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Mr. X by Anna S. Lae

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  • ISBN Digital: 978-1-5092-1100-5

    Page Count: 146

    Word Count: 35559


    She belongs with him. She just doesn't know it...yet.

    A single mother working two jobs with no time for drama, Brittany Jones has given up hope of ever being happy. A romantic relationship would only complicate things. When a pair of wide shoulders and a smile that could melt any girl's determined heart—not to mention her panties—hires on to renovate the office where she works, Brittany might just have to allow for a little play time with Mr. X.

    Xavier Martin is on his way back to a small town with an even smaller reputation. It’s been a rough day, but he has one last job to complete before heading off to a bachelor party. That is, until he walks through the door and sees a familiar pair of emerald eyes staring back at him. Manicured girls like her don't go out with unpolished guys like him, but he's willing to put up a fight for a chance to make her his.


    “Brit, I don’t know where things are going from here…”

    “Wait! If this is where you’re going to tell me some shit like “thank you for a good time” or “I’ll call you later” crap you can save your breath.”

    He loved her physical reactions when she got angry. Her eyes grew two shades darker and reflected her confusion. She had air quoted each cliché with her fingers, emphasizing the overused one-night-stand phrases.

    Obviously she’d heard those things before, so she was skeptical of him. Maybe the father of her son had said some of those words to her. If he’d truly known her, there was no way in the world he would’ve left them. He didn’t want to make her feel like she was another roll in the hay. Just another fuck. “No Brittany, that’s not what I was going to say. If you’d try to have a little patience…”

    Her head snapped around. There was fury in her eyes. If looks could kill, he would have dropped over dead on the spot. She waited for the quickest excuse he could come up with.

    He shouldn’t have told her to be patient. It was enough to send any woman into a spitfire of emotion, and he wasn’t wearing a pair of boots high enough to maneuver through the pile of shit she’d bury him in.


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Mr. X

Mr. X

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