Mr Right Now: A Romantic Comedy Standalone

by Lila Monroe

  Holy. Shit.

  Dash was built. Built like I’d never seen before in real life. Built like Henry Cavill and Tom Hardy combined. And right now, he was all mine. To do with whatever I pleased. What I pleased was to lick him from neck to belly button. And go from there.

  My fingers skimmed over his pecs, the rock-hard muscles tensing and relaxing as I touched him. His skin was smooth and hot, and I pressed a kiss to his shoulder, and then his chest. Before I could go any lower, Dash stopped me.

  And his hands went to the hem of my shirt.

  He paused, his eyes catching mine. I could see the question in his gaze, and it made me even hotter. My chest heaving, I nodded, and lifted my arms so he could remove my cami. He tossed it aside, never looking away, his eyes fixated on mine. Considering that most guys seemed to stare at boobs the moment they were uncovered, I found the extended eye contact extremely sexy. Especially because I knew that I wasn’t especially gifted in the boob department.

  I didn’t have a problem with my body—I had the lean frame that most girls spent hours at the gym working towards—but in exchange, I was lacking in other curves. Still, I found myself holding my breath as Dash’s gaze finally left mine and headed downward. No doubt, a guy like him had the opportunity to sleep with models and actresses. Or sexy blonde stewardesses that were definitely bustier than I was.

  But all I saw in Dash’s expression was desire as he looked at me, sitting topless on his lap, my legs still wrapped around him.

  “Fuck,” he rasped. “You’re gorgeous.”

  His hands skimmed up my ribs, stopping just beneath my chest. I felt my breath hitch as his thumbs gently stroked the smooth curve of my breasts. My nipples were rock-hard and begging for attention, but Dash took his time.

  When he finally drew his fingers across the taut peaks, I sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. He glanced up at me, that cocky smile turning up the corner of his mouth.

  “More?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I practically panted.

  Then he lowered his mouth to my breast. My head fell back as his tongue and teeth teased me, his other hand pressed to the small of my back, encouraging me to arch towards him. I needed very little encouragement, and I tangled my fingers in that thick, sexy hair that I had been dying to get my hands on ever since I saw it.

  It was silky between my fingers, the sensation of it, warring with the incredible feeling of Dash’s mouth on my nipples as he alternated between my breasts, lavishing each with his undivided attention.

  And it still wasn’t enough. His hand slid further downward, beneath my boy shorts, cupping my bare ass and bringing me more firmly against him. I gasped, loving the way he felt. Wanting more.

  But just as my own fingers began to make their way down his chest, heading for the button of his jeans, I felt something vibrate beneath my thigh.

  Dash lifted his head, a sheepishly sexy smile on his face.

  “I wish I could say that’s because I’m happy to see you, but—” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Looking at the number, his forehead wrinkled with a small frown. “Dammit.” He looked up at me, his expression apologetic. “I need to get this.”

  I slid off his lap, trying not to feel disappointed. Horny was OK, as we had been interrupted just as things were getting really good, and I could tell Dash felt the same way from the way his cock was straining against the fly of his jeans. I bit my lip, hoping that whoever was on the phone wouldn’t need to be on it for long.

  Until then, I felt weird sitting on the bed topless, so I grabbed my sweatshirt and pulled it back over my head.

  “Uh huh,” Dash was saying. He glanced back at me and I could see his own disappointment in realizing I had covered myself again. That made me feel a little better. “They’re ready now?” he asked, his eyebrows going up. “Yeah, yeah, I get it.” He blew out a breath. “Give me ten minutes, OK?”

  That didn’t sound promising at all.

  He hung up and faced me, his expression apologetic.

  “I really, really hate to do this, but I have to go.”

  “Go?” I wasn’t sure I understood. We were in Pittsburgh early in the morning. We already had a rental car in the parking lot—what did he mean, “go”?

  He pulled the rental car keys out of his pocket and handed them to me.

  “It’s all paid for,” he said. “Just don’t hit any deer on your way to New York.”

  “Um, OK.” I stared at the keys in the palm of my hand.

  Dash sat down next to me on the bed, capturing my face in his hands.

  “This was fun,” he told me, his eyes twinkling.

  “That it was,” I responded, trying to keep my voice casual, even as my body was crying out for more. Guys got blue balls, but what was it when women were left unsatisfied? Blue ovaries? Blue nipples? Whatever it was, I was feeling it. Badly.

  “I’d love to get your number,” he said. “In case you want to get together for more fun sometime in the future.”

  I was highly doubtful that an opportunity like this would ever present itself again, but I wrote down my number anyways and gave it to him.

  “Thanks.” He gave me that devastating grin of his and kissed me long and hard.

  It took everything I had not to pull him down on top of me and take advantage of those ten minutes he asked the person on the phone for. But instead, I let him go, watched him put on a shirt, and even gave him a little wave when he left.

  As soon as the door shut, I let out a loud sigh of frustration and flopped back on the bed. I was just about to crawl back under the covers when I heard a strange, loud flapping noise.

  Whap whap whap whap whap whap whap.

  Getting up, I peered out the grimy, dusty shades on the window. There was a helicopter in the field just outside the hotel. What the fuck? Who lands a helicopter in a field in Pittsburgh? Then I saw someone walking towards it, a bag slung over his broad shoulders. Dash.

  Dash had a helicopter?

  With wide eyes, I watched him duck under the spinning rotor blades and climb in. Like James Bond. Only hotter. Within moments, the helicopter was lifting off, and I watched from my crappy hotel room as the hottest guy I’d ever had the pleasure of making out with literally flew away.

