by Rye Hart
Copyright © 2017 Rye Hart - All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. While, as in all fiction, the literary perceptions and insights are based on life experiences and conclusions drawn from research, all names, characters, places and specific instances are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. No actual reference to any real person, living or dead, is intended or inferred.
Rock Hard Daddy
A Single Dad & Virgin Romance
By: Rye Hart
Table of Contents
Rock Hard Daddy
Historical Mail Order Bride Romance Collection
Regency Romance Collection
More Bad Boy Romance Stories By Rye Hart
Biker Bad Boy Romance: Heart Off Limits
Click here to join Rye’s Newlsetter and receive a steamy billionaire bad boy series in your inbox for free. You can also copy and paste this URL into your browser: http://bit.ly/RYEHART.
Thank You
Special thanks to my amazing group of ARC readers. Your words lift me up everyday.
To all my new readers, my mission is to wow you and EXCEED your expectations. I couldn’t be more grateful for having you as a reader and I hope you will join me in my journey as a growing author.
I appreciate feedback from my readers so email me at anytime at [email protected].
Don’t forget to join my naughty newsletter and find me on facebook.
With Love,
Rye Hart
PS: Own Your Naughty.
Rock Hard Daddy
A Single Dad & A Virgin Romance
CHAPTER ONE – CHLOE JONES
Three months after I graduated from college, I decided that Peter Clarke was an asshole and, for that reason, I hated him with every damn cell in my being. As was expected of the valedictorian, Peter’s speech was grand and filled with triumphant words. In a confident and jubilant tone, he assured me—and our entire graduating class—that the world was ours for the taking and, therefore, we could do anything, have anything and be anything we desired. Like a dumbass, I believed him, and therein lies my problem with the guy.
Stupid Peter.
It turns out that Peter was full of shit, and the world was not mine for the taking. In fact, the world didn’t give a crap about me. Despite my outrageously expensive degree in Hotel Management, and 4.0 GPA, I am now left jobless, penniless, and left wanting to crawl under a rock and die.
The economic downfall meant that my degree, which cost enough to virtually pay off a house in Tuscany, didn’t mean jack shit in the real world. If only I had the power to predict the future - I would now be in my gorgeous Tuscan villa, in the arms of my hot Italian boyfriend, sipping a glass of red. At least that was my logic. Of course, that suggests I somehow would have gotten over my obsessive infatuation with my childhood crush, Conner Wilkes. In case, I haven’t already painted a picture of the pitiable and unrealistic fantasy world I’ve been living, my child hood crush also happens to be my Dad’s best friend. We’ll get to back Conner soon enough; for now I’ve got some more venting left in my system.
If only Peter was here now so I could tell him flawed his logic truly was. None of the hundreds of hotels I sent my application to bothered to even call me back for an interview. It was embarrassing and left me no other choice than to collect my crap and return to the small Tennessee town I grew up - with my tail tucked between my legs.
Stupid, stupid Peter.
Life sucked, and I hated it, but amidst all of the frustration, there was one good thing about being back home. Dad.
“Bumblebee,” Dad cried as soon as I walked through the gate at the airport.
A broad, face-splitting grin formed on my lips at the sight of my father. I know most girls say that their Dad is the best, but mine actually was. He and my mother had both been twenty-one when they had me, so in a way, the three of us grew up together. Thanks to them, I had an almost perfect childhood filled with fun, forts, and smores for dinner. Unfortunately, the two of them grew apart, but our closeness remained intact.
“Daddy,” I said as I ran toward him and wrapped my arms around his neck. He smelled like grass, leather, and home.
We hugged for a solid minute. Then, he pulled away to look at me.
“Let me check the status.”
Those words were familiar and instantly made me grow a little taller in my spine as I stood in front of him. Not caring that we were surrounded by curious strangers, Dad cupped his square jaw with his right hand and tapped his index fingers on his lips as he looked at me through mock stern eyes that made me chuckle.
Like he used to do when I was a kid, he placed a hand on the top of my head, fidgeted with my long blonde hair and poked me in the belly. “The hair is longer. You still look exactly like your mom, but I don’t think you grew this time.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m twenty-two, Dad. I haven’t grown in like five years.”
“It’s a shame,” he said with a sigh. “I liked when you were still growin’, kiddo.”
“Yeah, I know,” I replied with a smile.
He’d been saying that for five years, and it always tugged at my heart. I had never worked up the courage to ask him if he said that because he missed me as a child or because he missed mom and how our family was back then. Hearing those words always made me feel for him and wish he could find a way to get over the divorce and move on with his life - like mom did.
“Now it’s your turn,” I informed, changing the subject. Dad stood a little taller as I looked at him. Imitating him, I nodded and tapped my index finger over my lips. “The hair is a little grayer, the beard is a little longer, but you still look like Dad. Also, you may be starting to shrink.”
His deep laugh echoed around us, and the sound warmed my heart. He bumped his shoulder against mine and grabbed my suitcases.
“How did you get to be such a smart ass?” he asked.
