Boxed Set Spotlight: Sex, Love & Stiletto by Lauren Layne
The Sex, Love & Stiletto Boxed Set
After the Kiss
Love the One You’re With
Just One Night
The Trouble with Love
by Lauren Layne
Release Date: November 24, 2015
Loveswept
About The Sex, Love and Stiletto Boxed Set
Hailed by Ruthie Knox as “fun, sexy, and sharp as a spike heel,” the Sex, Love & Stiletto series from USA Today bestselling author Lauren Layne introduces the glamorous columnists of Stiletto magazine and the ridiculously hot men who love them. Now all four novels—After the Kiss, Love the One You’re With, Just One Night, and The Trouble with Love—are together in one eBook bundle.
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About After the Kiss (book one)
“After the Kiss is a knock-your-stilettos-off, total page-turning treat that had me fan-girling up within the first chapter.”—USA Today bestselling author Mira Lyn Kelly
Julie Greene loves flings: first dates, first kisses, that first sexy romp between the sheets. But when Julie has to write an article about the magical shift between dating and “I do,” she’ll need a man brave enough to reform a total commitment-phobe. Normally, that man would be Mitchell Forbes, a devastatingly handsome workaholic who stays in relationships far too long. But Mitchell is looking to cut loose for once, and Julie’s exactly the type of no-strings fling he’s looking for. In other words, he’s the polar opposite of what she needs—and exactly what she wants.
Excerpt from After the Kiss
Julie Greene had built a career out of falling in love. Staying in love? Not so much.
Julie’s boss apparently hadn’t gotten the memo.
“I’m confused,” Julie said slowly, leaning forward with a placating smile. “You want me to write what?”
Translation: You’re confused. I don’t write that shit.
Camille Bishop leaned back in her chair and studied Julie with puzzled eyes. “I’d have thought you’d be jumping at the chance to have such a simple assignment after last month.”
Julie pursed her lips together and considered. Last month’s assignment had been exhausting. Documenting the seven kinds of first kisses had required a lot of research.
Pleasant research.
But this? A two-page spread, to be called “How to Take Relationships to the Next Level”?
What was Camille thinking? This was Stiletto magazine, not Dr. Phil. Stiletto was sex and high heels, not companionship and freaking clogs.
The rocky post-honeymoon period just wasn’t Julie’s scene. Which is not to say she didn’t have plenty of other skills.
The first date? She had men begging for it.
The first kiss? An art form she’d long since mastered.
The first time you lost your panties in his sheets? Soooo not a problem.
This wasn’t to say that Julie had perfected only the major, most obvious dating milestones, however. She also knew how to finesse the subtler moments—those key moments where the breath caught and you thought, Yes, this. Julie could explain every single nuance, from the toe-curling euphoria when his hand brushed yours to the tingle when eyes held for just a beat too long. And then there was her personal favorite moment: the bone-deep satisfaction when you made him laugh for the first time—a real laugh.
Most women thought these moments just happened. Julie Greene knew better. These moments were created.
As for what happened after all that good stuff?
Julie couldn’t care less. She had no need for the first fight, no desire to meet the parents. No interest in finding dirty boxers in her hamper, or making room in her bathroom for a man’s razor. That was all a one-way trip to Julie’s personal vision of hell: couples movie night.
Julie had found that the women of New York City erroneously used movie night as a yardstick of how close to the altar he was. After all, if he was satisfied to spend a Friday night at home instead of at a strip club, he must be whipped, right?
Wrong. So wrong.
Movie night was just another way of saying that you didn’t want to bother dressing up for him and that he didn’t care. Julie lived in fear of the moment when fancy dinners and cocktail parties would be a thing of the past, and the highlight of the weekend would be lounging in yoga pants and watching car chases or beautiful people making out on-screen.
The sexiest part of that scenario was the butter on the popcorn.
She shuddered. Julie Greene didn’t do movie night.
Excerpt from After the Kiss
Julie Greene had built a career out of falling in love. Staying in love? Not so much.
Julie’s boss apparently hadn’t gotten the memo.
