Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Read Online Books/Novels: | Paying My Dad's Debt (Forbidden Fantasies #53) |
|---|---|
Author/Writer of Book/Novel: | S.E. Law |
| Language: | English |
| Book Information: | |
I thought my dad was paying my tuition, but instead it’s been his gorgeous Army friend footing the bill all along. Lorraine: Caleb Minor is my dad’s old Army buddy. He’s got a chest carved from wood and six pack abs that give new definition to the word “washboard.” Plus, I know he’s daddy material because … … he’s packing some *serious heat* that I can’t wait to see! But then I find out that my dad’s taken a loan of sorts. Actually, it’s not even a loan. Caleb’s been funding my college education because he says I’m the kind of woman who deserves to be appreciated. OMG! How did this happen? Of course, the businessman’s filthy rich so it’s not about the money … … but still, I want to pay him back somehow. I want to give Caleb something special and sweet, that belongs only to me … … and if it ends in a baby, then the handsome veteran will be a daddy again! This is a follow-up to Patty’s story in Too Hot To Handle. Here, we follow the tale of her sassy friend, Lorraine, who’s brainy, curvy, and a bad girl at heart. She’s got her sights on the hot DILF, but the feisty woman is far too clever for her own good, and ends up in a spot she never envisioned! This tale is filled with action, adventure, and a crazy over-the-top ending you’ll never believe! But of course, there’s a HEA for our couple filled with sparks, light shows, and even a daring rescue or two. Hang onto your hats for a ride into thrilling romance! No cheating, no cliffhangers, and always a HEA for my readers. | |
| Books in Series: | Forbidden Fantasies Series by S.E. Law |
| Books by Author: | S.E. Law |
1
Lorraine
I pull into the all too familiar driveway at my parents’ house and park in front of the garage, but make no immediate moves to get out of my car. Instead, I check my reflection in the rearview mirror for the hundredth time. My stomach is curled in tight knots, a sure sign that I’m tense.
I rub at my cheeks, frustrated by my pale complexion and hoping that a quick pinch on either side will bring a little life to my face because I’m nervous about tonight’s family dinner, even though I’ve had weekly dinner with my parents every Sunday since I started college two years ago. I love our little tradition, and I really value seeing my parents each week, come rain or shine.
Except it’s not just family tonight, I remind myself grimly. On my drive over to my parents’ place, my mom called to let me know that Dad showed up after work with a guest for dinner, and I had better not be late. Despite my protestations that I needed to go home and change my clothes if we were going to have company, Mom insisted that I hightail it to the house and not stress about my appearance.
So now, here I am. I swipe at my hair, wishing I’d straightened it, but I basically rolled out of bed this morning in a rush. As a result, the brunette strands hang in large, full waves past my shoulders, but the impending cold weather has made them frizzier than usual.
It’s no use and I sit back against my seat in a huff. So what if I look terrible? So what if my hair is frizzy and untamable? So what if my outfit is all wrong? There are more important things in life than looks, right? I just have to suck it up and go inside.
But still, I glance down at my clothes with dismay. My excuse is that it was laundry day. Actually, it’s been laundry day for the last week and a half, so this morning I threw on some random items lying on the floor since I thought it was just going to be my parents and me hanging out tonight.
But now, I’m regretting it. I grimace as I take in my short skirt, usually reserved for the occasional night out on the town, and the soft, clingy sweater that’s a little too tight in the bust. I fidget with the neckline, desperate to hide my cleavage, but of course it’s no use. The scooped sweater dips low, and I guess I’m just going to have to smile and bear it, even if it’s embarrassing.