One Night with the Sexiest Man Alive (The One Book 1) by Ainslie Paton

Author:Ainslie Paton [Paton, Ainslie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Supervised by Cats
Published: 2020-02-27T00:00:00+00:00

NINE

Monday was going to suck. Tuesday was going to blow. By Wednesday, Teela figured she’d need an intervention. Evie would be happy to oblige. On Thursday, she was going to go out and buy a kitchen appliance she didn’t need and by Friday, God, if she made it to Friday without losing herself to thinking of Haydn, without being a procrastinating, unfocused wreck, she might just make it through the rest of the year.

He was that spectacular at making her feel special.

The pampering helped. The massage, the shared mutual-pleasure bubble bath, necking on the couch, then taking that energy to bed and spending it oh so wisely getting all hot and dirty. He’d made her chase her orgasm with a kind of savage determination she’d never experienced before. It was exhilarating and exhausting and next thing she knew he was standing there in that bizarre outfit because his training regime came on tour with him.

He looked indescribably awful. So utterly unlike himself or any character he’d ever played she’d had trouble keeping it together in the car on the way to the park. At one point, she’d sniffed him because she’d not been able to get the idea that he’d smell like Vietnamese food hidden in your apartment for a month out of her head.

In the park, while he went running, she’d responded to Evie’s Talk to me about the one-inch message with It may be small but it’s mighty, to which Evie replied Mighty hard to see. She’d win this debate by sending a photo of Haydn on the red carpet walk in Cannes where he looked immaculately melt your eyeballs handsome, with the caption Mine for the weekend, to which Evie said, fittingly, Well fuck.

All that came before the seaplane and the restaurant and the questions he asked and the way he listened. And now they were standing on the top of the Sydney Harbour Bridge as the sun set, turning the sky shades of pink and gold and it was all she could do to watch the view and not Haydn. Thank goodness they were roped on to the climbing scaffold because when he held her hand, her knees got weak.

She wasn’t a weak knees kind of person. She was what other people described as a go-getter if they liked her, a ball-breaker if they didn’t. It had nothing to do with the altitude, the dizzying drop from the top of the bridge to the deep green sea below with its ferry traffic and departing cruise ships, and everything to do with how outside of herself she felt because she liked him.

Really liked him.

Not as the random experience of a lifetime she’d grabbed hold of for the memory, not as an idealized man made real from the celluloid heroes he played on screen, not as a next-level weekend lover, but as a person of worth and substance.

He was going to be difficult to forget, especially as he’d be out in the world making moves meant to be seen.

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