Satisfaction Guaranteed Read online

  Satisfaction Guaranteed

  Lauren Blakely

  Contents

  Copyright

  Also By Lauren Blakely

  About

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Epilogue

  Another Epilogue

  And Another Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Also by Lauren Blakely

  Contact

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2019 by Lauren Blakely

  Cover Design by Helen Williams. Photography by Rafa Catala, First Edition, 2019

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This contemporary romance is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. This ebook is licensed for your personal use only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with, especially if you enjoy sexy, hilarious romance novels with alpha males. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Also By Lauren Blakely

  Big Rock Series

  Big Rock

  Mister O

  Well Hung

  Full Package

  Joy Ride

  Hard Wood

  One Love Series

  The Sexy One

  The Only One

  The Hot One

  The Knocked Up Plan

  Come As You Are

  The Heartbreakers Series

  Once Upon a Real Good Time

  Once Upon a Sure Thing

  Once Upon a Wild Fling

  Sports Romance

  Most Valuable Playboy

  Most Likely to Score

  Lucky In Love Series

  Best Laid Plans

  The Feel Good Factor

  Nobody Does It Better

  Always Satisfied series

  Satisfaction Guaranteed

  Instant Gratification (September 2019)

  Overnight Service (December 2019)

  Standalone

  Stud Finder

  The V Card

  Wanderlust

  Part-Time Lover

  The Real Deal

  Unbreak My Heart

  The Break-Up Album

  21 Stolen Kisses

  Out of Bounds

  Unzipped

  Birthday Suit

  The Dating Proposal

  Never Have I Ever

  The Caught Up in Love Series

  Caught Up In Us

  Pretending He’s Mine

  Playing With Her Heart

  Stars In Their Eyes Duet

  My Charming Rival

  My Sexy Rival

  The No Regrets Series

  The Thrill of It

  The Start of Us

  Every Second With You

  The Seductive Nights Series

  First Night (Julia and Clay, prequel novella)

  Night After Night (Julia and Clay, book one)

  After This Night (Julia and Clay, book two)

  One More Night (Julia and Clay, book three)

  A Wildly Seductive Night (Julia and Clay novella, book 3.5)

  The Joy Delivered Duet

  Nights With Him (A standalone novel about Michelle and Jack)

  Forbidden Nights (A standalone novel about Nate and Casey)

  The Sinful Nights Series

  Sweet Sinful Nights

  Sinful Desire

  Sinful Longing

  Sinful Love

  The Fighting Fire Series

  Burn For Me (Smith and Jamie)

  Melt for Him (Megan and Becker)

  Consumed By You (Travis and Cara)

  The Jewel Series

  A two-book sexy contemporary romance series

  The Sapphire Affair

  The Sapphire Heist

  About

  Look, she started it.

  She issued me a challenge I couldn’t back down from. Make her purr like no man has done before.

  Fine, she’s my business partner’s daughter. All right, I’m also working in the same damn practice with her. Yes, she happens to be my ex-fling. But that was seven years ago, and it was barely a week-long thing.

  Except, Sloane is still the one I can’t stop thinking of -- brilliant, sexy, captivating Sloane. Maybe a week of taking her to new heights will get her out of my head.

  So what if we spend a few nights on the town too? So what if I romance her across Manhattan? It’s all in the name of scientific pursuit of more magnificent Os.

  Until the rules change...

  Prologue

  Dude-bros will tell you the pinnacle of male sexual prowess is to make a woman meow.

  I will tell you, that’s a dumbass metaphor.

  Literal, figurative, it’s complete bullshit.

  Cats meow when they’re hurt, hungry, or just plain chatty. A feline might be stressed, pissed, or simply want you to open the goddamn bedroom door at night.

  So, the cat’s meow is a myth. I should know.

  But the purr? The magical, mysterious, wondrous purr? The aural indication of pussycat pleasure? That’s the mission impossible a man ought to be making come to life. Cats purr for a couple reasons, but the most common one is to show they’re satisfied.

  Yes, satisfied.

  That’s a man’s job, and that’s why I don’t play small stakes kitty-cat games. No cat’s meows, no pajamas either. My one goal when I get a woman between the sheets is to make her so immensely pleased that she purrs.

