His Tempting Cherry Pie – A Double Virgin Valentine Read Online Dani Wyatt

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Insta-Love, Romance, Sports, Virgin Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 124(@200wpm)___ 99(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)

Read Online Books/Novels:

His Tempting Cherry Pie - A Double Virgin Valentine

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Dani Wyatt

Book Information:

When I found out my bestie's fiancé cheated on her the day before Valentine's Day three years ago, I came up with a brilliant idea. Send his little side piece a BIG bouquet.
Of dead flowers.
Who knew, my little jab at the side-chick would turn into a multi-million-dollar business. Things couldn't be better, right? Wrong.
Enter my father's new wife. Stacie. She's my age and her older brother? He's a hot shot venture capital investor and when he gets wind of my little entrepreneurial success?
Let's just say, our first meeting has partnership written all over it. He surprises me in more ways than one. Especially when I find out both of us have saved our slice of cherry pie for our one and only.
I do everything in my power to tempt him to take a bite, and when he does, he can't get enough. He wastes no time letting me know, my sweet treat is his and his alone.
Only, on Valentine's Day, my business reminds me of how many so-called perfect unions end in a bouquet of dead flowers. Can this hunky first timer show me true love can last?
Books by Author:

Dani Wyatt



Weddings make me want to get drunk. And punch things.

Well, I always want to punch things.

But, this particular wedding? I want to be ass to the wind, shit faced, gutter drunk. It’s an open bar after all but what’s even better?

I’m the one footing the bill for this circus.

And it’s not even my fucking circus.

“Another Stoli.” I rap my knuckles on the mahogany bar top, holding my empty rocks glass up with the other hand. The young man in the white shirt and black bow tie nods my way. “No ice this time.”

The ice is slowing the intoxicating effects of the vodka and I need a good buzz in order to make my official entrance and the obligatory introductions that will follow. I ducked in the service entrance to the ballroom after paying off a busboy out in the hallway and slipped into a spot at the back corner by the bar.

It was a hundred dollars well spent, giving me precious few minutes to numb myself before I pretend to be the proud brother of the bride, who for all intents and purposes has taken on the traditional position generally reserved for the father.

The anger bubbles again. It percolates like a thick rancid stew in my gut.

The weight on my shoulders is one thing, I’ve learned to live with being the responsible one. But, it’s the mangled mess inside me. The way my heart feels like it’s in a cage, barely able to beat. No amount of meditation or controlled violence—mental or physical—seems to be able to untie the knots that have become my all-consuming burden.

The name of the first knot is Reginald Taylor Andrew, Sr., my father.

He was a fucking cliché. Going out for milk when we were kids and vanishing into the ether, leaving me holding the man of the house bag and fuck was it heavy.

I shake off the thoughts, trying to get into the spirit of the day as I take a sip of my fresh drink and feel the burn, swallowing as the fucking chicken dance song comes on and the knot of tension at the back of my neck tightens.

“Bride or groom?” A feminine voice comes from my left and I cock my head to see an older woman slipping onto the barstool next to where I’m standing.

“Sorry?” I clear my throat as she smiles. Despite her age, which I’d garner to be late sixties, maybe early seventies, she’s not unattractive. Her make up isn’t too heavy, her dress is a dark fuchsia, fitted but classy.

“Are you here for the bride or the groom, honey?”

I glance down the bar, where the servers taking orders and passing out drinks, then look back at her.

“Here for them both,” I answer as she tucks a long strand of silver-gray hair behind her ear. “But, to answer the spirit of your question, I’m on the bride’s side of things.”

“Very nice.” She spins her straw in the pink liquid and ice at the bottom of her glass. “I’m a friend of Martin, the groom. An old friend.” She raises her tinted eyebrows and there is kindness in her eyes. “Hard for an old gal to have a chance these days when the men my age are marrying girls my granddaughters’ age.”

She tips her head toward the dance floor and I work up the courage to look.

There’s Stacie, my younger sister by twelve years, flapping her elbows and laughing louder than anyone else. Next to her is Martin, her shiny new husband. I only know him from photographs, but it’s him. He’s hard to miss.

I’m no gym rat and I know I’m considered pretty fucking bulky but Martin could use a few turns on a Peloton.

He’s husband number two for her, and my sister is just four months past her twenty-first birthday. Her man picker could use some work, but truth is, I don’t even know Martin. He’s older. She says he’s an entrepreneur but when I asked for details, Stacie made some excuse why she didn’t know and changed the subject.

“Oh well.” The woman next to me slips her empty glass to the server, then tilts her head, looking hard at me. “Lots of young women here tonight. I’m sure you’ll be a hit if you’ll quit hiding over here in the corner.”

“Maybe.” I offer her a smile, my mind already on getting back to my office here in Charlotte tomorrow. I flew in from New York, where my headquarters is located, but keeping a presence here in North Carolina where I started out has been important to me. Women and dating were never a priority for me, even in my younger days when I should have been out sowing my wild oats like my buddies. I meet the woman’s eyes for a second before asking, “So, Martin, you said he was a friend?”