  TO BE CONTINUED…

  Want to know how Paige and Dash’s story works out? HOT BACHELOR is available now!

  Also by Lila:

  The Billionaire Bargain series

  The Billionaire Game series

  Billionaire with a Twist series

  Rugged Billionaire

  Get Lucky

  Bet Me

  Lovestruck

  There’s more from Lila Monroe!

  THE BILLIONAIRE BARGAIN SERIES

  Out now!

  Sexy Australian billionaire Grant Devlin is ruining my life. He exercises shirtless in his office, is notorious for his lunchtime hookups, he even yawns sexily. If I didn’t need this job so bad, I’d take his black Amex and tell him where to swipe it.

  He doesn’t even know I exist, but why would he? He jets off to Paris with supermodels, I spend Friday nights with Netflix and a chunk of Pepperidge Farm frozen cake—waiting for his call. Because every time he crashes his yacht, or blows $500k on a single roulette spin in Monte Carlo, I’m the PR girl who has to clean up his mess.

  But this time, it’s going to take more than just a fat charity donation. This time, the whole company is on the line. He needs to show investors that he’s settling down, and Step #1 is pretending to date a nice, stable girl until people forget about what happened with the Playboy Bunnies backstage at the Oscars.

  My plan is perfect, except for one thing: He picks me.

  THE BILLIONAIRE BARGAIN

  Available now!

  THE BILLIONAIRE GAME SERIES

  Out now!

  Sexy playboy billionaire Asher Young goes through girlfriends like he goes through bottles of Moët. I would know — he brings them all to get fitted for my luxury linger
ie designs. I guess that’s one way to avoid awkward conversations when they find another girl’s panties in his Maserati.

  Now he has a proposition for me: he’ll invest in my design business, and I’ll finally open the boutique of my dreams. There’s just one problem: I can’t stop kissing him. And he looks REALLY good naked.

  Make that two problems….

  THE BILLIONAIRE GAME

  Available now!

  GET LUCKY

  What happens when you wake up in a hotel suite next to a gorgeous naked man with absolutely no memory of the past twelve hours?

  I guess it’s true what they say. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.

  Or at least I hope it stays here. The Romantic Style convention was meant to be a weekend of raucous fun with friends, sun, and enough poolside margaritas to forget about my ex. But now, instead of meeting my fans and signing books, I’m stuck with cocky divorce lawyer Nate Wexler. He’s arrogant, infuriating, and I can’t keep my hands off of him. Judging by the state of our hotel room, last night was wild. I just wish I could remember it.

  A pair of matching tattoos. A cheap wedding veil. A half empty box of glow in the dark condoms.

  What the hell just happened?

  AVAILABLE NOW!

  BET ME

  “The only thing more humiliating than a guy falling asleep face-down in my crotch would be if he died there… Oh my god, is he DEAD?”

  All I wanted was little old-fashioned romance. After a parade of Tinder disasters who think chivalry is giving me a pearl necklace on the first date, I made a pledge: until guys step up their game, this girl is off the market.

  But one bottle of chardonnay later, and my drunken rant has gone viral. I’m the most famous person NOT having sex since the Jonas Brothers put on their purity rings. A men’s magazine has even put a bounty on my (ahem) maidenhead: fifty Gs to whoever makes me break the drought.

  Be careful what you wish for… Now my office looks like an explosion in a Hallmark factory, I’ve got guys lining up to sweep me off my feet - and the one man I want is most definitely off-limits. Jake Weston is a player through and through. He’s also the only one who sees through the mayhem to the real me, but how can I trust he’s not just out to claim the glory?

  And how will I make it through the strike without scratching the itch - especially when that itch looks so damn good out of his suit?

  The thrill of the chaste has never been so sexy!

  AVAILABLE NOW

  LOVESTRUCK

  “Never mind ‘armed and dangerous’, this man’s abs should carry a warning. Alert: chiseled abs up ahead! May cause embarrassing public displays of desire.”

  Will Cassidy is hot, infuriating, and the guy behind the biggest heart-stomping humiliation of my life. He’s also hosting my BFF’s destination wedding at his super-luxe tropical resort, so short of a hurricane or outbreak of the plague (here’s hoping), I’m stuck within t̶o̶n̶g̶u̶e̶‘s̶ arm’s reach of him for the next seven days.

  But I’m not a naive college girl anymore, and there’s no way I’m falling for his (many) charms again. I just have to ignore the romantic wedding shenanigans, his miraculous abs, all those intimate beach sunsets… And did I mention those abs?

  Maybe a wild vacation fling is exactly what I need to even the score… But between the scorching chemistry and all-inclusive margaritas, I’m getting drunk on love. Which definitely isn’t part of the plan.

  Can I keep my heart zipped - even if my bikini bottoms are lost somewhere on that nude beach? And how do you let go of the past when you’re holding on tight to the past’s (very ripped) torso?

  AVAILABLE NOW

  About the Author

  Combining her love of writing, sex and well-fitted suits, Lila Monroe wrote her first serial, The Billionaire Bargain, in 2015. She weaves sex, humor and romance into tales about hard-headed men and the strong and sassy women who try to tame… love… tame them. Her books are extensions of her own fantasy life and take readers from the boardroom to the Berkshire Mountains, with keen character development, unique plot lines, and fanciful romance.

  Thank you for reading!

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  www.lilemonroebooks.com

  lila@lilamonroebooks.com