Extra Hot Read online

  EXTRA HOT

  Instalove Hearts Book 1

  ALLY CREW

  BRYNN HALE

  Be a part of Ally’s Crew and help decide what tropes and ideas she writes, and be part of the stories and give your opinion find out about it all below. Ally loves to hear from every reader.

  Join The AC Crew at:

  ALLY CREW NEWSLETTER

  If you love Facebook, be a part of her Fan Crew and get sneak peeks, updates on books, special giveaways, and more!

  ALLY’s FAN CREW

  Copyright © 2020 by Ally Crew and Brynn Hale

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contact Ally for more information at [email protected].

  This story was co-written by Ally Crew and Brynn Hale. Brynn writes sweet, steamy instalove with bad boys, cowboys, firemen, military guys and more with heart and all the feelings.

  She can be found at: Amazon Brynn Hale

  Contents

  EXTRA HOT-Instalove Hearts Book 1

  1. Callie

  2. Brody

  3. Callie

  4. Brody

  5. Callie

  6. Brody

  7. Callie

  8. Brody

  9. Callie

  10. Brody

  11. Callie

  Epilogue

  Pineapple Cheese Ball

  Sneak Peak of OPEN DOORS-Instalove Hearts 2

  Also by Brynn Hale

  Extra-Extra Material—First Chapter of ALYX-Adorkable Love 1

  Alyx

  EXTRA HOT-Instalove Hearts Book 1

  ♥Spilling hot coffee on her new boss's pants isn't her biggest problem. Falling in love with him is.♥

  Callie

  Damn, I just met a man who has single-handedly recalibrated my hotness scale.

  And then I poured a huge cup of hot coffee on his crotch and I tried to clean it off. Not my finest hour. Mr. Blue Eyes seems to take my crotch-invasion in stride. He even winks at me as I scuttle from the coffee shop for the safety of my office. It turns out he's a new employee and I have to show him around as part of my job. If I don't die of embarrassment first, I'm might just accept his offer of a date. I'm cautious, for good reasons. With sincerity, he breaks down my walls.

  But the truth is he might be too hot for this virgin to handle.

  Brody

  I got a whole serving of sweet-sexy goodness on what was meant to be a simple Monday morning coffee run.

  The over-the-pants action was unexpected as well. And not at all unpleasant. When I find out that she's an employee at the new company I just bought--and I'm going in secret-boss-style to see who is worth keeping and who isn't--I soon see that the amazing Callie is worth keeping, forever. Her sweetness makes my teeth hurt, and my body ache, I want this woman and I will stop at nothing to have her.

  It's about to get extra hot in here.

  What you must know: This fast and steamy read contains over-the-top proclamations, instalove magnetism, and sweet moments between a curvy woman and a charmingly decadent man.

  1

  Callie

  I run the list in my head. One, file four project documents. Two, email three clients. Three, schedule two board meetings. And finally, brace myself for the new boss. A new boss who is still nameless. My theory is he’s either in witness protection or he’s playing games. The first is weird and the second is not cool.

  Who is he and why the need for secrecy? The truth of his identity has everyone on edge and that means I’m getting a lot more work on my plate when they drop glass balls everywhere and I pick up the shards of pieces.

  Like always.

  But since I truly love my job, it’s all in a morning's work.

  I blow out a long breath as the line at the coffee shop jolts forward.

  My go-to size for a cup of joe is generally “tall”. “Grande” only if the day is dismal. But today seems like a shitstorm is approaching, and my brain needs premium and vat-loaded caffeine therapy, so I order myself a Venti—a size fit for a queen and queen-sized woman, like me. I brush my scarlet red dress over my bountiful hips while pulling my card from my skirt pocket.

  “Callie,” I repeat my name twice at the cashier ensuring I stress on the ‘Cal’ portion. It’s right there in front of her on the computer. We all have a purchasing code to enter in the building to charge the drinks to our paycheck account. But still they never look.

