Quid Pro Quo by Roxie Rivera
Authors: Roxie Rivera
Tags: Erótica, <P>Nez needs money and help. There's only one man she can turn to: Greg, the SWAT cop who has looked after her since she was a homeless teenager. She expects him to give her a few hundred bucks to tide her over until she can find a new job but he offers so much more. </P>In exchange for supporting her, Greg wants a little quid pro quo—on his desk, in his shower and in his bed. After lusting after drop-dead sexy cop for years, Nez realizes this is an offer she can't refuse. Tonight, she's going to earn her keep!
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Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
LEGAL BRIEFS EXCERPT
ROXIE'S BACKLIST
ABOUT ROXIE
Quid Pro Quo
Copyright © 2012 by Roxie Rivera
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's
imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons,
living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner
whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in
critical articles and reviews.
QUID PRO QUO
ROXIE RIVERA
CHAPTER ONE
"I need money, Greg."
His gaze jumped from his laptop screen to my face. Surprise brightened his face. He blinked a few
times. "How the hell did you get in here?"
I flashed the house key he'd given me a few months ago. "I rang the doorbell, like, five times but you
didn't answer."
"Sorry." He sighed loudly, sat back and wiped a hand down his face "I've been mentally replaying the
call from this afternoon and checking the transcripts."
I stepped into his home office and noticed he still wore his all-black uniform. The harsh-looking
material and military style lent an intimidating air to Greg. Apparently his latest SWAT shift hadn't gone
well. I'd learned to recognize that haggard, pained look on his face as the one he often wore when calls
went south. It wasn't an easy job, that's for sure.
"Bad call?" I walked behind his desk and leaned back against it. I didn't miss the way his gaze zeroed in
on my bare legs and the taut, slim-fitting cut of my too-short skirt.
He didn't answer the question. Instead, he frowned and gestured to my skirt. "That's too short, Nez."
"I don't like it any more than you do but it's the uniform all the waitresses wear."
"I don't like you working at that place. It's dangerous and the clientele is low-rent."
My lips twitched with amusement. Greg had been looking out for me since I was thirteen. He'd made the
mistake of dating my nutjob mother for a couple of weeks. She'd tried to pull her usual con on him but he'd
been too smart. One morning a few weeks after they'd stopped seeing one another, I'd woken up in our
crappy little apartment to discover she'd split. Next thing I knew I was in Houston's foster care system. Not
exactly a great place to be but not as bad as living with my erratic mother, all things considered.
Greg had made a point of getting to know my social worker and had kept an eye on me as I bounced
from house to house and group home to group home. I'd taken heart in the knowledge that I always had
someone to trust and turn to if things got ugly. He'd never failed me. That's why I'd come to him tonight.
"Well you don't have to worry about me working there anymore." I rubbed the back of my neck and
sighed. "I got fired tonight."
His brow furrowed. "Fired? For what?"
"For punching some jackass who thought it was okay to stick his hand up my skirt," I explained matter-
of-factly.
"What?" Rage filled his voice. "One of those low-life scum bags touched you?"
"Only once," I replied. "Believe me. He paid for it."
Greg's gaze fell to my left hand. He picked it up and gazed at my swollen, bruised knuckles. "You need
to ice this."
"I did on the bus." I waited for him to start in on me riding the bus this late at night but he didn't. He
surprised me by lightly tracing the bruised ridges of my hand. The soft touch made my belly flutter. I'd tried
to convince myself that my attraction to Greg was some kind of hero worship but deep down inside I knew
it was so much more than that.
But he was nearly forty years old and I was just nineteen. He was a decorated SWAT cop. I was an art
student. We were two different people in two different worlds. We could be friends but I couldn't see how
it could ever be more than that.
Greg's gaze slid
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
LEGAL BRIEFS EXCERPT
ROXIE'S BACKLIST
ABOUT ROXIE
Quid Pro Quo
Copyright © 2012 by Roxie Rivera
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's
imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons,
living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner
whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in
critical articles and reviews.
QUID PRO QUO
ROXIE RIVERA
CHAPTER ONE
"I need money, Greg."
His gaze jumped from his laptop screen to my face. Surprise brightened his face. He blinked a few
times. "How the hell did you get in here?"
I flashed the house key he'd given me a few months ago. "I rang the doorbell, like, five times but you
didn't answer."
"Sorry." He sighed loudly, sat back and wiped a hand down his face "I've been mentally replaying the
call from this afternoon and checking the transcripts."
I stepped into his home office and noticed he still wore his all-black uniform. The harsh-looking
material and military style lent an intimidating air to Greg. Apparently his latest SWAT shift hadn't gone
well. I'd learned to recognize that haggard, pained look on his face as the one he often wore when calls
went south. It wasn't an easy job, that's for sure.
"Bad call?" I walked behind his desk and leaned back against it. I didn't miss the way his gaze zeroed in
on my bare legs and the taut, slim-fitting cut of my too-short skirt.
He didn't answer the question. Instead, he frowned and gestured to my skirt. "That's too short, Nez."
"I don't like it any more than you do but it's the uniform all the waitresses wear."
"I don't like you working at that place. It's dangerous and the clientele is low-rent."
My lips twitched with amusement. Greg had been looking out for me since I was thirteen. He'd made the
mistake of dating my nutjob mother for a couple of weeks. She'd tried to pull her usual con on him but he'd
been too smart. One morning a few weeks after they'd stopped seeing one another, I'd woken up in our
crappy little apartment to discover she'd split. Next thing I knew I was in Houston's foster care system. Not
exactly a great place to be but not as bad as living with my erratic mother, all things considered.
Greg had made a point of getting to know my social worker and had kept an eye on me as I bounced
from house to house and group home to group home. I'd taken heart in the knowledge that I always had
someone to trust and turn to if things got ugly. He'd never failed me. That's why I'd come to him tonight.
"Well you don't have to worry about me working there anymore." I rubbed the back of my neck and
sighed. "I got fired tonight."
His brow furrowed. "Fired? For what?"
"For punching some jackass who thought it was okay to stick his hand up my skirt," I explained matter-
of-factly.
"What?" Rage filled his voice. "One of those low-life scum bags touched you?"
"Only once," I replied. "Believe me. He paid for it."
Greg's gaze fell to my left hand. He picked it up and gazed at my swollen, bruised knuckles. "You need
to ice this."
"I did on the bus." I waited for him to start in on me riding the bus this late at night but he didn't. He
surprised me by lightly tracing the bruised ridges of my hand. The soft touch made my belly flutter. I'd tried
to convince myself that my attraction to Greg was some kind of hero worship but deep down inside I knew
it was so much more than that.
But he was nearly forty years old and I was just nineteen. He was a decorated SWAT cop. I was an art
student. We were two different people in two different worlds. We could be friends but I couldn't see how
it could ever be more than that.
Greg's gaze slid
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