“It’s inherited,” I deadpanned as I followed him toward the airport’s parking lot.
As we walked toward his truck, he asked for updates, and I gave him the low down. Since we talked all the time, I didn’t have much important news to give, so I just filled him in on my newfound hatred toward Peter Clarke and my overall disappointment in adulthood. In my annoyed excitement, I also ended up babbling about how much going back to my childhood room and small-town life would suck after two years of living in Italy and four in New York City.
“Don’t be unfair, Chloe,” he admonished me while placing my luggage on the back of his brand-new Ram. “You’ve always loved living at the ranch. Can six years of living away really change your mind like that?”
Taken back by the sternness in his voice, I turned to look at him and saw hurt in his hazel eyes as he made his way to the driver’s side. The reaction shouldn’t have surprised me as much as it did. Mom told him basically the same thing right before she left for a corporate job across the ocean.
Although she loved us and admired Dad for building a very successful—and profitable—horse-breeding empire from the ground up, the small-town life he loved so much eventually became too monotonous to keep her interest. He was heartbroken when she left him and relocated the two of us to Rome. Deep down, I knew he feared I would one day disappear into the cement and smog of a big city just like she d
id.
Feeling like a jerk, I followed him into the truck. Even though his face was strained and he refused to look at me, I reached for his hand and focused my eyes on him.
“It didn’t change my mind. I still love it here,” I assured him with all the honesty I could muster. When he finally turned his eyes to me again, I added, “I’m just frustrated and feeling like a complete loser. I guess I always assumed that by the time I was twenty-two and graduated I would have accomplished something. But here I am, back at my Dad’s house with no job, no income, and totally screwed.”
The sadness that had previously been in Dad’s eyes morphed into indignation.
He started as he looked away from me and cranked up the engine. “Not making it in New York—or anywhere else, for that matter—has nothing to do with being good enough. You're incredible, and I’m not saying that because you’re my kid. I’m saying that because it’s true.”
Trying not to smile like a little girl at those words was damn near impossible. However, before I had a chance to comment or thank him for lifting my spirits, Dad added, “As for accomplishing somethin’, you finished college with a 4.0 GPA. That’s more than a lot of people can say.”
“Dad, you know I love you and appreciate your efforts to lift me up, but your accolades won’t pay the bills. I still don’t have a job.”
“Not for long.” My brows pulled together with curiosity as we entered the highway. A wide grin curled on Dad’s lips as he continued. “Conner came over to the house last weekend, and we were talkin’ about you finally coming back home and looking for jobs. He said that since Quinn’s passing, Blackwater hasn’t had a good administrator and he’s in serious need of professional help. You know how Conner is – a pro with horses and tools, but a hot mess with papers and computers.”
As Dad laughed at the expense of his best friend, my heart started to beat so fast I was sure it was plotting an escape from my ribcage. Blackwater Ranch & Resort was the reason I originally chose Hotel Management as my major, and Conner Wilkes was the reason I loved that place so much.
Growing up, my Dad worked for the same ranch as Conner and since the first day they met they were stuck to each other like glue. Even though they had a four year age difference, it was as if they were always meant to be best friends. They had the same interest in horseback riding, sports, and women. They were both complete players, with their fair share of conquests over the years.
My Dad settled down early and got married to mom at age twenty I was born one year later. Conner had been only sixteen at the time so naturally he treated me like his baby sister. Despite being my father’s best friend, Conner was young enough to keep me from seeing him as an uncle like most kids do with their parents’ friends. To me, he was always Conner—the cool older friend who took me to summer fairs, concerts and taught me how to find the constellations in the sky. As we grew up, he became less of a friend to me and more like a hot crush.
For years, I worshiped the ground he stepped on, while he continued to look at me as just a cool kid. On my sixteen birthday, Conner took me out to my first concert to see Cold Play. It was a memorable night for many reasons, but mostly because I experienced my first orgasm that night alone in my bed. Since then, I always thought about Conner when I had the urge touch myself.
It bothered me that I could never get close to Conner like I wanted. It was frustrating, and then, when he started dating Quinn, it became excruciating. Conner always had a bad boy image and everyone who knew him could tell that Quinn was different from the girls he usually dated. She was sweet, funny, and a keeper. She was the kind of girl a guy marries, and he did. He married Quinn and I had my first ever heartbreak.
Soon after, they had a baby and I asked mom to take me to Rome with her just so I could be away from the two of them. It took me a while, but the distance allowed me to finally forget him—or at least stop wishing for a future with him. Even with so many miles apart, his memory pulled at me from time to time. I hated that I couldn’t get over him, or have a normal relationship with another guy. I had Conner to blame for being a twenty-two-year-old virgin. It was almost embarrassing, but as much as I tried to move on, no guy could ever come close to Conner. Pathetic, I know.
When I heard about Quinn’s tragic accident, my heart broke for Conner, and it made me feel like a complete jerk for ignoring him for so many years. I had been a selfish brat, and it left me five thousand miles away when he needed a friend the most.