  Never. Ever.

  The barista scribbles “Sally” instead. Typical. And not unexpected at all, even though I’ve been coming here for six years. Sure, the baristas come and go, but their ability to not remember me doesn’t. I’m forgettable is what I normally take from this.

  “Thank you.” Forcing down my desire to say something, I smile at her, tucking back a errant piece of my brown hair, then wait at the end of the line for my order to be delivered.

  Even with all that’s happening, the morning feels new. The smell of coffee and toasted breakfast sandwiches complements the sounds of clopping heels, pleasant greetings, and fleeting conversations. The cafeteria on the ground floor, an homage to mid-century modern chic design—with its cushy retro-green chairs, ebony wood flooring, and featured walls of grey slate—is bustling. No surprises there, since it is the only source of caffeine fueling hundreds of employees frequenting the multi-story office building.

  I look around, observing the sea of people with steaming cups and croissants to-go, ebbing in and out of the café, wearing smart-suits and smarter attitudes.

  Almost instinctively, my hand trails down the front of my dress to straighten out an invisible crinkle.

  I sigh wistfully. If only I could pull off that look, but buttons only pull and gape on my abundant chest. It’s not a good look for me and with ninety percent of my co-workers being men, I try to stay on the conservative side. Although this jersey red dress isn’t my normal selection, sometimes the need for clean overshadows my desire to do laundry.

  My glazed vision clears when I spot something in the crowded room. A pair of blue eyes. It’s not just any blue. It’s the most exotic shade of silvery blue. A quickening ruffles my chest, soon invading the more intimate corners of my curvaceous body.

  Holy frickin’ hell. What’s happening to me?

  My body has barely come to terms with the invasion of these strange sensations, and I’m struck all over again and paralyzing me when I realize he’s staring back.

  At me.

  Mr. Blue Eyes is extremely tall, like MBA basketball player tall. But that’s only one of the many things that sets him apart from the rest. His features are deliciously handsome, so much so he turns heads even amongst a crowd of 8s and 9s on the 10-hotness scale. And he has the gait to match. A dusting of grey blends into the side of his dark hairline, allowing him to finish off the whole mature and magnetic look flawlessly.

  Damn, I just met a man who has single-handedly recalibrated my inbuilt hotness scale.

  My eyes stalk him to the counter, where he leans against it, with his hands gripping the edge. And his muscles clench into an inadvertent bicep-flex.

  Yup. Fit as fuck, even in a muscle-hiding suit. Is there anything about this guy that isn’t perfect?

  He mutters something to the girl behind the counter. I can’t make out what it is, my mind is too busy making notes on the tempting shape of his lips instead.

  Suddenly, the barista breaks out into a loud giggle that effectively pops all of my bubbles. A second later, she tilts forward, closing the gap between them, until her cleavage is winking at him.


  He notices. He doesn’t react. Why would he, when he’s probably used to one too many cleavages catcalling him? Ugh. Either way, why does it matter? It’s not like I’m ever going to be a pretty barista, with such a flirty game.

  I swipe the negativity from my being. It’s not normally there and I don’t need it. It’s just sometimes it sneaks in when I least expect it.

  I glimpse away, cramming myself into a corner with my arms crossed over my chest. “The wallflower pose,” I call it.

  My hideout doesn’t last very long though. The edge of my vision catches his silhouette making its way towards the end of the line, entering my space. My heart beats jump-start into overdrive, as his shadow looms closer, and closer still, stopping three inches away from me. Three-fricking-inches. I can differentiate the spices from the woodiness in his cologne. I shift nervously, ruining my carefully laid out attempts to remain invisible.

  “Black coffee—grande—extra hot,” the announcement comes from in front of us.

  I lurch for the cup like it’s my lifeline. Another hand reaches for it at the same time. A second later, the paper cup tilts, succumbing to the micro tug-of-war. I watch in horror, as half the beverage ends up tumbling down the man’s trousers, forming a patch just beneath the buckle of his belt. A low wincing groan, throaty and sexy, draws my attention up.