“I’m confused,” Julie said slowly, leaning forward with a placating smile. “You want me to write what?”
Translation: You’re confused. I don’t write that shit.
Camille Bishop leaned back in her chair and studied Julie with puzzled eyes. “I’d have thought you’d be jumping at the chance to have such a simple assignment after last month.”
Julie pursed her lips together and considered. Last month’s assignment had been exhausting. Documenting the seven kinds of first kisses had required a lot of research.
Pleasant research.
But this? A two-page spread, to be called “How to Take Relationships to the Next Level”?
What was Camille thinking? This was Stiletto magazine, not Dr. Phil. Stiletto was sex and high heels, not companionship and freaking clogs.
The rocky post-honeymoon period just wasn’t Julie’s scene. Which is not to say she didn’t have plenty of other skills.
The first date? She had men begging for it.
The first kiss? An art form she’d long since mastered.
The first time you lost your panties in his sheets? Soooo not a problem.
This wasn’t to say that Julie had perfected only the major, most obvious dating milestones, however. She also knew how to finesse the subtler moments—those key moments where the breath caught and you thought, Yes, this. Julie could explain every single nuance, from the toe-curling euphoria when his hand brushed yours to the tingle when eyes held for just a beat too long. And then there was her personal favorite moment: the bone-deep satisfaction when you made him laugh for the first time—a real laugh.
Most women thought these moments just happened. Julie Greene knew better. These moments were created.
As for what happened after all that good stuff?
Julie couldn’t care less. She had no need for the first fight, no desire to meet the parents. No interest in finding dirty boxers in her hamper, or making room in her bathroom for a man’s razor. That was all a one-way trip to Julie’s personal vision of hell: couples movie night.
Julie had found that the women of New York City erroneously used movie night as a yardstick of how close to the altar he was. After all, if he was satisfied to spend a Friday night at home instead of at a strip club, he must be whipped, right?
Wrong. So wrong.
Movie night was just another way of saying that you didn’t want to bother dressing up for him and that he didn’t care. Julie lived in fear of the moment when fancy dinners and cocktail parties would be a thing of the past, and the highlight of the weekend would be lounging in yoga pants and watching car chases or beautiful people making out on-screen.
The sexiest part of that scenario was the butter on the popcorn.
She shuddered. Julie Greene didn’t do movie night.
About Love the One You're With (book two)
“Spunky, flirty, and full of sass, Love the One You’re With is everything a romance should be! Lauren Layne has a winner.”—New York Times bestselling author Christie Craig
After her fiancé turns out to be the kind of rotten, cheating liar she always warns her readers about, Grace Brighton swears off relationships for six months. She makes an exception for a joint article on dating with a gorgeous counterpart from the men’s magazine Oxford—and tries to tell herself she’s not instantly smitten. Jake Malone only agreed to this fluffy assignment because his playboy reputation makes his new editor nervous. But after just one date with snooty, sumptuous, sensational Grace, Jake starts taking this assignment a whole lot more seriously.
Excerpt from Love the One You're With
If she waited in the cab line, she’d never make it to the weekly staff meeting on time.
But like any good New Yorker, Grace knew when to get crafty.
Grace weaved her way around the tight-butt, yoga-pants-wearing, stroller-pushing moms until she turned up one of the quiet side streets that would have less cab competition.
Sure enough, a taxi rounded the corner onto the street and was making its way toward her.
Finally. A little luck.
Grace raised a hand to hail it, only to watch in dismay as an arm in front of her moved in the exact same gesture at the exact same time. She hissed in annoyance, even though the man had obviously been there first and the cab was rightfully his.
She swore under her breath anyway. This was not the way she’d envisioned Grace 2.0 starting out. She was supposed to have gotten up early and done a little yoga, followed by a leisurely, healthy smoothie breakfast. Then she’d have a long shower followed by a perfect hair day, and would be in a cab and heading into the office all before the start of rush hour.
Instead, Grace had woken up an hour late to a malfunctioning coffeepot, absolutely no time for yoga, and so not a good-hair day.
