Hard SEAL: A Dark Bad Boy Next Door Romance Read online

  Hard SEAL: A Dark Bad Boy Next Door Romance

  Jessica Ashe

  Contents

  Copyright Page

  Books by Jessica Ashe

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  Free bonus book

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  Get Your Free Book

  Picture Perfect

  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

  Epilogue

  Get Your Free Book

  Books by Jessica Ashe

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2016 Jessica Ashe

  Hard SEAL is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons or their likeness is entirely coincidental.

  This book contains mature content, including graphic sex scenes and adult language. Please do not continue reading if you are under the age of 18 or if this content is likely to offend you.

  All characters in the book are 18+ years of age, not blood related, and all sexual acts are consensual.

  All Rights Reserved.

  Books by Jessica Ashe

  Escape

  Score

  Redemption

  Foster

  Revenge

  Bad Boy’s Honor

  Bad Boy’s Secret

  Royally Screwed

  Hard Tackle

  Blitzed by the Brit

  Picture Perfect

  Hard SEAL (coming soon)

  Or click here to go to my entire catalogue

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  Free bonus book

  Your copy of Hard SEAL includes a free bonus novel; Picture Perfect: A British Second Chance Romance.

  Hard SEAL is a standalone novel, and therefore you do not need to read the bonus book first. It is just there as an extra if you want it!

  Please note that because of this extra book, Hard SEAL will finish at about 40% on your Kindle.

  Prologue

  Elena

  “We should have hired some hunky men to help us with this.”

  “Those hunky men cost thousands of dollars,” I reply. “Stop whining and get on with it.”

  Sadie grabs a box from the moving truck and heaves it up into the air, pretending it’s the heaviest thing she’s ever lifted. I happen to know it’s just a box of Tupperware. She’s been artfully leaving all the heavy boxes to me so far; it’s punishment for me refusing to pay for movers. Sadie might be rolling in money with her new law firm job, but I’m broke and will be for the next ten years at this rate.

  I wipe the sweat from my brow for the thirty-fifth time in the past hour and peel my shirt from my sweat-covered skin. A white T-shirt seemed like a good idea when we left this morning, but now it’s soaked with sweat and practically see-through. Isn’t Chicago supposed to be cold in September? It’s certainly not supposed to be this hot.

  “We’re going to be at this all day,” Sadie complains.

  “It’s good exercise. And it could be worse; at least we don’t have furniture.”

  The furniture we owned at law school was so bad it probably wouldn’t have survived the trip here. I’m all for saving money, but even I will splash out for a decent bed and sofa.

  I lean over to pick up a box marked ‘law school textbooks.’ This one’s going to be a bitch. My back almost gives out as I lift it. I swear it’s somehow gotten three times heavier during the trip from New York to Chicago.

  I’ll never use these books again, but I couldn’t bring myself to throw them away. Not because they mean that much to me, but because they cost $180 each. I’m going to find a use for them, even if it means burning them to keep warm during the winter.

  I make it ten feet up the path to the townhouse before I give up and put the box down on the floor. It’s either that or drop it. There’s no way I’m making it up the stairs.

  “Can you give me a hand with this one?” I yell to Sadie as she comes back out of the house.

  “Why don’t we see if any of our neighbors can help? We’re going to be at this all day otherwise.”

  “It’s Tuesday morning—most of them are probably at work. Besides, we’ve been at this for an hour and none of them have come flooding out to help.”

  “Let’s just leave this box here for now. With any luck, someone will come along and steal it.”

  “No one’s going to steal it. This neighborhood isn’t that dangerous. Anyway, it would be too ironic for a criminal to steal a criminal law textbook.”

  “Whatever. We should focus on the essentials.”

  I climb into the truck and crawl over the small boxes until I reach the television at the back. Never has there been a more essential item.

  “Sadie, let’s take this next.”

  Sadie stands with her back to the truck, completely silent. “Sadie? Hello?” I slide the television forward until it slams into her back.

  “Ow. What was that for?”

  “You were daydreaming.”

  “Sorry. I just…. Do you recognize that guy? He looks familiar.”

  Sadie points towards a man coming out of the townhouse next to ours. He’s wearing jeans and a wife beater, exposing tattoos that cover nearly his entire right arm.

