Mr. Fiancé(80)

“Too bad we have a very strict no fake fur, no fake bitches allowed policy.”

I laugh, pulling my wife in for another hug. “Yep. But her husband’s being transferred somewhere for work. I’d hate to be that poor schmuck, but it’s not my problem. I’m only worried about two things—my queen and our new castle.”

“Castle, huh?” Mindy purrs. “I like the sound of that, my king.”

It’s good to be the king.





Want the FREE Extended Epilogue? Sign up to my mailing list to receive it as soon as it’s ready. If you’re already on my list, you’ll get this automatically :).

Did you miss Gavin and Brianna’s story? Keep reading for a preview of their story, Anaconda!





Preview: Anaconda





by Lauren Landish




They say size doesn’t matter...



Football star and internet sensation Gavin “Anaconda” Adams is the biggest celebrity our little town has ever seen.



But I had no idea who he was when I accidentally walked in on him naked.



I was shocked, seeing all of him, a cocky grin on his face. I didn’t know what to do.



So I ran.



Now I’m in a world of trouble. No matter what I do, I can’t get that image out of my head. His strong muscular thighs. His washboard abs. His big, throbbing, toe-curling… Jesus!



To make matters worse, Gavin wants a date with me. He’s seen the lust in my eyes, and he’s not taking no for an answer. I should tell him to get lost. He’s nothing but trouble, and he’s only here for a week.



But with one look, I go weak in the knees. And whenever I hear his deep, rich voice, I feel my defenses crumbling.



It’s only one night. What could it hurt?





Chapter 1





Brianna





“This is fucking disgusting,” I mutter with revulsion, looking around the hotel room and barely able to hold back the nausea twisting my stomach from the foul stench. I clamp a hand over my nose, trying not to breathe the acrid air in through my mouth and shaking my head at the horror before me.

Actually, disgusting is an understatement. The room looks like a frat house after a night of binge drinking and wild orgies. There are pizza boxes, crushed beer cans, and dark stains everywhere.

Jesus Christ.

No wonder the smell is so bad. These guys are pigs. My eyes continue to roam and I spot at least one smashed bottle of vodka before…

“Oh, hell no!” I croak, almost dry heaving and turning away from the revolting sight of several used condoms. I can even see something white and sticky nearby. I grab the top of my uniform and pull it up over my nose, no longer able to bear the stench. “They don’t pay me enough for this shit!” Holding my breath, I beeline for the door. I gasp as I exit the room and enter the hallway, letting go of my shirt and sucking down a lungful of air. I normally can’t stand the air in the smoking section of the guest rooms, but right now, this air is sweeter than a double-fudge chocolate chip sundae.

After a few grateful breaths, I pull out my walkie talkie from my side pocket and shake my head as I press the microphone button. “Maintenance, this is Housecleaning.”

“Whatcha need, Bri?” asks a familiar scratchy voice, and I sigh, relaxing. It’s Jimmy, an older man who still wears corduroy and thinks he’s in the 70s. But besides his penchant for living in the past, he’s pretty cool and will empathize with my pain. This isn’t the first wrecked room that I’ve walked in on, and it certainly won’t be my last.

“We have a problem,” I tell him, letting the direness I feel seep into my voice. “A big, big problem.”

“Is it that bad?” Jimmy asks. There’s a slight note of hope in his voice. I know what he’s thinking. He’s hoping that maybe it’s nothing a little bleach and elbow grease won’t fix.

I feel sorry for him. And to think I didn’t even step foot into the bathroom.

I shudder at the gross images that flash in my mind as I reply, “Yes! Your boys will have their hands full. Room 333. Bring steam cleaners, a sandblaster . . . and maybe a hazmat suit.”

Jimmy groans over the radio. I hear him inhale as if he wants to say something, but the transmission cuts. He knows that he can’t say much about it. Our radios aren’t monitored like the police scanners, but they can still be listened to. And with what’s going on, we can’t take chances. A crackling sound pops my ears.

“If you guys get it done, I’ll worry about the towels and sheets,” I add.

“Grand Waterways Hotel . . .” Jimmy says forlornly. “Grand Water Sewer Way would be a more apt name.”

I huff out a chuckle at that. Jimmy shouldn’t have said that over the line, but it’s the damn truth. “Can’t argue with that,” I say wholeheartedly. To the hotel’s credit, though, it can’t help what guests like a team of pro and collegiate ballers do to its rooms when they’re hosting drunken parties. I’ve heard that they stay here instead of in the city to keep the players ‘out of trouble’. But they still have their parties.