Now some too-tall, perfect-haired stranger was about to take her cab.
As though he could feel her death glare on the back of his head, the man turned his face toward her just as the cab slowed to a stop in front of him.
Grace froze. He might be a cab stealer, but as far as thieves went, he was gorgeous. His black hair was just long enough to be interesting without being sloppy. He was tall—an inch or two over six feet, for sure—and he wore his height well, all broad shoulders and trim waist. Just the tiniest bit of stubble on the chin—more than a five o’clock shadow, less than scruff.
Yummy.
She would have been embarrassed at her gaping if he hadn’t been doing some looking of his own. His brown eyes skimmed over her, briefly enough to not be lecherous, but appreciatively enough to make her tingle.
When their eyes met, he grinned, his teeth perfectly white and perfectly even. This man knew what he had going on and was well accustomed to peddling his wares.
Watch out for that one, Grace 2.0 whispered. That smile will have you tucking your heart into your panties and handing the whole shebang over before he even buys you a drink.
Her attraction turned instantly to wariness. Okay, then. That was quite enough ogling.
Grace 1.0 was wailing that he could be a perfectly nice man that deserved a chance.
Well, Grace 1.0 could shove it. Grace 1.0 and her dreamy, happy-endings-really-do-happen dogma was the reason Grace was twenty-nine and unexpectedly single instead of wedding dress shopping.
Grace 1.0 was the reason that she actually missed Greg instead of consigning his memory to her mental compost pile.
Thinking about her wretched ex reminded Grace just how anti-man she was feeling these days, so instead of returning the stranger’s welcoming smile, Grace purposely moved her eyes beyond him to look for another cab.
“You want this one?” he called.
That got her attention. “What?”
Mr. Too-Good-Looking gestured toward the open cab door. “The cab. You want it?”
She narrowed her eyes as though to ask, What’s the catch?
Excerpt from Love the One You're With
If she waited in the cab line, she’d never make it to the weekly staff meeting on time.
But like any good New Yorker, Grace knew when to get crafty.
Grace weaved her way around the tight-butt, yoga-pants-wearing, stroller-pushing moms until she turned up one of the quiet side streets that would have less cab competition.
Sure enough, a taxi rounded the corner onto the street and was making its way toward her.
Finally. A little luck.
Grace raised a hand to hail it, only to watch in dismay as an arm in front of her moved in the exact same gesture at the exact same time. She hissed in annoyance, even though the man had obviously been there first and the cab was rightfully his.
She swore under her breath anyway. This was not the way she’d envisioned Grace 2.0 starting out. She was supposed to have gotten up early and done a little yoga, followed by a leisurely, healthy smoothie breakfast. Then she’d have a long shower followed by a perfect hair day, and would be in a cab and heading into the office all before the start of rush hour.
Instead, Grace had woken up an hour late to a malfunctioning coffeepot, absolutely no time for yoga, and so not a good-hair day.
Now some too-tall, perfect-haired stranger was about to take her cab.
As though he could feel her death glare on the back of his head, the man turned his face toward her just as the cab slowed to a stop in front of him.
Grace froze. He might be a cab stealer, but as far as thieves went, he was gorgeous. His black hair was just long enough to be interesting without being sloppy. He was tall—an inch or two over six feet, for sure—and he wore his height well, all broad shoulders and trim waist. Just the tiniest bit of stubble on the chin—more than a five o’clock shadow, less than scruff.
Yummy.
She would have been embarrassed at her gaping if he hadn’t been doing some looking of his own. His brown eyes skimmed over her, briefly enough to not be lecherous, but appreciatively enough to make her tingle.
When their eyes met, he grinned, his teeth perfectly white and perfectly even. This man knew what he had going on and was well accustomed to peddling his wares.
Watch out for that one, Grace 2.0 whispered. That smile will have you tucking your heart into your panties and handing the whole shebang over before he even buys you a drink.
Her attraction turned instantly to wariness. Okay, then. That was quite enough ogling.
Grace 1.0 was wailing that he could be a perfectly nice man that deserved a chance.
