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Raquel and Harrison sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.
First comes love.
Then comes marriage.
Then comes a baby in the baby carriage.

That’s how her brother used to sing it when we were kids—a simple ploy to get under my skin and make me stick my fist in his face—but man oh man, did he get the order wrong.

One night of “kissing” in New York catapulted us straight to the pregnancy portion of the song—surprise!—and now I have to figure out how to carry out the whole melody in reverse.

A baby on the way first.
Then love and marriage?
It’s complicated on its best day.

But our situation is far more problematic than just a simple twist of nursery rhyme lyrics. Before our night together, Raquel Weaver was the best-known good girl in Hollywood—a twenty-nine-year-old innocent beauty whom the world adored and watched like a hawk.

Obviously, the consequences of that kind of reputation don’t just go away. Add in pregnancy hormones, the media, a fake fiancé, and a selfish manager, and you have the short list of my problems.

As a thirty-four-year-old, successful CFO of a multibillion-dollar media conglomerate, I thought I would be able to handle anything show business could throw my way, but I’m starting to think I might be in over my head.

Good thing I’m all in.
Winning Hollywood’s goodest girl is going to take everything I’ve got.


EXCLUSIVE EXCERPT: Winning Hollywood's Goodest Girl

Max Monroe

AVAILABLE NOW

An all-new steamy, surprise-baby RomCom is out now from Max Monroe, and I have an awesome excerpt for you.

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Excerpt

The very early morning of August 16th, 2:45 a.m.

Raquel

Hakuna Matata, baby.

My fingers are warm prunes, and I can barely contain my excitement at the smell of my clean hair and the satisfying brush of a dry, fluffy towel.

The scents are manly, compliments of Harrison, but after laughing at his jokes and staring at his smile for the last several hours, it’s not exactly a hardship.

Tonight, it’s like I was able to press pause on my life.

I don’t have my phone. I don’t have my team. And for once, I don’t even have the shell of the image they want me to have.

The New York rain more than washed it away.

I’m just Rocky, the woman who used to be a girl Harrison Hughes knew.

It’s all so gloriously simple.

And right now, I want to be a woman who takes what she wants—him.

With newfound confidence, I wrap the crisp white towel around my chest, tucking it in like the fold of a burrito, take a deep breath, and quietly open the bathroom door.

I peer outside into the bedroom. It’s empty and dark, and the soft whir of the TV down the hall is the only thing I can hear.

I tiptoe on bare feet along the hardwood until I make it to the end, and only then do I peek around the corner.

Harrison is stretched out on the couch, bare feet up and crossed with a long arm up along the back. A football game plays softly in front of him on ESPN Classic.

Yep. The jury is unanimous—grown-up Harrison Hughes is a certified babe.

I’m talking full-on hottie.

And in my line of work, I spend some time around guys who’re almost unnaturally good-looking. Some of them, I guess, probably do come by it unnaturally via surgery.

But Harrison was born this way. It’s in the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes and the mesmerizing flecks in the irises of his foresty eyes.

I can’t even count how many times I watched his slightly overlong hair fall down on his forehead while we were at the bar, weighted by the rainwater.

Hell, I’d probably still be doing it back at that bar if he hadn’t been ready to leave.

When he spots me playing a Tom of the peeping variety, he smiles and climbs to his feet.

“Hey there. Feel better?”

“Exponentially.”

“Good.”

I awkwardly shuffle on my feet as I try to get my seductive bearings.

Do I drop my towel now? Or do I…?

“You okay?”

“It’s just…” I want to seduce you. I want us to do the sex. I want to not be a virgin anymore. “I…uh…” I pause again and search for something—anything—to say to him that would actually make sense. “I could use some clothes.”

Ugh! No! You don’t want clothes! You don’t even want him to have clothes right now! No clothes for anyone in this apartment until the sex has been had!

“Oh,” he says with a chuckle. “Right. I keep forgetting this isn’t a nudist colony. My bad.”

“A mistake I’m sure many men make.”

“I’m glad you understand,” he teases with a wink. His stride is long as he blows past me on his way back to his bedroom, but his gaze moves at a much slower pace, lingering on the bare skin at my neck long after he’s gone by me. I’m actually impressed by his neck’s ability to turn that far.

I follow in his wake, watching as the muscles of his back flex and stretch beneath his plain white T-shirt.

He’s got a perfect body—heavy muscle mixed with long, lean lines—and he carries himself with the confidence I only pretend to have in front of a crowd.

As he waves me inside his closet behind him and pulls his T-shirt over his head to switch it out for something with long sleeves, I can’t help but wonder if the moment hasn’t been lost completely. If I can still manage to get this seduction, lose-my-virginity show on the road.

I mean, will I ever get another opportunity with someone I can trust?

What if I really did just make it happen? Right here, right now? I could just step forward and put my lips to his bare back and unwrap my towel and let it fall to the floor.

A shiver runs down my spine at the fantasy I’ve been having since I thought of it back in the safe constraints of his bathroom, and I swallow thickly around my arousal as it threatens to come up and out through my throat.

Before I can lose my nerve, I reach out with a timid hand and flatten it against the warm, hard surface of his back. He twists to glance at me at the contact, but when he notices the look on my face, everything between us slows to a halt.