  A dragon is wrapped around the bicep, with the neck going around the shoulder and presumably finishing on his chest.

  It’s probably a work of art, although I prefer art to hang on walls, not be inked into the skin. On him though….

  Come to think of it, that tattoo does look familiar.

  He throws a bag into the trash can at the end of the drive, and then looks directly
at me.

  Yeah… it’s him.

  Sadie’s right. This guy does have a familiar face. It’s one I’ve been trying to forget for two months.

  It’s Tanner. Tanner fucking Rockwell.

  And he’s my new neighbor.

  This is bad. Really bad.

  Chapter One

  Elena - Two Months Earlier

  “I’ve never seen so much man muscle outside of the gym,” Sadie says, looking around the bar with her eyes open wide and her tongue practically hanging out of her mouth.

  No, not practically. Her tongue is literally hanging out of her mouth.

  I’m not in the mood tonight. Not for drinking, not for flirting with guys, and certainly not for doing anything else with them. I’m only here because it’s basically obligatory. We’ve just spent two days taking the Illinois bar exam, probably the hardest—and hopefully the last—test I’ve ever taken.

  It was two days of being so stressed and on edge that Sadie and I could barely talk to each other.

  Add in the three months of intense studying and three years of law school before that, and it’s understandable people want to let their hair down a bit after the exam.

  Not me, though. I’d rather stay in the hotel and chill. I only want to let my hair down in preparation for bed and a good night’s sleep.

  I agreed to go for one drink because I assumed we’d go somewhere classy and have a cocktail. No such luck. We sat the bar exam on the outskirts of Chicago, and this dingy bar is the only place in walking distance to our hotel.

  Over one hundred soon-to-be-lawyers have descended on Hard Times tonight and they all intend to get sloppy drunk. Most of us are staying at a local hotel, so I’m sure plenty of people will be hooking up. Sadie will almost certainly be among them.

  “I’m not sure I’d describe these guys as man muscle,” I reply. “They look like typical law students to me.”

  We’ve spent the last three years surrounded by men who care more about studying than working out. Can’t say I’m complaining though; I’ve never understood the appeal of meathead guys who think a good day’s work consists of two hours lifting weights at the gym, followed by a smelly protein shake and an evening spent making lewd comments to women.

  That’s not my type. I prefer men who study as hard as I do, and treat me with a little respect. Of course, I also prefer it when they don’t cheat on me. That’s where I’ve had problems.

  Bastard McFuckFace. I don’t know exactly how many times he cheated on me. I know it was with at least two different women, but I expect there were more.

  Long-distance relationships aren’t easy. I spent more nights than I care to remember crying myself to sleep because of how much I missed him. He missed me too, but he dealt with it differently. According to him, he missed me so much, he absolutely had to go out and hook up with other women. It was a ‘biological imperative’ apparently.

  I look around Hard Times and see men who are slightly different variations of Bastard McFuckFace. How many of these guys have girlfriends back home who they’ll cheat on tonight? I know the women aren’t completely innocent—I live with one who practically thrives off dating multiple guys at the same time—but I haven’t been hurt by them.

  “I’m not looking at the legal douchebags,” Sadie replies. “I spent the last three years not fucking guys like that. Why would I start now? I’m talking about the guys by the bar. The locals.”

  I look past the large groups of law students who I can already hear talking about the bar exam even over the loud thud of the music vibrating throughout the room. Over by the bar and in the far corner are men who have definitely not just sat the bar exam. They look anywhere from their mid-twenties to early-forties, but they have one thing in common—they’re all covered in tattoos and aren’t afraid to show off their biceps.

  I spot three women in total with the men, and each one is perched on someone’s lap like a prize the guy won at the fair. None of them look particularly pleased to have their evening interrupted by a group of recent law grads.

  “They’re really not my type,” I say. “I doubt they know a three-syllable word between them.”

  “Stop being a snob. Look at those three guys there.” Sadie points to the bar where three of the younger men are sitting, all in wifebeaters, and all drinking and shoving each other in what I think is a friendly manner, although it’s a little hard to tell at times.

  “Definitely not.”

  “Come on, if you’re ever going to let your hair down, then tonight is definitely the night.”

  “I’m exhausted. We just sat a two-day exam. Don’t I get an early night?”