Well, Grace 1.0 could shove it. Grace 1.0 and her dreamy, happy-endings-really-do-happen dogma was the reason Grace was twenty-nine and unexpectedly single instead of wedding dress shopping.
Grace 1.0 was the reason that she actually missed Greg instead of consigning his memory to her mental compost pile.
Thinking about her wretched ex reminded Grace just how anti-man she was feeling these days, so instead of returning the stranger’s welcoming smile, Grace purposely moved her eyes beyond him to look for another cab.
“You want this one?” he called.
That got her attention. “What?”
Mr. Too-Good-Looking gestured toward the open cab door. “The cab. You want it?”
She narrowed her eyes as though to ask, What’s the catch?
About Just One Night (book three)
“Sexy, sassy, and surprisingly sweet, Just One Night is a total page-turner!”—New York Times bestselling author Donna Alward
As Stiletto’s resident “sexpert,” Riley McKenna writes articles that are the magazine’s most read. But when Riley is forced to confront a long-hidden secret—that her own sexual experience is limited to one awkward college encounter—she calls in the favor of a lifetime. Sam Compton knows two things about his best friend’s little sister: She’s the woman for him, and she’s completely off-limits. Sam shouldn’t even consider Riley’s proposition. But after a one-night stand in the name of research, they learn firsthand that, with each other, there’s no such thing as just one night.
Excerpt from Just One Night
Sam.
Her stomach flipped, but Riley chalked this up to the Happy Meal–sized dinner. Because after ten very platonic years, there was absolutely no reason why a simple text message from Sam Compton should give her butterflies. No good reason anyway.
Sam: I know it was you.
She rolled her eyes. Typical Sam—vague and grumpy.
Riley: Whoa! Is the taciturn-caveman routine back in style? Because nobody told us womenfolk!
Sam: The pamphlets in the glove box. I know you put them there. Probably last week when you tricked me into driving you and the girls to the outlet mall.
She let out a little choked laugh. Oh, those pamphlets. She’d almost forgotten about that spur-of-the-moment stunt.
Riley: I’m a sex columnist. It’s my responsibility to spread the word about safe sex.
Sam: This had nothing to do with safe sex, and everything to do with you making sure I didn’t HAVE any sex.
True, true. The man did know her well.
Riley: Well then clearly Angelica didn’t read the pamphlets. It says VERY clearly that there are multiple treatment options.
Sam: Her name is ANGELA, and she didn’t stick around long enough to read the pamphlets, and I DO NOT HAVE GENITAL WARTS.
She snickered. Riley could just picture him angrily punching the keyboard on his touch screen while cursing her name.
Admittedly, sticking the Dealing with Genital Warts pamphlets she’d swiped from the gyno’s office into his glove box had been a bit juvenile, but it meant he was alone tonight instead of feeling up Angelina.
She couldn’t even bother to hide the grin.
Gotta go, Sammy, she typed as Steven returned to the table. On a date.
Riley dropped the phone back into her purse and beamed at Steven, feeling happier than she had all night.
“Everything all right?” he asked politely.
“Oh, sure,” she said with a wave of her hand. “Just an old friend needing some relationship advice.”
“Well, they’re lucky to have a career relationship expert as a friend, then.”
Riley gave a distant smile as she felt her purse vibrate slightly against her calf. It would be Sam again. Don’t pick up that phone. Do not pick up that phone.
“You know, Steven, would you mind if I check this, just one last time,” she asked, already reaching for the phone. “It’s just he’s so—”
“He?”
Oops. Steven’s smile had slipped. Crap. She seemed to remember Grace writing an article about this once. No mentioning other guys early on in the dating process.
“Just my brother’s best friend,” she hurried to explain. “We grew up together. Practically siblings.”
They weren’t all lies. Sam really was best friends with her older brother, Liam. And she and Sam had grown up together, if you counted the late-teen years. And as for the siblings part . .
She glanced down at his message. A date with whom?
Whom. Damn it. Didn’t he know that there was nothing sexier to a journalist than proper grammar?
Excerpt from Just One Night
Sam.
