My One Week Husband Read Online Lauren Blakely

Categories Genre: Contemporary, Erotic, Funny, Romance, Suspense Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68750 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)

Read Online Books/Novels:

My One Week Husband

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Lauren Blakely

Book Information:

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.
Books by Author:

Lauren Blakely



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.”