Torrid Rush: A Single Dad Romance (Bad Boy Studs Book 3) Read online

  Torrid Rush

  Scarlett Avery

  Copyright © 2020 by Scarlett Avery

  Edited by John Hudspith

  Proofread by Ali Skrzypiec

  Proofread by Chrissy Becker

  Model: Zack Salaun

  Photographer: Wander Aguilar

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental. This book is for sale to adults over 18.

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Torrid Rush / Scarlett Avery

  ISBN 978-1-989778-39-5

  Get The TORRID RUSH Secret Chapter

  Join my mailing list and grab the Exclusive Secret Chapter or Storyboard for this romance.

  Great extra goodies. Hot deals. Zero spam.

  www.RomanceBooksRock.com

  Come join my Facebook readers’ group!

  https://www.facebook.com/groups/ScarlettAverySexySirens/

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Get The TORRID RUSH Secret Chapter

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Scarlett’s Book Banter!

  Get the Secret Chapter and Storyboard

  Sneak Peek of another Scorching HOT Romance

  ************************

  Bad Boy Studs Series

  Romance #1: Torrid Love

  Romance #2: Torrid Passion

  Romance #3: Torrid Rush

  Romance #4: Coming soon!

  Romance #5: Coming soon!

  Romance #6: Coming soon!

  Romance #7: Coming soon!

  Romance #8: Coming soon!

  Romance #9: Coming soon!

  Romance #10: Coming soon!

  ************************

  My Books Are Exclusive On Amazon!

  If you didn’t obtain this book via Amazon or Kindle Unlimited, you’re in possession of a stolen copy. Downloading an e-book without paying for it isn’t cool and it’s against the law. Those corrupted files often times contain viruses and malware that can damage your e-Reader or computer. Some may even steal your passwords and/or banking information. Please obtain my books from Amazon, and Amazon only. Piracy isn’t pretty and it hurts authors. It’s basically the same as you working a full-time job and not getting paid a cent for your efforts. Please, please, please support authors.

  CHAPTER 1

  Holt

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  “Damn,” I growl when I accidentally knock my cup of latte all over the granite counter. Of course, the hot liquid drowns my breakfast.

  “I so needed that coffee,” I grumble.

  Throwing my hands in the air in frustration, I turn to the sink to grab a dishrag to clean up the mess. When I’m done, I grab the plate of food and dump its contents in the trashcan.

  So much for soggy toast and caffeinated poached eggs.

  I’m just about done putting my plate and mug in the dishwasher when my iPhone goes off. Again.

  “I hear you,” I snap at the phone as I pick it up to turn off the alarm. “Shit!” I grunt when I take note of the time.

  “Noni!” I yell, “we’re going to be cutting it short. We don’t want to be late for school.”

  “Coming, Daddy,” Naomi shouts back from upstairs.

  A few seconds later little feet come barrelling down the stairs.

  “Luna, come on, hurry. We have to go,” my daughter says.

  I can’t help but laugh.

  Even though she’s one hundred percent American—born right here in LA—her distinctive British accent remains. Two years in London will do that to a child.

  “I’m here, Daddy!” she smiles wide as she enters the open plan eat-in kitchen. She skips her way to me, humming a song I don't recognize. “And so is Luna.”

  “Woof,” our dog announces her presence right behind my daughter.

  “That’s what you're wearing?” I ask.

  Naomi looks down at her outfit and back up to me again. Her big blue eyes—a mirror of mine—sparkle with mirth. “Yes!”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes!”

  “Isn't it too much for school?”

  We've already had this conversation this morning and since I'm the one who dressed her, I already know. That said, things can change at the flip of a hat in a kid’s world, so it never hurts to double check.

  “It's party day,” she reminds me.

  “Okay,” I smile.

  Even though she's only four, she insists on dressing herself on weekends. To make it easier on her—and on me—I pull out a couple of options. She has final say. Well, most times. Sometimes we have to negotiate hard because the combinations are a little too far out there. Thank God I don’t have to deal with fashion drama during the week. She usually wears a uniform to school—private Catholic school and all—but since it’s party day and it’s Friday, the girls are allowed to wear their own clothing. Naomi selected a pretty, soft, pink embroidered dress. She asked for something fancy, but this fits the bill and the lower part of the dress isn't cumbersome and won’t trouble her. I requested she wears a white t-shirt underneath it to make it look more casual. I'm lucky. She didn't fight me. I paired the dress with tiny, white high-top Chucks. She has a little throwback rockabilly look going on.