Her stomach flipped, but Riley chalked this up to the Happy Meal–sized dinner. Because after ten very platonic years, there was absolutely no reason why a simple text message from Sam Compton should give her butterflies. No good reason anyway.
Sam: I know it was you.
She rolled her eyes. Typical Sam—vague and grumpy.
Riley: Whoa! Is the taciturn-caveman routine back in style? Because nobody told us womenfolk!
Sam: The pamphlets in the glove box. I know you put them there. Probably last week when you tricked me into driving you and the girls to the outlet mall.
She let out a little choked laugh. Oh, those pamphlets. She’d almost forgotten about that spur-of-the-moment stunt.
Riley: I’m a sex columnist. It’s my responsibility to spread the word about safe sex.
Sam: This had nothing to do with safe sex, and everything to do with you making sure I didn’t HAVE any sex.
True, true. The man did know her well.
Riley: Well then clearly Angelica didn’t read the pamphlets. It says VERY clearly that there are multiple treatment options.
Sam: Her name is ANGELA, and she didn’t stick around long enough to read the pamphlets, and I DO NOT HAVE GENITAL WARTS.
She snickered. Riley could just picture him angrily punching the keyboard on his touch screen while cursing her name.
Admittedly, sticking the Dealing with Genital Warts pamphlets she’d swiped from the gyno’s office into his glove box had been a bit juvenile, but it meant he was alone tonight instead of feeling up Angelina.
She couldn’t even bother to hide the grin.
Gotta go, Sammy, she typed as Steven returned to the table. On a date.
Riley dropped the phone back into her purse and beamed at Steven, feeling happier than she had all night.
“Everything all right?” he asked politely.
“Oh, sure,” she said with a wave of her hand. “Just an old friend needing some relationship advice.”
“Well, they’re lucky to have a career relationship expert as a friend, then.”
Riley gave a distant smile as she felt her purse vibrate slightly against her calf. It would be Sam again. Don’t pick up that phone. Do not pick up that phone.
“You know, Steven, would you mind if I check this, just one last time,” she asked, already reaching for the phone. “It’s just he’s so—”
“He?”
Oops. Steven’s smile had slipped. Crap. She seemed to remember Grace writing an article about this once. No mentioning other guys early on in the dating process.
“Just my brother’s best friend,” she hurried to explain. “We grew up together. Practically siblings.”
They weren’t all lies. Sam really was best friends with her older brother, Liam. And she and Sam had grown up together, if you counted the late-teen years. And as for the siblings part . .
She glanced down at his message. A date with whom?
Whom. Damn it. Didn’t he know that there was nothing sexier to a journalist than proper grammar?
About The Trouble with Love (book four)
“The Trouble with Love is a heartwarming read I devoured in one sitting and haven’t been able to stop smiling over since.”—New York Times bestselling author Violet Duke
Five years ago, Emma Sinclair was a blushing bride-to-be. Now she’s the ice queen of the Manhattan dating scene—and her latest article forces her to face the devilishly sexy guy who ditched her at the altar. After giving up everything for a pro soccer career, Alex Cassidy is hanging up his cleats and taking a shot at journalism . . . in the same city as his former fiancée. But Emma isn’t the innocent girl he remembers. She’s chic, sophisticated, and assertive—and she wants absolutely nothing to do with him. The trouble is, Alex has never wanted her more.
Excerpt from The Trouble with Love
Her most recent article was “Surviving the Single Life When Your Friends Are Coupled Up.”
Emma was able to write that one from personal experience. Hell, Emma would even call herself an expert on the topic, because her best friends were very much coupled up. In the best way possible, of course.
When she’d joined the Stiletto team a year ago, Julie had already landed the dead-sexy Mitchell Forbes, while Grace and Riley had been single.
Since then, she’d watched Grace fall head over heels in love with hotshot journalist Jake Malone, who she’d married in a small, gorgeous destination wedding a few months ago.
And Riley? Riley had successfully completed her ten-year quest for the heart of Sam Compton. They were getting married in a few months.
But then there was Emma.
Emma was still most definitely single. Intentionally.
