Dirty Games (A MFM Ménage Romance) (The Dirty Series Book 3) Read online

  Dirty Games (A MFM Menage Romance)

  Tara Crescent

  Contents

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  Dirty Games

  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

  Epilogue

  A Note from Tara

  About Tara Crescent

  Also by Tara Crescent

  Text copyright © 2017 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.

  My editor Jim takes the comma-filled words that emerge from my keyboard and shapes it into a story worth reading. As always, my undying gratitude.

  Additional thanks for Miranda’s laser-sharp eyes.

  Cover Design by Kaylea Ehm

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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.

  Dirty Games

  Five nights. No rules. No limits. It’s time for Dirty Games.

  Some things are meant to stay in the past. Some things aren’t meant to be repeated.

  Once upon a time, I’d been in love with Scott Leyland and Zane Marshall. Our threesome had been sexy, steamy and passionate. I thought we would last forever.

  I was wrong.

  Everything ends.

  Now Scott and Zane are in New Summit, intent on getting me back, and I’m just as determined to resist. I was in love with them once. I won’t let it happen again.

  Then they propose a challenge, one with my heart as a prize.

  Five nights with them. Five nights of pleasure. Five nights of wicked sin.

  And at the end of it, if I still want to walk away, they won’t stop me.

  This is a challenge I intend to win.

  Though I’m not sure I want to.

  1

  Nina:

  “What’s this I hear about Dr. Bollington selling your building?” Maggie asks me. “Is that just more New Summit gossip, or is it true?”

  “It’s true,” I confirm gloomily. “He told me about it last week.” Dr. Bollington, bane of my existence, landlord from hell, has decided to put the building that houses my bar, the Merry Cockatoo, on the market. Normally, I’d be doing cartwheels in the street at the thought of getting a new landlord, but New Summit’s economy is booming, and several retail chains are sniffing around for prime real estate. If he sells to one of them, I’ve no doubt that I’ll get evicted. “I’m trying not to freak out about it.”

  Maggie, Becky, and I are at the China Garden, the restaurant Maggie runs along with her mother and brother. The three of us have fallen into the habit of eating lunch together once a week, usually on Tuesdays.

  Mia and Cassie often join us, but they both had other plans today. Cassie’s painting the living room of the house that her two men, James and Lucas are renovating, and Mia’s in New York with her boyfriends, Ben and Landon, at a book signing of some kind.

  Yup, you read that right. Both my friends are in threesomes. It’s ménage heaven in New Summit. At the rate we’re going, the entire town will be in unconventional relationships, and the fabric of reality will fray at the seams.

  Not that I have any time to think about all that. Despite what I said to Maggie and Becky, I’ve spent the last week panicking at the thought of the upcoming sale. When I opened the Merry Cockatoo fifteen months ago, my father loaned me a hundred thousand dollars so my business could get off the ground. Since then, I’ve given him every spare dollar I earn. I’m well ahead of the loan repayment schedule, but I still owe him sixty thousand dollars. If I’m forced to relocate the Merry Cockatoo, I’ll be screwed.

  “Didn’t Dr. Bollington just sell Mia’s building to Ben and Landon?” Becky asks with a frown.

  “He did.” It’s freezing outside, and the big bowl of hot and sour soup warms my insides as I sip at it. “Unfortunately, the furniture store next to me went out of business, and he can’t find another tenant for it. Without a tenant…”

  “He’s running out of money.” Maggie shakes her head. “My mother always thought he was dreadful with his finances. Will he find a buyer?”

  Six months ago, I would have been confident that time was on my side, but unexpectedly, New Summit is growing. There’s a huge new subdivision being built on the outskirts of town. Matthew Steadman, the construction foreman, tells us that the houses will be on the market by spring, and he fully expects the units to sell out. “A lot of young people are telecommuting nowadays,” he told me last week, sounding astonishingly like a realtor, “and they can’t afford to live in Manhattan.”

  Before Bollington dropped his bombshell, I was quite thrilled about an influx of new people into the small town that’s been my home for the last twenty months, but now, the burgeoning economy works against me. Downtown buildings are suddenly hot commodities—Starbucks bought a building on the northwest corner of Water and Main last year—and the chain stores are sniffing around looking for retail space.

  “Hopefully not,” I say, crossing my fingers in my lap. “Let’s talk about something else. Maggie, what’s new with you?”

  “My mom is buying a home,” she replies. Reaching for a spring roll, she dips it into the small saucer of chili plum sauce at her side. “We went to look at the model home in the new subdivision yesterday.”

  I raise an eyebrow in surprise. “You’re moving out of downtown?”

