Claiming His Call Girl: A Forbidden Romance

By S.E. Law and S.C. Adams

She’s a hostess at an exclusive gentlemen's club. He’s a cop with a grudge. Sparks? That would be an understatement.

Michelle: I’m a hostess for a wealthy, all-male clientele and it’s fun. I dance for the men. I sing, and even play my flute. But that’s where things get naughty because …

… this isn’t just any flute. Instead, I sway under the hot spotlights …
… my gleaming instrument in hand …
… and soon, a different type of music is rising to the Heavens!

But a dark man catches my eye one night. He’s sitting in the back with piercing blue eyes that take in every detail. He’s gorgeous with broad shoulders, a heavily muscled chest, and a smirk that makes me want to slap him and kiss him at once. Even more, he says he could use a woman with my talents.

Please, handsome. Every man wants a woman with my particular skills.

But then his true identity is revealed … … and soon, my flute’s on the ground as he puts his baby is in my belly!

This story is a follow-up to Trapped By My Boss. Yes, Michelle was insane when we met her back then, but she’s fully recovered now and ready to play! But is the feisty woman in over her head when it comes to criminals, undercover cops, and an adventure that surpasses her wildest dreams? Read and find out! No cheating, no cliffhangers, and always a HEA for my readers. All of my books are standalones, and do not need to be read in order.

• Language: English
• Publisher: S.E. Law Romance Author
• Release date: May 31, 2022

Book preview

1

Ben

---

"H ey, my man. Can we get two Buds over here?"

The young guy behind the bar with a messy blonde man bun and blue flannel shirt nods and scurries forward. Hell, I have nothing against man buns. So long as my beers are cold and the nuts warm, then he could dye his hair pink and tuck a daisy in his bun for all I care.

I look around, leaning back against the scarred wooden slab. Patsy’s is a dicey country saloon that’s been re-done with some modern flourishes. It’s also old as hell, and illegal as hell too. I swear, there are ashtrays on every table and people sucking deep on their Juul sticks without their masks on.

But I like it because Patsy’s is a part of New York you don’t see in movies or TV shows. The only people who visit are folks who know how to mind their own business, and as a cop, that’s important to me. I don’t want to be busting out my handcuffs at every turn. Plus, sometimes we boys in blue just want to relax and blend in, like everyone else.

At that moment, my buddy Curtis strolls in, and sees me. I raise a hand, and the tall man comes over.

Yo, he says. What’s up?

I nod as the bartender returns with our drinks.

Not much. How are you? I ask, sliding over one of the Buds.

He sits his huge mass on a hard wooden chair and winces.

What the fuck is up with these stools? Do they find the hardest wood in the world to make these things? I swear, my ass always hurts after a night at Patsy’s. But I’m good. Nothing to report. You know how it goes in the city. Same old, same old.

We both smile grimly because nothing could be less true of New York. If anything, this city eats its young by swallowing them alive. But then Curtis takes a swig of his beer and shoots me a level look.

So, any progress on your newest job?

I shrug and then look around to make sure no one’s listening. After all, we’re both undercovers for NYPD, and it’s a tough life. But it makes sense for single guys like us because we have no family, and not even many friends to speak of. No one’s going to freak out if we disappear for a few weeks or months before resurfacing.

I’ve got a few promising items on the horizon. Actually, I’m heading over to Club Z after we’re done here.

Curtis throws me a knowing smile because fuck, we both know what Club Z is good for. The place is a den of sin but there’s a method to the madness, for us at least. Sometimes, the best way into a gang is through the girls, and certain female entertainers seem to have all the hook-ups. Even if they don’t, they often hang out with our real targets, and those guys aren’t exactly the most discreet people. They’ll blab ridiculous information with a girl perched in their lap, and as a result, we frequent Club Z to try to make connects with potential honey pots.

You got a specific mission tonight? Curtis asks, one black brow rising.

Twisting my beer bottle in my hand, I take another swig and nod.

Yeah, and we’ll see what happens. I heard there will be Russians, but that remains to be seen. You know how it is with the Russians too. They vet everyone in their circle high, low, and up the ass, so I’ve got to keep it straight if I want to get in with those dudes.

Curtis nods, his black brows lowering.