  “No. Like you said, we just sat a two-day exam. That means we deserve a late-night. And preferably a little adult entertainment to go with it. Besides, if you go home now, you’ll spend the evening looking up the answers to the exam questions trying to figure out whether or not you passed.”

  “I messed up at least two of those questions,” I mutter.

  I had a complete brain freeze on the topic for question three. All the important case names disappeared from my head. Case names aren’t essential, but they’re pretty much my de facto method for showing off my knowledge. It’s my way of looking cleverer than I am.

  Instead of moving on to another question like professors have been telling me for three years, I spent twice as long as I should have trying to answer it. By the time I got to the last question, I only had twenty minutes instead of forty. Two questions messed up for the price of one. Bargain.

  “We both passed the exam,” Sadie insists. “You’re clever, and I’m clever. We passed. You know the statistics as well as I do. Most people pass, and that includes people who went to far worse law schools than us. We’re going to be fine. Now, can we please go and talk to those rough and dangerous looking men by the bar who probably want to buy us a drink and do very inappropriate things to our bodies?”

  I absolutely do not want to go anywhere near those guys. I don’t particularly want to talk to the lawyer types either, but I can handle them. I know how those conversations work. What the hell do I say to guys like these three? Do I talk about sports? Am I supposed to act like a dumb woman who wants nothing more than a back-alley fuck? Maybe I should admire their tattoos?

  Ugh, tattoos. I hate tattoos.

  “Let’s just hang out at the back,” I suggest.

  “We need to go to the bar anyway. I don’t think this place has table service, do you?”

  “Okay, we’ll go to the bar, but I don’t want to talk to those guys. Besides, there’s three of them and only two of us, so it won’t work. Someone would just be left out.”

  “I don’t know… I’m feeling mighty adventurous tonight, and I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have two guys devouring me at once.”

  “Remind me how you were the one to land a job working for a big law firm? How on earth did you convince the interviewer you’re the sensible lawyer type?”

  “I’m excellent at changing up my personality to suit the man I’m talking to. Right now, I plan to be a dirty little slut who needs to celebrate her one last night of freedom before going shopping for pantsuits.”

  “You’ve certainly dressed the part.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I didn’t mean it as a compliment.”

  Sadie has dressed to impress. Not to impress anyone with particularly high standards, mind you. She has on a tight blue skirt that is shorter than any I’ve seen her wear in three years of knowing her at law school. Mind you, if I had her legs, I’d probably want to show them off too. She says the same about my chest, so I guess we’re even. She’s making the most of what she has by wearing a halterneck top with a plunging neckline and built-in support that has her breasts shoved up and screaming to be let out to play.

  “I should have worn more jewelry,” Sadie says, examining the women seated on the tattooed morons. “Looks like massive gold earrings and necklaces are in fashion here.”

  “I
don’t think there’s anything gold about those earrings and necklaces.”

  “Stop being so stuck up. We’re never going to hook up with those hunks with that attitude. Loosen up a bit—you did promise me you’d have some fun tonight.”

  “That was when I thought we were going for a cocktail together.”

  “They might do cocktails here.”

  I look at the bar with its modest display of spirits and large collection of cheap domestic beers, and then look back at Sadie and raise my eyebrows. “You want to order a cocktail here?”

  “Let’s order something,” she replies. “I’m thirsty, and I don’t want a dry mouth when things get interesting.”

  We push our way through the crowd and walk towards the bar. With each step I feel my shoes peeling off the sticky floor, more often than not taking tiny pieces of broken glass up with me.

  Good thing I don’t own any expensive shoes.

  I catch snippets of conversation from the other test-takers, and hear enough to know that I made a huge mistake on one of the questions I thought I’d nailed. That makes three bad questions. Sadie’s right; most people pass the bar exam, and the large majority of people from my law school pass it. But some fail. Every year people fail the exam, and I have a horrible feeling this year it’s going to be me.

  Sadie insists on standing right next to a tattooed idiot who’s bragging about some ‘chick he banged’ last week. He’s very complementary, describing her as riding him like a stallion, and taking it up the ass like a pro. What more could a girl ask for in a review?

  Even with Sadie between us, the stench from the man is so strong, I want to order a vodka just to smell something different. He should be home in the shower, not sitting here getting drunk.