Raw and Ready: A Forbidden Romance

By S.E. Law

I was just trying to help my friend’s dad get over his divorce, but our encounter turned into something filthy.

Dani:

I’ve known Dr. Lindstrom for years because he’s my friend Chrissy’s father. He’s always been gorgeous and handsome but let’s face it – the older man’s married and *very* unavailable.

But then I stumble into their kitchen one night to find Hunter in a dark place…

The alpha male’s divorced now …

He’s raw and ready to go …

… and I’m more than available.

Soon our tryst becomes high-wattage and utterly passionate. The gorgeous physician takes me every which way, making me drool over his chiseled physique, clever hands, and the huge thermometer in his pants pocket.

But what if I like it raw?

Is the doctor ready to be a daddy again, or is he done with his daddy days for good?

She’s shocking. She’s imaginative. She’s filthy, and she wants her man. Dani’s got the hots for a mouthwatering alpha male, and she’s not going to let anyone get in her way! Of course, the curvy girl’s worst enemy is herself, but after a series of mishaps and crazy shenanigans, Dani finds her way into the arms of her very own Prince Charming. This book is a follow up to Father of the Bride, but all of my books are standalones and do not need to be read in order. Sit back, relax, and put on your seatbelts for a wild ride! No cheating, no cliffhangers, and always a HEA for my readers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: S.E. Law Romance Author
• Release date: Jan 10, 2022

Book preview

1

Dani

Music plays throughout my apartment as I shamelessly shimmy my hips to the melodies of my favorite eighties rock. My curls fly out in a mess and I let out a high-pitched whoop that probably sounds more crazy than anything, but I don’t care. The neighbors can stick it. I have a two-bedroom to myself and it’s incredible! There’s so much space that I can hear my voice echo as I bounce around the living room like a ping-pong ball.

Of course, I know I need to start the search for a new roommate asap, but since Carolyn got married and moved out, I’ve really enjoyed having the place to myself. I can walk around naked. I can go to the bathroom with the door open. I can play my music at maximum volume, and cook fragrant curries without being worried that Carolyn will faint from the spicy scents. It’s absolutely wonderful, and I love everything about my apartment.

Okay, maybe not everything because suburban New Jersey isn’t exactly my cup of tea, but it’s a nice neighborhood. Plus, now that I have the place to myself, I’ve changed the décor to suit my tastes. There’s a charming brick wall in the main living room that I’ve plastered with colorful paintings. The other walls are painted a subtle cream, and there’s a plush tan couch that’s ancient but soooo comfortable for watching movies on. The kitchen is small, but it has all the essentials and more than enough storage, which is unique in these old apartments.

But my bedroom is actually my favorite room. I’ve painted the walls a sheer shade of lavender, and fairy lights are strung from my headboard in a gorgeous twinkling tapestry. The down comforter is a deep eggplant shade, and I painted my small vanity a cheerful white so that the purple vibe doesn’t take over.

But as much as I adore my apartment, I can’t afford it on my own. Unfortunately, scooping ice cream at the Frosty Freeze in Nassau doesn’t come close to covering the rent on a two-bedroom, so I need to find a new roomie fast. Even worse, I’ve been moonlighting as an escort to cover the rent. It’s not something I planned (hell, who wants to work for an agency called Three Hole Girls?), but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Despite its ridiculous name, at least my agency does a pretty good job of vetting the clients they set us up with. They sell themselves as a high-end escort agency, but what kind of man would even deign to use an agency with a rude name like Three Holes? Seriously, what’s wrong with normal names like Luxe, Deluxe, or Entice? Whoever chose Three Hole Girls is a raunchy bastard with little to no business sense.

Still, this is my reality. With a sigh, I sit at my vanity and stare at my reflection. Tonight’s date should be okay. I have my regulars, but there’s a new guy named Trevor that the agency urged me to meet. They assured me he’s well off, and the client even provided a headshot of himself. He looks to be as handsome as a male movie star, but I’m not betting on it. These things can be photoshopped so easy.

But nonetheless, a date is a date and I’m getting paid. Quickly, I swipe on some mascara, and apply my favorite color-stay lip stick in a beautiful shade of rose that contrasts nicely with my black cocktail dress. Then I pat my curls before standing and turning before the mirror. This dress really is perfect. The décolletage is subtle, hinting at my cleavage, but the back is where the drama begins. There’s a deep vee going all the way down revealing just a hint of my bottom cleft where my lower-back tattoo rests. I realize that some folks refer to these tattoos as tramp stamps, but mine is small and very discreet. It’s a rose that lies horizontally right above my buttocks with the initials THG in discreet script next to it. I know, I know. I got Three Hole Girls indelibly stamped on my body during a drunken night out, but at least the letters are tiny. Besides, I quite like the rose even if I should lose the acronym.

Satisfied, I turn around and smile in the mirror before fluffing out my curls. This should be enough for Trevor, and if it isn’t? Well, he can always find another escort if he’s unhappy. At that moment, a text pings on my phone, and I smile. Oh good, the Uber’s here. Quickly, I slide into my heels, grab my purse, and head downstairs with a naughty smile on my lips.

Miriam’s is more than a bar; it looks as if I’ve stepped into a Prohibition-era speakeasy with dim lights, bartenders in fitted grey vests, and elegantly coiffed guests. Beautiful crystal glasses are displayed behind a massive oak bar, and everyone seems to be enjoying a top shelf spirit that I could never afford in my wildest dreams.

Even better, I spy Trevor immediately. He’s the dark-haired man who waves when I enter, and to my surprise, he looks even better than his headshot. The man has ebony hair that makes his deep blue eyes pop, chiseled features, and a startling, bright-white smile. It’s obvious that he works out, even in his fancy suit, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he hits the gym twice a day.

You must be Danielle, he growls as I approach.

I smile brilliantly as a thrill courses down my spine.

Yes, please call me Dani.

We clasp hands, and electricity jolts at the touch. Wow, this is incredible. Usually my dates are handsome, but they aren’t movie-star quality. But there’s something weird about Trevor’s smile that feels a bit off. At first, I can’t put my finger on it, but then I realize that his smile is alarmingly wide and looks almost as if he has too many teeth. Is that even biologically possible?

But I banish my reservations and slide easily onto the bar stool next to his. Meanwhile, my date flags down the bartender.

I’ll have a bourbon. He looks at me. What would you like, sweetheart?

I nod and throw him an impish smile.

I’ll take a glass of chardonnay, please.

The bartender immediately moves away to prepare our drinks, and my date turns to face me. Wow, Trevor’s huge with broad shoulders and a massive, sculpted chest. This is probably the most handsome man I’ve ever met through the agency, and I thank my lucky stars for the opportunity.

You know, Trevor begins conversationally, I’ve never done this before.

I flutter my lashes.

Done what?

Paid for a woman, he says in a blunt tone. It’s not something that I need to do, if you know what I mean. Usually, the ladies come to me.

I hide my frown because the fairy tale is beginning to dispel. I mean, what a narcissistic jerk-off to even say those words! But unfortunately, it’s part and parcel of being an escort. Clients don’t feel that they need to hold their tongues, and start spewing their innermost thoughts even if it’s unpalatable. But I try to be nice.

Oh really? I ask, taking a sip of my wine. "What made