  “I love my hair, Daddy!” she beams, her fingers seeking the ponytail part of her twistback flip-under hairstyle.

  Yeah, I’m the one who does her hair.

  A little worried I wouldn’t know what to do with her hair, I chopped it off just before she turned two. To my mom's horror, my little girl was sporting the dreaded boy haircut so many single dads opt for as a way out. As her thick hair grew back, I turned to the best tutor on earth for training. YouTube videos saved my ass. I’m no longer hopeless when it comes to styling Naomi’s hair. Now, my girl is known as somewhat of a hair model at her school. Who would've thought a few dynamic braids and buns could cause such talk?

  “Really?” I r
each out and caress the top of her head.

  “Really,” she nods. “Mrs. Talbot says you cuff my hair well.” Amanda Talbot is her nanny, and she means coif.

  Some people have daughters. Not me. I have a mini fashionista and a princess all wrapped up in one bundle. I love every sweet inch of her.

  “I’m glad,” I tell her.

  “It’s for the Fall Solace party.” As if I don't already know.

  “Fall Solstice,” I gently correct.

  “Fall Solace.”

  She gives me an uncomfortable smile.

  “It’s okay, you’ll get it,” I reassure her.

  “Everyone will be pretty,” she says, giving me a twirl.

  “Well, you already know, you’ll be the prettiest of them all.”

  A winning smile spreads across her beautiful face. “You always say that,” she giggles.

  I’m a sucker for those dimples.

  “Because it’s true,” I tap the tip of her nose.

  “I love you, Daddy.”

  Smiling as I lower myself to her level, I kiss her on the cheeks. “And I love you too, Noni. Let’s get out of here. I don’t want Ms. Wexler to give me the evil eye for being late.”

  “My teacher likes you.”

  “Only when I'm on time,” I remind her.

  “No. She says she likes you all the time.”

  I stifle a smile.

  “Here’s your snack bag,” I say, changing the subject.

  “Thank you.” She grabs it and runs to her backpack sitting near the entrance. She's back standing in front of me in a flash.

  Even though she attends an outrageously expensive private all-girl Catholic school that offers healthy snacks and meals, Naomi loves watermelon to a fault.

  “Can Luna come?” Naomi asks.

  Since she entered the kitchen, our dog quietly made her way to her water bowl. Now she's on alert at the sound of her name.

  “I was going to drop her off at Mrs. Talbot’s. Mason is already there.”

  Mason is Luna's brother and my cousin Jace's dog. His son Ryder is five-and-a-half, and Mrs. Talbot works as our full-time nanny.

  “Please.”

  My eyes move from my daughter to our dog. Even Luna's eyes seem pleading.

  “Please, Daddy.” This time Naomi folds her little hands underneath her chin.

  My iPhone rings again. I'm at a disadvantage this morning as I don't have time to argue.

  “Okay.” I grab my phone from the counter and turn off the alarm before tucking it inside my back pocket.

  “Yay!” Naomi jumps up and down.

  “Fair warning, this isn’t going to happen every morning. Got that?”

  “Got it, Daddy!” She runs to Luna and hugs the living daylights out of her. “You get to see my new school, Luna.”

  “You want to go for a ride, girl?” I ask the dog.

  Luna barks and wags her tail in answer.

  “Let's get you ready.”

  “Can I dress her up?”

  “No! We don't have time.”

  I swear to God, this dog has the most elaborate wardrobe in LA.

  “Not even a necklace?”

  Don't get me started on Luna’s jewelry collection. Or the tiaras.

  “Naomi,” I warn.

  “Okay,” she lowers her eyes and pouts her lips as her long eyelashes flutter.

  I'm so not falling for it.

  I grab Luna’s leash, fasten it around her neck, and she heads towards the door. Naomi follows suit and grabs her backpack.

  “Holdup, Luna, we’re not done yet,” I say. “Naomi, put this on. It might be cool this morning.” I hand her a white sweater I had brought down earlier.

  “Okay.”

  She removes her bag and drops it on the floor. Luna charges for it, her tail wagging like crazy. I’m sure she can sniff the watermelon.