  Poor Mr Blue Eyes! Did I just spill coffee over Mr Blue Eyes? Fuck. Shit. Fucking shit.

  “Sally…” The barista chirps strutting over to our corner. “This is yours.” She pauses with a muted giggle, my faux pas clearly the source of her morning entertainment. “Remember, you ordered for a Venti?”

  Venti? Of course, I did. Premium caffeine therapy and all that.

  My head can’t think, my hands can’t keep still. I grab a couple of paper napkins and apologetically begin patting away the extra dampness—because it is the most logical thing to do. Except it is not when it’s on a man’s crotch. A handsome man’s crotch. A handsome man I’m mini/majorly crushing on. My fingers come to a paralyzed pause, the outline of his generous bulge tangible through the napkins.

  What in the world are you doing?

  There must be about fifty stares holding on me, but they’re eclipsed by the phenomenal laser directness of his gaze and I can see nothing else.

  “I… I…” I drop the napkins in the trash. I don’t need a mirror to know my cheeks resemble steamed beets—feverish hot and red. “I… I… I’m really sorry...” I manage a barely coherent stutter, and rush out of the café, before I end up doing something worse.

  I look back and there sits my Venti all alone. He lifts the cup and toasts it at me with a wink before taking a big sip.

  Mr. Blue-eyes winks at me.

  At me.

  2

  Brody

  Cocoa ribbons of long straight hair. Caramel eyes. Creamy skin. And natural pink lips like I’ve ever seen before. All on one woman.

  I got a whole bowl of sweet-sexy goodness on what was meant to be a simple Monday morning coffee run. Good thing I ran the marathon last week, because I’ve spent the past ten minutes on a dessert-binge. A binge that started the second I spotted her standing in a corner, trying hard to look invisible. Like someone so delicious could ever stay invisible from my hungry eyes.

  Her curvy figure, shaped to perfection by a plump chest and bubble butt had already tempted the man in me, stirring my cock to rise for the day. I was about to use the guise of idle conversation to get her number. And then, the spill happened. As if her visual assault on me wasn’t enough, her full-blown physical charge, dabbing my crotch with firm strokes, was icing on the sweetness cake. The fact that she didn’t realize what she was doing, and the dewy red that surfaced on her face when she did, instantly pumped my stirring-cock into a semi-erection.

  I adjust my necktie as sultry sweat begins lining my collar.

  Thankfully, my trousers are black. The high-quality material let the liquid roll off and I don’t have to worry about stains. But I do have to worry about hiding a hard-on now—one that’s getting harder thinking about her hand grazing over the head of my cock all while my gaze follows the sway of her hips as she rushes out.

  I like women. A lot. But at forty-two, I should be able to control my cock a little better than a teenager. I generally do. So, I know it’s got to be her and her deliciousness that I’m craving for after the briefest taste. And I’m not the kind of man who appreciates being left hungry.

  “Here’s your grande…” The barista beams, drawing me out of my trance. “Hope no one knocks this one over.”

  “Thank you.” I nod, pointing in the direction of the disappearing silhouette of Ms. Sweet-n-sexy. “Can you get me another one for her, too?”

  “Oh, Sally? Um, sure…” The barista seems taken aback.

  She doesn’t look like a Sally, but I’ll just call her “sweetheart.”

  “And does she take it with sugar?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Of course. Why would she, when she’s sweet as sugar herself?

  “So, tell me who does Sally work for?” I ask, when the barista eventually brings me the second cup, a Venti.

  She looks up the account on the computer that the previous Venti was charged to. “She works for Holland Architects.”

  A sly grin tugs the crook of my mouth. “Perfect.”