She dated whenever it suited her, and had had plenty of relationships over the years. But Emma had no intention of shackling herself to a man, no matter how happy her friends were.
Because that happiness could be ripped away faster than a burst pipe could ruin your morning. And then you were left with nothing but a gaping hole where your heart should have been.
Excerpt from The Trouble with Love
Her most recent article was “Surviving the Single Life When Your Friends Are Coupled Up.”
Emma was able to write that one from personal experience. Hell, Emma would even call herself an expert on the topic, because her best friends were very much coupled up. In the best way possible, of course.
When she’d joined the Stiletto team a year ago, Julie had already landed the dead-sexy Mitchell Forbes, while Grace and Riley had been single.
Since then, she’d watched Grace fall head over heels in love with hotshot journalist Jake Malone, who she’d married in a small, gorgeous destination wedding a few months ago.
And Riley? Riley had successfully completed her ten-year quest for the heart of Sam Compton. They were getting married in a few months.
But then there was Emma.
Emma was still most definitely single. Intentionally.
She dated whenever it suited her, and had had plenty of relationships over the years. But Emma had no intention of shackling herself to a man, no matter how happy her friends were.
Because that happiness could be ripped away faster than a burst pipe could ruin your morning. And then you were left with nothing but a gaping hole where your heart should have been.
“Okay, so if there wasn’t a hurricane or prom date gone wrong, what’s with the weird combination of wet hair, au naturel makeup, and glam cocktail dress?” Grace prodded.
Emma filled them in on her apocalyptic flood situation. As she talked, Julie rummaged around in her purse until she came up with a mascara wand, lip gloss, bronzer, and a hairbrush.
She offered them up to Emma, who reached for them eagerly.
Grace checked her watch. “Sorry, Em. You’ll have to rock that natural look a bit longer. Staff meeting’s about to start.”
“Emma, you didn’t tell them the best part of your morning,” Julie said, as the four of them headed toward the conference room.
“What?” Emma asked. “The part where you gave me your caramel macchiato?”
“Nope,” Julie said, “I’m talking about who we saw in the elevator.”
Emma rolled her eyes. Oh. That.
“Who?” Riley asked. “Was it the Duchess of Cambridge? I heard she and Prince Willy were coming to the States and I must know what hair conditioner she uses.”
“We saw Cassidy,” Julie said in a singsong voice.
“Yikes,” Grace muttered as she pushed open the conference room door. “I hope everyone was bundled up. It’s always like an ice storm when Emma and Alex are in the same vicinity.”
Emma’s eyes flicked to Grace in surprise. It was weird to hear someone refer to him as Alex. When they’d gone to college together, the guy had been known only by the last name scrawled across his back on game day. To Emma, Alex Cassidy had only ever been Cassidy. Had that changed? Had he grown up? Decided to ditch the soccer superstar identity and go by his first name?
Not that she cared. Whether he went by his first name or last name, it all translated to the same thing: jerk.
“Speaking of that ice storm,” Riley whispered, as they filed into the conference room. “Brrrr.”
It took Emma all of five seconds to know what Riley meant. She didn’t see Cassidy so much as felt him.
But no matter.
She didn’t know what the hell he was doing at their Stiletto staff meeting, and she didn’t really care.
She’d quit caring about anything having to do with Alex Cassidy long ago.
Say . . . right about the time he left her at the altar.
About Lauren Layne
Lauren Layne is the USA Today bestselling author of contemporary romance.
Prior to becoming an author, Lauren worked in e-commerce and web-marketing. In 2011, she and her husband moved from Seattle to New York City, where Lauren decided to pursue a full-time writing career. It took six months to get her first book deal (despite ardent assurances to her husband that it would only take three). Since then, Lauren's gone on to publish ten books, including the bestselling Sex, Love & Stiletto series, with several more on the way in 2016.
Lauren currently lives in Chicago with her husband and spoiled Pomeranian. When not writing, you'll find her at happy hour, running at a doggedly slow pace, or trying to straighten her naturally curly hair.
Connect with Lauren
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