The sound of my Dad’s fingers snapping in front of my face pulled me from my reverie.
“You okay sport?”
“Oh yeah. Sorry Dad, I guess I’m still kind of exhausted from the flight. I appreciate you for thinking of me. I guess it doesn’t sound like such a bad idea.”
Maybe this chance to help Conner would finally make up for my errors in the past. I couldn’t tell if it was the jet lag or high altitude from the flight, but I suddenly felt encouraged to take this opportunity and make the best of it. I turned sideways on my seat and grilled my Dad for details about the job. Finally, I was actually glad to be home.
CHAPTER TWO – CONNER WILKES
Like most Saturday mornings, I woke up with a major headache and absolutely no idea of where I was. I opened my eyes just a little to try and locate myself and winced at the clarity slipping in from around a set of curtains. Silently, I cursed aging.
Although I looked better than most twenty-five-year-olds, I could no longer drink like them. Five shots of whiskey were enough to fog up my brain to the point where I had to put some actual effort into remembering things. It was annoying as fuck, but I refused to cut back and drink like the thirty-eight-year-old I was. In my mind that was giving up which didn’t mesh with me.
I didn’t give up, I didn’t give in, and I didn’t compromise. I got what I wanted, when I wanted, and how I wanted. That was how I had managed to turn the sad, run-down ranch my Dad had left me into the largest and most expensive ranch-resort in the state, and became a millionaire before I was thirty.
As my eyes started to adjust to the light, I took deep breaths and looked around. The first thing I saw was a blonde head using my arm as a pillow. Our mutual nakedness made it clear that we had an interesting night, but aside from a fantastic blowjob inside my truck, I couldn’t remember much. That seemed to be a rule with my one night stands lately, and, in all honesty, it didn’t bother me too much. I was in the market for instant gratification, not something to remember.
Moving my gaze away from the woman, I looked at the room in search of my way out. The walls around me were light green and loaded with pictures frames of various sizes. The drapes and the furniture were stark white, and there were three identical doors; two placed side by side and another directly to my right. Internally, I groaned. I hated places where the exit wasn’t obvious. It made it a lot harder to sneak out unnoticed the next morning - which was my preferred way of saying goodbye.
As carefully as I could, I rolled the woman off me and turned to the side to get up. Before my feet hit the ground, however, thin, pale arms circled my waist, and a kiss was delivered to my bare back. Annoyance gripped me at the display of affection. Cuddling and sweet kisses were meant for people who gave a fuck, not for strangers like us.
“Good morning, Conner,” she cooed in a sleepy tone that was infused with a smitten smile.
I couldn’t help wonder how the fuck she remembered my name when I had absolutely no idea what hers was. Still, because I tried not to be a complete ass, I looked over my shoulder and, for a moment, she took my breath away. Even with her makeup smeared and a bird’s nest on her head, she was gorgeous. So gorgeous, in fact, that I almost wanted to remember her—emphasis on the almost.
With a smirk, I whispered. “Mornin’, baby.”
Completely unaware that I had used the pet name because I had nothing else to call her by, her smile widened and got all mushy. Her innocence was cute and made my smirk turn into a smile as I pushed myself to a sitting position, knotted my finge
rs, stretched my back and then got up.
“If you want the bathroom, it’s the door closest to the window,” she said in that same sleepy coo once more. “But don’t take too long. I’m in the mood for eggs and sausage for breakfast.”
Once more, I looked over my shoulder at her with a smirk on my lips. From my vantage point, I got my first—mostly—sober look at her body. Her tits were full and as beautiful as her face. My exposed cock instantly reacted and, for a second, I considered breaking all my rules and fucking her sober and in daylight. Luckily, my eyes drifted to the alarm clock on her bedside table and seeing that it was almost ten in the morning, I came back to my senses.
Picking up my pants from the ground and shrugging them back on, I told her, “Can’t, baby. Got someone waitin’ for me at home.”
Her face went pale ad she quickly sat up and brought the sheet to cover her tits. “You’re married?”
I shook my head and forced my smile to stay in place. “Not anymore,” I informed her but offered no further explanation. There were only two people in the world with whom I discussed my late wife, and she was definitely not one of them. “But I do have a son, and Saturdays are our horseback riding days.”
Her expression softened. “Aww . . . That’s adorable.”
I raised a brow and nodded as I shoved my feet back into my boots. I picked up my shirt from the ground and waited for the follow-up comment I knew would come.
“I love kids, and I’m a really good rider, ya know?”
“Yeah, I do,” I replied in a playful tone that made her giggle. Then, I added, “But I’m not introducing you to my boy.”
Her delicate brows pulled together in a frown. “Why not?”
I took a deep breath hating that she was putting me in the position to be a jerk. Honestly, being rude to women wasn’t something I enjoyed doing. However, it pissed me off that some never seemed to understand that opening your legs for a man you’ve met at a bar doesn’t equal an invitation into his life, and that was precisely why I loathed the morning after. They were awkward, unnecessary and served no purpose other than to ruin a perfectly good time.