Hard Wood (Hard n' Dirty Book 3) Read online

  Hard Wood

  Tara Crescent

  Contents

  Free Story Offer

  1. Dom

  2. Cat

  3. Dom

  4. Cat

  5. Dom

  6. Cat

  7. Dom

  8. Cat

  9. Cat

  10. Dom

  11. Cat

  12. Cat

  13. Dom

  14. Cat

  15. Dom

  16. Dom

  17. Cat

  18. Dom

  19. Cat

  20. Cat

  21. Dom

  22. Cat

  23. Dom

  24. Cat

  25. Dom

  26. Cat

  27. Dom

  Epilogue

  Epilogue

  A Sneak Preview of Blaze by Renee Rose

  About Tara Crescent

  Also by Tara Crescent

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  Boyfriend by the Hour

  This steamy, romantic story contains a dominant hero who’s pretending to be an escort, and a sassy heroine who’s given up on real relationships.

  Sadie:

  I can’t believe I have the hots for an escort.

  Cole Mitchell is ripped, bearded, sexy and dominant. When he moves next door to me, I find it impossible to resist sampling the wares.

  But Cole’s not a one-woman kind of guy, and I won’t share.

  Cole:

  She thinks I’m an escort. I’m not.

  I thought I’d do anything to sleep with Sadie. Then I realized I want more. I want Sadie. Forever.

  I’m not the escort she thinks I am.

  Now, I just have to make sure she never finds out.

  Text copyright © 2018 Tara Crescent

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Many thanks to Jim and Miranda.

  1

  Dom

  The moment my twin sister Dakota walks into my workshop, her footsteps determined and her eyes flashing with purpose, I sense trouble.

  I make one futile attempt at warding it off. I like my life peaceful and uncomplicated. “Go away. I’m busy.”

  She laughs. “Hello to you too, Dom.” She pulls a chair up, grimacing in distaste at the layer of fine sawdust that covers it and sitting down anyway. “I ran into Joanna this morning. She said you broke up with her.” She frowns at me. “Dom, she was really upset.”

  My first instinct was right. Trouble.

  “I don’t know why,” I say with exasperation. Joanna knew the score. I’m not interested in being in a relationship. I’ve never been interested in that. I like fucking women. Very much so. I like hearing them moan. I enjoy sinking into their wet, willing bodies, and I very much enjoy making them come.

  But that’s all I like. Anything more involved than that? Anything that involves feelings and emotions and commitment?

  Count me out.

  Women are trouble. Once they’re in a relationship, they change. Take my buddy Luke, and his wife Ruby, for example. Ruby seemed perfectly normal, and then, the two of them had got engaged. The instant the ring was on Ruby’s finger, she’d become some kind of ultra-clingy version of herself. No more guys’ night for Luke, not anymore. No fishing trips. No poker nights. Luke’s completely lost his testicles. The guy won’t take a fucking leak without permission.

  Screw that shit. “Joanna and I were never dating,” I tell my sister. “It was casual sex. Nothing more.”

  She raises an eyebrow. “And she knew that?”

  “Of course she did.” I give my sister an irritated glare. “I don’t lie to the women I sleep with.”

  She returns my stare, and then she sighs. “That’s true,” she admits. “You’re always brutally honest. You know, I like Joanna. I thought the two of you would have made a great couple. What’s wrong with her?”

  Why the fuck are we talking about Joanna? “Nothing is wrong with her. I promised her a good time. I delivered. It’s time to move on.”

  “You’re disgusting, Dominic Alexander Wilde. When are you going to settle down and stop your manwhoring ways?”

  I roll my eyes. My sister has a dramatic streak. “Why are you here, Dakota? Was it just to give me a hard time about Joanna, or was there an ulterior motive?”

  “I have an ulterior motive. I need a favor.” She gives me her best attempt at a winning look, her blue eyes shining with appeal.

  Pity I’m totally immune. “What is it?”

  “I want you to give Gino Barbini a job.”

  “Gino?” Gino is a teenager in town. Big, burly, clueless as all hell. “Doing what?”

  “Deliveries?” she asks hopefully. “Gino drives a big-ass truck. He could be your delivery driver.”

  God, that sounds like a disaster waiting to happen. “I don’t need a delivery driver, Dakota. I do high-end custom work. My pieces take time to make. I don’t need to do more than one delivery a week.”

  “One’s a start.” She looks around my workshop. “He could also clean this dump.”

  I like my workshop exactly the way it is, thankyouverymuch. “Why this sudden concern into Gino Barbini’s employment status?” I run my hand along the surface of the coffee table I’m making. It needs one more fine sanding before I’m ready to varnish, and my fingers are itching to pick up my sander. “It’s very altruistic of you.”

  She pulls a face. “It’s all because of this stupid brewpub.”

  Even by her usual low standards, Dakota’s not making a lot of sense. “The pub that’s opening on Front Street in a couple of months?”