“Rock?”

“Harrison.” It’s all I can say, and yet, I know it’s not really saying anything at all. It’s not confessing my thoughts or a profession of feelings or even a seductive invitation to make love to me. And it’s sure as hell not an admission of my inexperience.

But evidently, it does at least carry a tone because I could swear the green color of his eyes darkens right before my own.

With a shaking hand, I reach up to the twist I’ve formed at the top of my towel and undo it, clutching at the fabric as my nerves ramp up my heart to a blistering pace.

I focus on his eyes and the comfort I find in them as he stares intently at my hand.

Slowly, I force my fingertips to release the hold they have on the clump of plush fabric and swallow hard as the soft whoosh of the towel hitting the floor echoes between us.

Ironically, I’m kind of thankful to be naked at this point. My heart is beating so fast, I’d swear he’d be able to see it knocking around in my chest if I hadn’t presented him with other things to look at.

It’s the first time on record I can honestly say I’m happy my nutritionist restricts my complex carbohydrates.

Wide, interested eyes run down the length of my body and back up again before stopping earnestly on my face. He’s looking for the gimmick, the joke—maybe even the regret. But for as nervous as I am—and we’re talking really freaking nervous—I’m not feeling in the least like this is a bad idea.

It feels like a good idea.

The best.

Like the solution to a problem that needed to be literally put to bed a long-ass time ago—and a good time to boot.

I’m no expert, but I can’t imagine the twenty-woman-screwing, freaking hot-as-hell guy in front of me is bad in bed.

Forcing my hands to stay loose at my sides, I look down to the pebbled nipples at my breasts and then beyond—to the very obvious bump in Harrison’s pants. The fact that I’m turning him on is tremendously powerful. It’s like years of being a public sex symbol are finally making practical sense.

With two steps, Harrison closes the distance between us, his finger catching under the bottom of my chin and lifting up on it until our eyes meet and hold.

“Are you sure you want this?”

I start to nod, but when a swirl of uncertainty finds its way into his eyes, I force myself to open my mouth and speak. “Yes. I’m sure.”

Apparently, I succeed in my endeavor to sound certain because he doesn’t pause to ask again.

Soft yet sure hands run down the sides of my body and curve in at my hips before stalling just over the skin below my belly button. I savor the weight and warmth of their touch as Harrison places a kiss to the hollow of my collarbone before skimming his lips on a straight line downward until his face is between my breasts. He drops to his knees to better position himself, and I allow myself the pleasure of sinking my hands into the silky strands of his hair.

My breath comes in staccato pants as I try to gather myself against the absolute flurry of emotions attacking my system.

Holy shit, I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.

I’m going to have a penis in my body. Like, inside. All the way.

Holy, holy shit.

He looks up to meet my eyes as his lips touch the skin under my belly button, and it’s all I can do to stay standing.

I’ve never had a role on a medical show, but I’m pretty sure I’m on the brink of cardiac arrest.

“You’re beautiful, Rocky,” Harrison whispers, the tiny flutters of air from his words tickling the skin of my belly and sending my stomach for a ride up into my throat.

They’re words I’ve heard a million times, but when Harrison says them, my hair wet and face fresh from the shower, for the first time in a long time, I actually allow myself to believe it.

He moves his lips from my stomach downward, over the bone of my hip and following the line of my thigh all the way to the inside.

My knees start to shake, but if he notices, he doesn’t make a big thing of it, for which I’m eternally grateful. I don’t want to think too hard. I don’t want to get so lost in the details of how momentous an occasion it is that I forget to enjoy myself. I deserve this. I deserve this night for me and no one else, and by God, I’m not going to let myself ruin it.

I close my eyes and get lost in the sensation of his lips on me. Warm and sure, they show affection to each inch of my skin with equal and devoted attention. His hair feels soft in my hands, and he hums appreciatively at each new part of my body.

When my legs grow so weak that the tremble can no longer be ignored, he picks me up with an arm behind my knees, swings me fully into his arms, climbs to standing, and carries me to his bed as though I weigh nothing.

I wrap two tight arms around his sculpted shoulders and hang on as he settles me into the plush comforter and steps back again to push his pants down his legs.

I swallow hard as his cock goes from a foggy bulge in his pants to an undeniable thing of majesty. Thick, long, and veiny, it screams its arousal with impressive attention.

Dear God, I was not prepared for a penis of this magnitude.

This penis is king of the pride of penises on the most magical wild safari.

This penis is Mufasa.

“You okay?” he asks, climbing onto the bed in front of me and spreading my legs with sure but gentle hands.

I nod before blurting, “I just want you to know I wasn’t planning this. This is unexpected but welcome, and I…I think you’re great.”

His smile takes over his entire face as he falls to his stomach on the bed and looks up at me from between my parted legs. I have to actively work at not passing out. “I wasn’t expecting this either. And I think you make great look bad.”

“Gah. Is someone scripting these lines for you?”

He laughs with a shake of his head. “I’ve never been in show business, but if we were in a movie, I’d just be a secondary character.”

I lift a brow.

“You, Rock. You’d be the star.”

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