sure what to make of her answer so I return to the matter at hand, telling her more of what I would make for her charity fundraiser. My business manager, Eduardo, alerted me to this opportunity the other day when it landed on his desk. With my new restaurant opening a few months ago, I’ve been looking to make a splash in Manhattan. Reviews have been amazing and business has been robust, but I know that fortunes can turn on a dime. Hell, do I ever f*cking know that. “And I would make the most fantastic desserts for you, too,” I say with a wink, because that reminds me of the afternoon I met the girl in Barcelona—we’d both been eating dessert at a street-side café, where we’d started flirting.
“Desserts are my specialty.”
“What would you make?” she asks, then she murmurs oh God when I tell her what I’d create for the sweetest course. The soft sound she makes stirs something in my chest, then sends a rush of heat below the belt. That sense of déjà vu sharpens, and a reel of images snaps before my eyes, like puzzle pieces fighting to connect.
I scrub a hand over my jaw, arching an eyebrow. It’s driving me crazy. “Are you sure we’ve never met?”