  “Yeah, that one,” Dakota says glumly. “Rumor has it that they’re going to be serving pizza in their restaurant.”

  “Oh.” I stop fussing with the table and look up. We live in a small beach town whose main economy is tourism. Dakota runs the local pizza parlor, and this new brewpub—the first in town—is next door to her. “That’s a dick move.”

  “Tell me about it.” She looks irritated. “They couldn’t decide to do burgers instead? Assholes. I think they’re planning on poaching Teresa Barbini too.”

  “Ah. It all makes sense now. If Gino Barbini is working for me, his mother is more likely to stay put.” I give her an admiring look. “How very diabolical of you.”

  “You gotta do what you gotta do,” she replies grimly. “If Catherine Milnick and Victoria Egan think they can just walk into town and take over my business, they should think again. I’m more than capable of taking care of what’s mine.”

  She’s got a warlike gleam in her eyes. Trouble. “Am I supposed to take sides?” I ask mildly. “I’m making some furniture for them. Is that going to be a problem?”

  Dakota tilts her head to one side and considers it. “Nah,” she says after a moment’s thought. “For the moment, I’m playing nice. You going to hire Gino? He’s already pulling a shift at the deli. All he needs is ten hours a week.”

  Ten hours a week of Gino Barbini? “Hell, no.”

  Her eyes narrow. “We’re going to have dinner with mom on Sunday. She’s going to ask about Joanna. She’s going to tell you that she’d like to see you settle down. And at tha
t meal,” she leans forward threateningly, “I can either help you by changing the topic, or I can let her nag.”

  My lips twitch. You think that after thirty-one years, I’d learn. When Dakota Wilde wants something, she gets it. “You’re blackmailing me.”

  “Damn right I am. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Besides, it’s not forever. Gino’s going back to the school in the fall. It’s only for a few months.”

  Five months. “Fine. Tell Gino to get his ass here at seven in the morning tomorrow.” I study my sister. “You okay? You seem tense. This brewpub has you worried, doesn’t it?”

  “Nah, it’s something else,” she admits reluctantly. “Boy trouble.”

  I raise an eyebrow. Dakota’s not big on attachments either. “You want me to beat someone up for you?”

  “Not yet.” She gets to her feet. “But I’ll keep you posted.”

  She leaves. I return back to sanding the table surface, but my thoughts aren’t on what I’m doing. No, I’m cursing my sister under my breath. For the next few months, I’m going to have to deal with Gino Barbini bumbling around, running into things, messing up my workspace. So much for easy and uncomplicated.

  2

  Cat

  “You want to serve pizza?” I stare at my best friend and partner Victoria Egan. I don’t raise my voice—I’m terrible at confrontation—but surely, she’s joking? “Vicki, this isn’t Toronto. Madison already has a pizza place, remember? It’s right next door to us.”

  Six months ago, when Vicki and I had decided to open our own brewpub, I’d been filled with excitement. For seven years, I’d been an assistant brewer in a Toronto brewery, and it was clear that I was never going to make Head Brewer. Sexism was ripe at the Red Herring, and no matter how good my beer was, and how hard I worked, a guy was always going to get promoted over me.

  Then, of course, there had been my ex-boyfriend Will’s betrayal. Stealing my recipes, taking credit for my work, lying and pretending he’d been responsible for the IPA that had won a gold medal at the Ontario Brewing Awards.

  After that, I couldn’t stay on at the Red Herring. I couldn’t work for the cheating, lying bastard. I didn’t need a daily reminder that I’d trusted Will with my heart, and he’d sold me out without a second thought.

  So when Vicki broached the idea of the two of us striking out on our own, I’d been thrilled. I had the skills, the knowledge, and the experience. For seven years, I’d paid my dues at the Red Herring, and I was more than ready to run my own brewery, making the kind of beer that people would remember and seek out.

  Six months later, when I think of what we’ve taken on, and how much we have to do before the brewpub opens, there’s a sick feeling in my stomach, and I want to hurl.

  You know the advice about never going into business with your friends? It turns out there’s a reason for it. A really good reason. Vicki’s awesome. She’s enthusiastic and cheerful, supportive and loyal. She’s the best friend I could have.

  But now that I’m in business with her, all the personality traits that drove me mildly batty when we were besties—her inability to show up on time, her inattention to detail, her failure to follow through—are now serious issues that might make us fail.

  “So what if they do?” she asks with a shrug. “We’ll be better.” She leans forward. “Maybe we can hire their cooking staff.”

  Vicki’s father, John Egan, owns a chain of six casual dining restaurants in and around Toronto. John’s a shark, hard and ruthless. He views every other restaurant as competition, there to be crushed. It looks like Vicki’s inherited some of his attitude, but while that hard-nosed ruthlessness might work in the city, it’s certainly not going to win us friends in this laid-back beach town.