  I’m not an over-and-out type of guy. There’s no one-and-done for me. I’m a believer in delivering satisfaction in every way, in and out of the bedroom. />
  That’s exactly what I want to do with a certain someone.

  Trouble is, that someone is most definitely off-limits, so it’s time to put a leash on this dog.

  But then I learn something wildly unexpected about her, and there’s no way I can turn away from that kind of challenge.

  1

  She’s gorgeous. An absolute stunner, with captivating green eyes, high cheekbones, and strong legs. Her silky black hair is long and luxurious. She stretches, showing off her nubile body.

  I can’t keep my eyes off her.

  Or my hands, for that matter.

  I run a palm down her back, and she arches against me.

  “Doesn’t she seem rather . . . lethargic?” her mistress asks, concern etched in her eyes. I peer closely at the little lady in question.

  Those whiskers. That tail. “Sabrina’s mood seems fine. Her heart rate is perfect. Her fur looks great. I see one very healthy pussycat. Why do you think she’s lethargic, Lydia?” I ask as the silky black feline swishes her tail back and forth, rubbing against my hand on the exam table.

  Lydia fiddles with a necklace that dangles between her breasts. “She’s not playing with her toys much.”

  “Does she normally like to play with toys?”

  Lydia drags a hand down her chest. “Oh, she enjoys toys so very much.”

  Dammit. I walked right into that one.

  But I’m practiced in the art of deadpan deflection. “Well, that would indicate she doesn’t need my services. She seems full of energy here. Is there something else going on at home with her that I should be concerned about?”

  Lydia doesn’t look at the kitty. She flicks her chestnut hair off her shoulder, her eyes pinned on me, ignoring the vet tech in the room completely. “She seems to need a little more attention. I feel like that’s what she’s telling me.”

  I maintain my completely-unaware-of-her-double-meaning routine. “But you give her lots of attention?”

  “I do, but it’s solo, Doctor Goodman. I think she wants it from others, if you know what I mean.”

  Yep, I don’t need to be Inspector Poirot to crack the mystery of that case. I figured it out the instant Lydia prowled into the exam room with a cat who is as fit as an Olympic athlete.

  I slide around her efforts with a standard vet answer: “Cats are fickle. Some want attention. Some are fine without it.” Sabrina rubs her head against my hand, cranking up the volume as she marks me. But hey, she’s allowed to. Also, cats like me. Dogs like me. I am an absolute animal magnet, and the feeling’s quite mutual.

  “See? She likes you. She might want affection from you . . .” Lydia’s eyes take a long, lingering stroll up and down my body.

  Time for the full-scale oblivion shield. There’s a fine line between playing dumb and looking stupid, and as a veterinarian, I can’t afford to look bad in front of clients. But as a man, I definitely need to pull off the clueless-to-her-advances act with a particular kind of balance and finesse.

  I ask Jonathan, the tech, to hand me a thermometer.

  “Of course, Doctor Goodman,” he says, hamming it up as if it’s his utter delight to deliver the device.

  Meeting Lydia’s gaze, I brandish the thermometer with a grin. “Sabrina might not be so keen on me after this.”

  This is the moment when Lydia will back down, I’m sure. They nearly all do when the mercury comes out.

  Instead, Lydia emits a sort of coo, like a songbird. “Oh, I bet she’d love that. I’m up for . . . I mean, she’s up for anything.”

  Jonathan snickers, and I sigh. I focus solely on the cat, rather than on this cat-and-mouse game of cat-and-woman sublimation. Fortunately, Sabrina’s just fine, and I tell Lydia so when I’m through with the exam. I snap off my gloves, wash my hands, and tell her to keep an eye on her feline. “If anything changes, let us know.”

  She smiles seductively at me. “Oh, I will. My pussycat’s health is quite important to me.”

  Stay stoic, Malone. You can do it. You’ve done it before. “Yes, I can see that.”

  She waggles her fingers. “And if anything changes for you, Doctor Goodman, let me know too.”

  Blank face. I give her the 100 percent tabula rasa. “Thanks for coming in today.”

  “I’m glad I did.” She rakes her gaze over me. “You’re a regular Doctor Doolittle.”