  I take a peek of the time on my watch as I head up the elevator with the two coffees. 7:47. I get off on the fifth floor, and pace through the corridors, following the directions on the bronze signboards. As I walk into the office of Holland Architects, I enter the receptionist area. At the far end is a pleasant older woman sitting behind a desk that looks like it’s been cleverly crafted from slabs of floating wood.

  “Hello. I’m Ash Brody.” I introduce myself with my surname leading instead of my given first name. There are reasons and I almost feel like I’m undercover. “I’m the new architect intern. Joining today…” I try to give her some information without spoon feeding her. They should be aware of my arrival and her lack of awareness is concerning.

  “Oh, great!” she acknowledges finally with a warm, welcoming smile. “Let me get Callie. She’s our do-it-all girl. She’ll get you set up.” Picking up her receiver, she speaks to the assistant, calling her to the reception area.

  “Do it all”? That doesn’t sound like any official title I’d ever give to an employee.

  I wait by, with the coffee cups balanced in one hand and my briefcase in the other. A few minutes later, the glass door swings open, and in walks the do-it-all girl I’ve been waiting for. And I’m wondering what “all” she might like to do.

  I hear a guttural wolf-whistle in my head. Ms. Sweet-n-sexy. But I thought…barista spelling strikes again.

  She skids to a stop. “You’re Mr. Brody?” That rosy flush resurfaces on her cheeks the instant she spots me. She straightens her back as to not give anything away to the receptionist. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Callie West. I’ll take you to your desk. Sorry to have kept you waiting.” Every sentence is clipped and faster than the last.

  “I have been waiting for you, Callie…” I drop my briefcase and hold a hand out to greet her.

  She pauses as if she’s heard the desire in my voice, before taking my palm for a coy handshake. The moment she clasps my palm, an unexpected sensation bolts its way up my arm, disorganizing my thoughts. And I’m never disorganized.

  Congrats, you've met the first woman who's achieved that feat.

  As her gaze falls on the cups I’m holding, she bites the inside of her cheek. “I…I’m really sorry about what happened earlier,” she rushes the apology.

  “No worries. This one’s for you.” I hand her the venti cup.

  “Oh, wow.” Her hand climbs up to her heart in surprise. “That is so sweet of you Mr. Brody. You really didn’t need to….” She breaks out into a genuine smile and my chest burns hot and slick inside. “But thank you.”

  As she cradles the warm cup in her palm, grat
itude mists her pupils like caramel swirls, letting me know she’s a stranger to kind acts and surprises. Damn, does she have to be this adorable in every moment?

  Oh sweetheart, this is only the first of many beautiful surprises coming your way.

  With every beating pulse, I can sense myself being captivated like never before. And if I play my game right—I know she’ll sense it too.

  3

  Callie

  I stare at the venti cup sitting on my desk, my ankles rotating around the base of my swivel chair. The coffee is still warm. He must’ve ensured they make it extra hot. Or perhaps it was his hand warming the liquid, as he is extra hot.

  I have been waiting for you…

  Even as I replay the words in my head, the timber of his voice sounds so manly, it leaves the woman in me feeling naked. Undressed? By a man’s voice? Seriously Callie?!

  I drink a few quick sips of the black sunshine and try burying myself in work. I have a mile-long to-do list, and my rounded ass will be on the line if I don’t start getting work done ASAP. But half-a-minute later, as I’m sipping on my drink, I look up again. My distraction is just around the corner, a few desks away, posing like a Forbes-cover model, embroiled in a conversation with a female colleague. A sharp tinge of jealousy makes me want to revert to my document, but I catch his eyes drifting towards me, and our gazes mingle, sparking something sinful in me.

  Is this real or am I laying the planks of an imaginary connection between us?

  I recall the hardening bulge that my fingers had felt as I dabbed his trousers at the café. I’m no babe. Apart from the one or two instances of fooling around with an ex back in high school and a couple dates that went a little faster than I wanted but never past where I demanded they stop, I’m still a virgin. But I can tell when a man is aroused by a woman’s touch, and this was boner-city.