Mistaken For An Escort (Forbidden Fantasies #24) Read Online S.E. Law

Categories Genre: Erotic, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Forbidden Fantasies Series by S.E. Law
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Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 26884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 134(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
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Read Online Books/Novels:

(Forbidden Fantasies #24) Mistaken For An Escort

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

S.E. Law

Language:
English
Book Information:

Angie: My grandmother needs medication for her asthma, and I make a pittance working as a line cook at a greasy spoon diner. As a result, I answered an ad looking for models. Little did I know but this “modeling gig” was of an adult nature. What? This isn’t what I signed up for! I want out. NOW.

Peter: I don’t usually use escorts, but boredom was literally making me dizzy so I took City Girls up on its offer to “show me a good time.” (their words, not mine) They had all the girls in a room dressed in the frilliest of nothings, and customers were allowed to observe through a two-way mirror. None of the women caught my attention … until I saw *her.* Angie was busting out of her red dress with flames in her eyes and steam hissing from her ears. The curvy girl’s got me hooked with her spirit and fire and now, I want my baby in her belly!

This is the next installment in the City Girls series. You’ll love this steamy tale that touches on the taboo because how many customers really get to select the woman they love from a line-up? However, at City Girls anything is possible because it’s va-va-voom fun! This is a follow-up to First Time Escort and My Roommate’s Dad, but all my books are standalones and may be read in any order. As always, no cheating, no cliffhangers, and always an HEA for my readers.
Books in Series:

Forbidden Fantasies Series by S.E. Law

Books by Author:

S.E. Law



1

Angie

The sound of my grandma hacking away in her recliner makes me wince. Grams has been coughing all day, and it’s only getting worse.

I look down at the table where a stack of bills awaits, and then back at my computer where the sky-high price of her asthma meds is in huge block letters on the screen. I cringe. There’s no need to pull up my bank account to see what little money I have left from my last paycheck because it won’t be enough to refill my grandmother’s prescription, and it definitely isn’t going to come close to the cost of her inhaler. Which is, by the way, the same inhaler that’s down to its last four puffs before it runs completely empty. Judging by the sound of Grams’ cough she needs it now, but she won’t use it because my grandmother knows our situation. To conserve, Grams saves every last puff for the times when she absolutely can’t breathe and the inhaler is her only option.

I fill a glass of water and carry it over to her. “Here you go, Grams.”

“Oh, thanks honey.” The elderly woman smiles at me and her smile is so bright and genuine it breaks my heart. This woman deserves the world, and I just want to find a way to give it to her.

After all, it’s been Grams and me for as long as I can remember. My dad was never in the picture, and my mom … well, I was only five when a drunk driver ran a stop sign and plowed into Rochelle on her way home from work one night. Grams took me in right away, and it’s been just the two of us ever since. She’s never had much, but she still managed to take great care of me, even if it meant not taking care of herself the way she should.

I go back to the kitchen table and sit in front of my laptop listlessly. Looking up on the wall behind Grams’ head, I see my culinary degree in the center of the living room so everyone who comes over can see how proud she is of me. The whole thing makes me depressed, and I let out a big sigh before dropping my hand in my chin. Not that we really have visitors, but it makes Grams happy to know that I’ve done something with my life. Well, at least sort of. I have a degree, even if it hasn’t led to a sustainable lifestyle yet.

After all, cooking has always been my passion. When I decided to go to the Culinary Institute of America I was so sure it was going to lead me to a career as a highly-paid chef in a busy restaurant making the kind of money that would allow me to take care of my grandma the right way. Grams deserves so much more than this meager one-bedroom apartment we’re sharing. She deserves to use her inhaler whenever she needs it, and not just during the worst of times.

But instead of a lucrative job, the only position I could find is working as a line cook at the Bad Burger. Yes, it’s exactly what it sounds like. We serve burgers of every type to customers looking for cheap eats, and sometimes, the burgers really are terrible. Even worse, the pay is barely above minimum wage, and most nights, I come home smelling like fries and grease. This is definitely not the career I was planning for.

Grams coughs again, this time unable to get her hacking under control, and I jump up and run to her in alarm. Grabbing her inhaler from the table beside her, I wave it before her face. The elderly woman shakes her head, but her cough persists, and her face starts turning red.

“Please, Grams. You have to use it!” I say in a panicky voice.

It feels like forever before she reaches out with a shaky hand and takes the inhaler. She puts it to her mouth and breathes the medicine in deep, her bony chest rising. It takes two puffs before she slowly starts to come down from her coughing fit, and the red in her cheeks begins to fade.

Grams stares up at me, her watery blue eyes full of apologies.

“I’m so sorry, Angie. I shouldn’t have let it get so bad.”

I drop to my knees beside her chair and hug her spindly frame, being careful not to crush the old woman. “You didn’t do anything to apologize for, Grams. It’s just your asthma.”

“I know dear, but these inhalers are so expensive, and I don’t like to be a burden.”

I sit up on my knees and look her in the eye. “You aren’t a burden, don’t worry. I love you and we look out for each other.” I pull the inhaler from her hand and pause. Oh shit, it’s really light in my hand, which indicates that it’s nearing empty. “And I’m going to get this refilled,” I say with determination.


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