  “Vicki.” I swallow back my reflexive panic and keep my voice reasonable with an effort. “Dakota’s Pizza is supposed to be really popular. They’ve been here for almost five years. According to Greg, in summer, they have lines out their door. The last thing we need to do is piss them off.”

  The two of us have divided up our work. I’m in charge of anything related to the brewery. Getting a liquor license, setting the tanks up, brewing the beer—all of that is my responsibility.

  Vicki, who’s been around restaurants her entire life, is taking care of the food side of things. The brewpub is going to have a forty-seat restaurant. We need to get permits, hire line cooks, find suppliers for meat, dairy, and seafood—the list goes on and on. Are we making our own dessert, or are we partnering with a local pastry chef? What about chairs and tables, plates, glasses, and silverware? There are a thousand small details that need to be attended to.

  Opening Day is just six weeks away. On Victoria Day weekend, when the tourists start flooding into the beach town of Madison, Ontario, the Madison Brewpub needs to be ready to serve them beer and food.

  We don’t even have a flipping menu.

  I run my hands over my face. My eyes are tired and itchy, and I feel grimy, exhausted and drained. “What about gourmet sausages?” I suggest. “That’ll go well with beer.”

  Vicki’s eyes brighten. “Oh, that’s a good idea. Let me look into it.”

  She scribbles something into her planner. From experience, I know that she’ll get back to Toronto on Sunday night, and forget all about her to-do list until the next weekend. I don’t blame her entirely—Vicki’s got another two weeks before she quits her job—but at the same time, we’re rapidly running out of time. We can’t afford any more delays—we should have settled on a menu weeks ago.

  I don’t say any of that. My parents fought a lot when I was a kid. They yelled a lot, and mostly, I tiptoed around like a mouse, terrified at setting them off. Unfortunately, it’s made me absolutely useless at dealing with conflict.

  “We really need to make decisions.”

  She doesn’t look concerned. “Don’t worry, Cat,” she says cheerfully. “It’ll get done.” She grins widely. “I still can’t believe we’re going to open a brewpub. I keep pinching myself. It’s crazy, right?”

  Terrifying.

  “We still have a ton to do before the opening.”

  She gives me a reassuring smile. “It’ll all get done, Cat. My dad’s offered to help out.”

  I was afraid of that. Jack Egan would love to expand his restaurant empire into Madison. At first, it’ll be help. Then, he’ll start making suggestions about how to run the place. Before I know it, he’ll take over, get rid of the brewery portion of the pub, and double the number of tables.

  Calm down, Cat. If Vicki wanted to work for her dad, she would have. She doesn’t want us to fail either.

  I move onto the next item on the list. “The beer tanks came in a couple of days ago. I should be able to start brewing on Wednesday.”

  “Sweet.” Her eyes shine with enthusiasm. “You’re making an IPA?”

  I nod. “An IPA, an amber ale, and an apricot wheat beer, the one you like,” I reel off.

  “Oh good, I love that beer.” She checks her notebook. “Are you going to be here on Tuesday? The countertop for our bar is ready. The carpenter, Dominic Wilde, was planning on installing it early this week, if that works?”

  This is the first I’m hearing of a bar. “Carpenter?”

  “Did I forget to tell you?” She looks apologetic. “Sorry, I thought I sent you an email. I saw this guy’s work in a gallery in the Distillery District, and it was gorgeous. He actually lives in Madison, and so I hired him to make us a statement piece for the front room. It’s going to be gorgeous.”

  I don’t waste time asking Vicki if we can afford it. The one good thing about my friend. She knows how to manage a budget. If she thinks there’s room in there for custom woodwork, there is. “Yeah, I’ll be here.”

  “Excellent.”

  We finish going over the rest of our lists, and then Vicki gets to her feet, stretching lazily. “God, I’m tired,” she says. “I was up really late last night.”

  “Work?”

  She flushes. “
I just started seeing someone.”

  My head snaps up in shock. “But you’re moving here in a couple of weeks.” In good traffic, Madison is a three-hour drive from Toronto. Most days, it’s a lot closer to four hours.

  “It wasn’t planned.” She shrugs. “I’m not going to stress out about it. Liam’s a writer. He can work from anywhere. If it’s meant to be, it’ll work out. If not, I have a restaurant to run.”

  I shake my head with a smile. Vicki’s not a worrier. Far from it. She’s never really had to be. She grew up rich. Her father adores her. She didn’t get ripped off by her ex-boyfriend. Her calm certainty that everything will be okay is one of her most admirable—and infuriating—qualities.

  Vicki can afford failure. If our brewpub goes out of business, her father will give her a job in one of his restaurants.

  Me, on the other hand? Every single dollar of mine is tied up in this brewpub. I’m flat broke. I have a grand total of one hundred and twenty dollars and thirty-seven cents in my checking account. I’ve maxed out every single one of my credit cards buying equipment for the brewpub. I’m more than sixty thousand dollars in debt. If we fail…