My first short review
Absolutely fantastic. To be honest, I thought it would be a bit cliché, but it blew me away. Cute, sexy with wonderful real heroes, which I loved from the first pages. I will delight over this for sure.
Yanking open the door, I head inside. I stride to the small cafe where Ryder said he’d wait for me.
My chest falls. The man is known for punctuality. I scan the white bakery case and the five round iron tables, but he’s not here. When I spin around and survey the bookshelves, my heart nearly leaps from my chest.
He’s in the . . .
Oh my fucking God, he’s waiting for me in the . . .
I bring my hand to my mouth, and I want to run, to leap into his arms. When he sees me, his blue eyes twinkle with mischief.
I am a teapot about to whistle. I am a dog dancing before dinnertime.
He taps the shelves and holds up a book.
A pregnancy guide.
He’s ten feet from me. But I sprint anyway, and I grin like a fool. I stop two inches from him and clamp my hands on his broad shoulders. “Is that a yes?”
I tackle-hug him before he can say anything more. I knock the breath from him in an oomph as I rope my arms around his neck and crash into him.
“But I have one condition,” he says, embracing me back.
I’m crying tears of happiness, so I don’t care. “Anything. Name it.”
“You better hear it before you agree.”
The moment screeches to a halt. He’s going to want visitation rights. He’ll want lots of money. He’ll want summers, or weekends, or evenings out.
I unwrap myself from the warmth of his strong chest and swallow. “What’s your condition?”
“I thought it would be best to present it in the form of a column.”
“Top five list and everything.”
I groan inside. He has five conditions? Maybe my mother was right. Maybe asking for baby-mix from someone you know is a big mistake. Anonymous donors request nothing but greenbacks.
I steel myself as he fishes in the back pocket of his jeans. The paper is square, folded in quarters. He hands it to me. “Open it.”
I unfold it then read the headline out loud. “‘Top Five Positions for Getting a Woman Pregnant’?”
I blink and stare at him. The cogs turn slowly in my brain. I part my lips to speak.
He raises a hand to silence me. “Hear me out. You explained how it worked. The room, the cup, the magazines, the videos. The whacking off in a fucking public place. The cost. But most of all . . . the wait.
You’d have to wait for an appointment for me, for the testing, for the jerking off, then for your special date with the turkey baster.” He cups my cheek. His hand is big and warm. “What if we did it the
“Ooh, look! A new one just was added to the database,” Penny coos in excitement as she points to the screen.
We’re gathered around my iPad at Speakeasy, our favorite Midtown haunt, perusing the latest offerings on a bank I’ve been in touch with in Manhattan.
“He’s five-foot-nine. College educated. Plays the violin. And he has red hair,” Delaney reads, then runs her fingers over the ends of my hair. “Do you want little redheaded babies?”
I laugh. “I think I’d like the choice whether they should have red hair or not, and clearly I’m only bringing recessive genes to the equation.”
Penny swipes left dramatically as if the new donor is a Tinder no. “Anyone else? And are we ever going to see what they look like besides when they were five years old?”
I shake my head. “In most cases, only childhood photos of donors are posted. Every now and then you hear of a woman who’s seen adult photos of her donor, but that’s highly unusual, and only allowed at a few, select banks. It’s actually quite rare to even see high school or college photos, since a lot of donors only do it because it’s anonymous.”
Penny points to the screen, reading another donor’s profile in frustration. “Look. This guy is six feet, has blue eyes, played hockey in high school, went to UCLA, and works in tech. But what does he look
“Unfortunately, we’re just going to have to imagine,” Delaney says, with a heavy sigh.
Penny reaches for her red wine. “That makes me so sad I need a drink.”
“And let’s be honest, looks do matter,” Delaney adds.
I nod vigorously. “They do. That doesn’t make me vain, right?”
My girls shake their heads in unison, defending my stance. “We all want a cute elephant baby for our matriarchy,” Penny says, patting my hand.
I laugh. “But seriously. You think it’s reasonable to want a handsome donor, right? In addition to all the other things that are obviously critical. Not a serial killer. No criminal record. College degree. Height, etcetera, etcetera.”
“Absolutely,” Penny says, setting her wineglass down with a resounding smack. “How are you possibly supposed to say a green-eyed, five-foot-ten, college-educated man with no murder convictions is
“It’s like online shopping without seeing what you’re buying,” Delaney adds. “Who buys anything on the Internet without seeing a photo? You don’t shop for shoes just by the size, color, and style. You need to
see them. Try them on.”
“I don’t think trying on is an option.” I wink.
Delaney sticks out her tongue. “But you need to see the goods. You can’t fly blind.”
I reach for my water. No more chardonnay or mojitos for this mama-to-be. I’ve had all my health screenings, too, and my doctor sees no reason why I can’t get pregnant. All I need is the other half. “I
just wish I knew more about these men.”
Penny peers at the site’s latest offerings once more. “This is crazy. You can select whether someone has skills in auto mechanics, plumbing, or kickboxing. You can choose if your donor has detached earlobes, a
particular kind of eye spacing, and his favorite subject in school. You can even opt for someone who’s a good cook. But you can’t see if his jawline is actually square, if his lips are truly full, or if he’s as handsome as you’ve dreamed.”
I scrunch my forehead and imagine my dream candidate. Briefly, my mind is blank, but then an image pops into my head. “I just wish I knew the guy was going to be a Ryder Lockhart level of hot,” I say, matter-of-factly.
“Oh, he is a hottie,” Penny says, and Delaney nods her agreement. They’ve both met him at my work events and the occasional group happy hour.
“He’s gorgeous. Just the other day I found myself cataloging his features. He really does have it going on. Plus, he’s smart and funny and good to animals.”
Penny hums mournfully. “Too bad he’s not a donor.”
“Ha. Yeah, it’s a bummer he hasn’t made a deposit at this sperm bank.” I tap the screen. “I’d order up one serving ASAP. Get that turkey baster inside me stat,” I bark as if I’d be saying that to the nurses
while I tell them to shoot me up with Ryder Lockhart’s DNA.
Ryder Lockhart’s DNA.
The clouds part. The sun rises. The bells ring. Never have three words sounded more like a perfect solution to a problem.
About the Author
Lauren Blakely writes sexy contemporary romance novels with heat, heart, and humor, and she has had eight books on the New York Times Bestseller list and fifteen on the USA Today Bestseller list. Like the heroine in her novel, FAR TOO TEMPTING, she thinks life should be filled with family, laughter, and the kind of love that love songs promise. Lauren lives in California with her husband, children, and dogs. She loves hearing from readers! Her bestselling series include Sinful Nights, Seductive Nights, No Regrets, Caught Up in Love, and Fighting Fire. She recently released SWEET SINFUL NIGHTS, the first novel in her new sexy romance series Sinful Nights that became an instant New York Times Bestseller. Her new adult forbidden romance, 21 Stolen Kisses, hit e-readers in May and landed on the USA Today Bestseller list. In January, she’ll release BIG ROCK, a standalone contemporary romance sure to make you swoon. She also writes for young adults under the name Daisy Whitney.
Lauren’s Bundle of Joy Special Delivery Giveaway! This bundle is valued at $200 and includes the most delicious cupcakes delivered to your door from Wicked Cupcakes, a $50 gift certificate for luxurious bath products to make your skin baby soft from The Body Shop, and comes wrapped up with a beautiful sterling silver bow bangle bracelet from Pandora ($125 value).