  “No, Luna,” I reprimand, pulling against her leash.

  I get a whimper of disapproval.

  Why is it so hard to leave the house every morning?

  “Ready?” I ask Naomi when she’s all buttoned up.

  “Ready!”

  “All right, gang, the train is leaving the station.”

  I grab my keys and we’re headed out the door to my triple car garage.

  I unlock the Range Rover and open the back door. “Backpack, please.”

  Naomi obliges.

  “Come on, in you go,” I say, grabbing Naomi in my arms. I buckle her up in her booster seat and close the door.

  “Your turn,” I tell Luna and I circle the vehicle.

  When I open the door, the dog starts pulling at the leash.

  “Luna, where are you going?”

  She doubles her efforts in her attempt to escape.

  She hates the Ruffwear harness I bought her.

  “Luna, everyone buckles up in my car. Do you hear me?”

  She lets out a pained groan.

  “Safety first, Luna.”

  I can’t believe I’m giving a dog a pep talk.

  “Luna!” I yell when she doesn’t move an inch.

  She throws herself against the brick floor back first.

  “And the Academy Award for drama queen of the year goes to… Luna!”

  I pull against her leash to get her back on her feet, but to no avail.

  “Luna, I don't have time for a tantrum.”

  She’s unwilling to cooperate.

  To make matters worse, she rolls herself on the ground, which results in wrapping the leash around her body.

  I let out an exhausted breath. “Luna, I do not negotiate with terrorists!” I wag my finger at her.

  Naomi giggles.

  Luna lifts her head and flashes me an unimpressed gaze.

  “Don’t you dare cut your eyes at me.”

  There’s no hiding the impatience in my voice.

  “Luna,” Naomi calls out. “I have some watermelon? Do you want a treat?”

  All of a sudden Luna is on all fours and before I know it, she leaps into the Range Rover.

  I shake my head.

  I guess my child negotiates with terrorists.

  I take full advantage of the moment and strap Luna in her harness. She growls, but I’m quick.

  Just when Naomi is about to open her plastic container, I warn her, “Do you want to soil your pretty dress before the party? You know how messy Luna can be.”

  Naomi’s eyebrows knit together.

  She's debating.

  Her eyes bounce from mine to Luna's. It only takes her a few short seconds to make a decision.

  “Sorry, Luna, no watermelon for you.”

  Thank God.

  Once everyone is safe and secure, I slide behind the wheel.

  “We’re finally off,” I say, meeting my daughter's gaze in the rearview mirror.

  “Hit the road, Jack!” Naomi shouts waving her little fist in the air.

  No wonder I spotted a few strands of gray.

  * * *

  I was already tight on time. Luna’s little tantrum made it worse. This traffic jam caused by construction and roadblocks is my undoing. Instead of being a few minutes late, I slide the Range Rover into a parking spot in front of my daughter's school a whole half hour after the other kids.

  Shit. What a nightmare.

  “We’re in trouble. I doubt Mrs. Wexler is going to show me any sympathy this morning,” I say as I turn off the ignition.

  “It’s not your fault, Daddy,” Naomi says.

  When Renee Wexler found out I was a single dad, she was too happy to show me some leniency. She gets it. She's a single mom of two.

  It takes me no time to unbuckle Naomi and thank God I don't have to plead with Luna to get her out of the harness.

  “Come on, let's go,” I say, pulling my two girls behind me.

  With a quick step, I reach the door.

  “Uh-oh,” Naomi says before freezing in place.

  I look down at her.

  She looks worried.

  �
�What is it?”

  “Oh, no,” she says before dropping her eyes to her feet.

  “What?” I repeat.

  “I forgot something.”

  “What did you forget?”

  She doesn't answer.

  I quickly scan my child, but at first glance, everything looks okay.

  I lower myself to her level and place my hands on her shoulders. “Did you remove your underwear and forgot to put them back on?” I whisper. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  She looks at me, horrified. “No, Daddy!”

  “Okay, just checking. So what did you forget?”

  “The cupcakes for the party.” Shit. “Mrs. Wexler told me to bring them.” I placed them on the counter not to forget, but between my breakfast fiasco and having Luna tag along, I forgot.

  I do a mental calculation. It isn’t looking good.