Have you gotten an invite to that party out in Long Island yet?

I know what he’s talking about. The mafia that we’re hunting has a stronghold in Long Island where allegedly, girls are put up for sale. It’s a dirty business filled with innocent young things who are starved and beaten before they’re prettied up for auction. But we’re going to put a stop to it all. We’re going to breach that fucking nest of snakes headed by the Sim brothers, and bring those sex traffickers in for the true punishment they deserve.

No, I’m not in yet. But we’ll see what happens because I’m expecting an invitation any day. Maybe one of the girls from Club Z will get me in, I drawl.

Curtis nods.

Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if a couple of them are already in tight with the targets. Wouldn’t hurt to have an accessory with you if you do get invited out to Long Island, he hints.

I nod because my buddy’s not talking accessory like a hair accessory, or an accessory to murder. Instead, these assholes often have pets with them, meaning sexy, nude women who trail behind the mafiosos like well-bred kittens. If I had one with me, it would lend to my street cred, and yes, Club Z has a couple girls who’d likely play the part beautifully. But I just shrug.

We’ll see, I grunt. Let’s see what the club has for me tonight.

But then Curtis frowns, his blue eyes darkening. I swear, the dude is handsome enough to be a movie star so I have no idea why he’s a UC like me. But some guys want real action, and not the kind made up with prop guns and toy whistles.

You ever consider using a female UC to play the part? Could be worth trying. She’d be backup in case things go haywire, and we’ve got some cute girls on the force. Fuck, those Russians aren’t anyone to mess with and you need someone who can handle herself.

I shrug.

"Yeah, but you know our co-workers. They’re upstanding women who are professionals. Too professional, in fact. They aren’t going to degrade themselves the way a trained pet would, and these mafia guys would spot even a hint of defiance a mile away. They’ve been in the business of breaking and selling women too long, and you know what would happen if they broke cover. Hell, our co-workers would be sold into sexual slavery God knows where, never to be seen again."

My friend harrumphs.

Yeah, you’re right, he growls. NYPD would shit themselves, and then the FBI and CIA, not to mention who knows who else would have to get involved. Besides, he joshes, clapping me heavily on my shoulder. Hell would freeze over before one of our female co-workers would take orders from an asshole like you.

I shake my head ruefully.

Don’t I know it.

Curtis shrugs.

Well, enjoy yourself regardless. I mean, those parties at Club Z are fucked up, but that’s the best part, he winks. In fact, I hope to get out there next week myself, he adds. For my case, of course.

I guffaw at that.

Yeah, right, I snark. But then I shrug. Hey, it’s all in the line of work. We’re the boys in blue, after all.

We both get a good chuckle from that because we’ve risked our lives in the line of duty more times than we can count at this point in our careers. But it is what it is, and I didn’t sign up to fly a desk. No, I get off on the excitement, the rush of adrenaline, and most of all, putting fuckers away behind bars. If a few assholes get hurt in my line of work? Well, it’s pretty much par for the course, so I just shrug.

Yeah, I’ll be headed over to the club in an hour or so. I’ll let you know how it is.

With that, our conversation devolves into less serious topics, and I josh around with my buddy. Curtis is a great guy, and we always enjoy catching up because who knows when I’ll see him again? Undercover work is hazardous to maintaining a man’s sanity, and we come and go without notice much of the time. But even though my body language is relaxed, I’m on edge because I’ll be at the club in a couple hours, taking a hard look at the nubile female flesh on display.

2

Ben

---

One of the benefits of working undercover as long as I have is that I’m established. I’ve got the mannerisms of a billionaire down, as well as the accoutrements that accompany a supposed playboy who revels in NYC nightlife. I’ve got the car. The apartment. The gilded credit card. And most of all, a highly coveted membership to Club Z, where many of the most beautiful female entertainers gather for the pleasure of rich assholes like me.

Obviously, Club Z’s not open to everyone. Instead, there’s a rigorous screening process, and membership is only by invitation. It took a couple years to even get that invitation, but once I did, I was in like Tim. Now, I frequent Club Z on a regular basis, not only to keep up my façade, but also to make connects. Again, it’s not just the male criminals who belong to the club; it’s the women who work there,