  I’ve only been called that, oh, twelve times a day. But it’s a compliment of the highest order, so I treat it as such. “Thank you.”

  She takes a step closer, her stare dropping down, down, down. “Or should I call you Doctor Doolarge?”

  I stifle a strangled chuckle—I don’t want to give her any encouragement, especially since I do like her cat, as in the actual feline. “Let’s stick to Doctor Goodman.”

  After I say goodbye to Lydia, Jonathan clears his throat, adopting a high-pitched feminine voice. “Tell me, Doctor Doolarge, is it hard being so good-looking?”

  I laugh. “It’s the family curse.”

  “And such a cross to bear. However do you manage?”

  “It’s not easy. Someday, I’ll teach you.”

  “Yes, please. I want to know all your secrets.” He shifts to all-business mode. “You have a few clients who requested phone calls.”

  I glance at the clock. It’s almost closing time, and I have a show tonight. “No problem. I have time.”

  He hands me the call sheet, and I head to my office and pick up the phone. When I’m done, I swing by the front desk where Jonathan and our office manager, Sam, are debating the best spots for craft beer in the West Village.

  “Hey, Doctor Doolarge,” Jonathan says, leaning back in his chair, stroking a hand over his bearded jaw. “Got a hot date tonight?”

  With her pink hair tied in a huge bun on top of her head, Sam shoots him a skeptical stare. “Don’t ask him that. It’s personal. You shouldn’t pry.” She turns to me, adopts a cheeky smile, then whispers, “But tell me. Are you meeting a secret lady at Gin Joint tonight?”

  Laughing, I roll my eyes. “Just my sister and the mic.”

  “But it would make such a yummy story. Vet moonlights as lounge singer and meets the love of his life at underground speakeasy. I can see it now.” She spreads her arms wide, making a marquee sign. “They’d want me to play her in the Broadway version of your life story.”

  Jonathan scoffs. “You can’t even sing.”

  She shoots him a withering glare. “Please don’t ruin my daydreams.”

  I rap my knuckles on the counter. “Speaking of dreams, I have a set tonight then a hot date with some paperwork. In fact, it’s the sexiest, steamiest paperwork I’ve ever seen.”

  “Just a couple more days, right?” Sam crosses her fingers.

  “Here’s hoping,” I add.

  “Me too,” Jonathan says.

  I head for the door, grabbing the handle.

  Jonathan calls out, “Have fun with your paperwork, Dr. Doolarge.” Every syllable drips with mockery.

  I will never live down this new nickname with my staff.

  But if the deal goes through, I can live with it.

  What’s a nickname when you’re about to make your dreams come true?

  2

  That night at Gin Joint, I sing a Dean Martin tune then slide into conversational mode, tapping a few notes on the piano as I chat with the audience between numbers. “Ever want something so badly you can taste it? Like, on the tip of your tongue?”

  A handful of patrons nod, murmuring yes.

  “And it tastes so good, so tantalizing, it’s all you can think about?”

  A brunette at a table near the front kicks her high-heeled foot back and forth, mouthing yes.

  “When I get like that, that’s when I need to lose myself in one particular song.” I dive into Louis Armstrong’s “What A Wonderful World.”

  As I play, I’m not only focused on the tune, but on life, and my life is good. In forty-eight hours, my business partner, Doug, will return to town. He’s told me he
wants to have dinner to discuss a business proposition, and that’s why I’ve been dotting my i’s and crossing my t’s, prepping the paperwork so I can finalize the deal to buy out his half of the practice.

  It’s what we’ve both wanted for the last few years. What we’ve both been planning for. The practice will belong to me, and I can take it to the next level.

  Then I’ll have everything I could want: a successful business, a sweet apartment in the Village, and dates whenever I want them.

  The icing on the cake is this—singing to a packed house tonight. Fine, that packed house might only be fifty people, but I don’t care. I’m not trying to make a career as a lounge singer. I’m just enjoying my second-favorite hobby.

  Decked out in a sharp dark-blue suit, I have the audience enrapt with old standards. Men and women sip Moscow mules from copper mugs and gin and tonics from tall glasses garnished with lime wedges. Toes tap in rhythm to the music.