  A wide smile breaks out on her face. “Not me,” she replies. “My mom. She’s going to live on her own.”

  “Whoa.” Maggie moved back into her mother’s apartment when her father died, and she’s been living with her for the last three years. Though Maggie never complains, I suspect that it’s been challenging for my friend. “What brought this on?”

  Becky chuckles. “You don’t know?” she asks. “Mrs. Zhang and Patrick Fowler were spotted taking a walk in the park together. They went to the movies last week, and on Saturday night, Mrs. Zhang’s red Corolla was seen parked outside Lucas and James’ place all night long
.” She spoons some fried rice onto her plate from the family-style platter in the middle. “Maggie, you grew up here, so maybe you’re immune to it, but this town is insanely gossipy.”

  “Tell me about it,” Maggie groans. “Every time I go to the grocery store, Mrs. Fischer tries to pump me for information. She even had the nerve to ask Dominic how he felt at the thought of Patrick joining the family.”

  Maggie’s brother is intensely private. I have to bite back a laugh when I imagine his reaction to Mrs. Fischer’s nosiness. “When’s the move?” There’s still one spring roll left on the plate, and no one seems to want it. Becky’s moved on to the rice, and Maggie has a half-eaten roll in front of her. I’ve already eaten three of the delicious treats, and I’m silently wondering how greedy I’ll seem if I grab the last one.

  “I’m not sure,” Maggie replies. “I think Matthew’s crew is still finishing up the interiors. Zane thought it’d be a month before she could take possession.”

  Zane. My heart stops beating when I hear that name. It can’t be. The Zane I knew was a rockstar, not a real estate developer.

  Except Zane isn’t a very common name.

  “Zane?” I ask, astonished that my tone stays casual. “Is he a realtor?”

  Maggie shakes her head. “He’s the lead singer in a band called Evolving Whistle,” she replies. “We chatted for a bit when he showed us around. Zane’s dad is the real estate developer, and Zane’s helping him out, I think, while he and his friend Scott work on their new album.” She fans herself exaggeratedly. “What a pair of hotties,” she adds.

  Becky deposits the solitary spring roll on my plate while Maggie continues talking. “They were asking about the Merry Cockatoo,” she says. “I think they might play at your open-mic night.”

  And with those words, my appetite disappears completely.

  Once upon a time, I was madly in love with Zane Marshall and Scott Leyland. For a year and a half, I’d traveled with their band as they toured North America and Europe. I’d put my life on hold for them until it became blindingly clear that while I was head-over-heels in love with them, my feelings weren’t reciprocated.

  So I’d left one day, and just as I’d suspected, they’d never tried to find out why. Why would they? There was no shortage of women desperate to take my place at the side of the sexy-as-sin rock stars.

  Now, twenty months later, they’re in New Summit. My emotions are topsy-turvy. Anger and rage war with the deep hurt that I thought time had healed. Last week, I’d finally gone out on my first date since I left Scott and Zane. I’ve tried to forget them. I’ve fought hard for peace of mind.

  And they’re here to disrupt everything. To shred my heart again.

  This time around, I won’t let them.

  2

  Scott:

  Everything fell apart when Nina left.

  Evolving Whistle was our garage band. Zane did lead vocals and occasional stints at the piano. I played lead guitar. Jeremy Knox was on bass, and Andy Lloyd played drums. We were four guys who went to high school together, fancied ourselves musicians and played for the love of it.

  Then one of our songs got picked up for a commercial, and Evolving Whistle exploded.

  At the start, the fame was addictive. Night after night, chicks threw themselves at us, all craving rock star dick, and we were young and stupid, and we loved it.

  But it grew old pretty damn quick.

  I remember the night I decided I was done. Some girls had come back up to our suite after the show. Clothes were shed, joints were lit, bottles of beer opened. A blonde groupie had been grinding her pussy against my cock when my mom had called, and I realized I was ashamed to pick up the phone. I was ashamed of who I’d become.

  A couple of months after that, Zane and I met Nina in Boston. We’d just finished a show, and we’d been searching for a place to eat in the North End. As we walked by a tiny bar, we’d spotted the lone waitress working the venue, a tiny dark-haired woman with bottle green eyes. She’d looked up, and we’d locked eyes, and I just knew. She was the one.

  It hadn’t lasted. Eighteen months later, a day after her twenty-fifth birthday, she’d packed her bags and left us.

  For months after Nina left, it hurt to breathe. I couldn’t come up with new songs. I’d stare at my guitar, and my stomach would twist into a knot. It was a complete disaster.

  Now we’re in the town that Nina lives in, and both Zane and I are avoiding talking about the elephant in the room. We know that she owns a bar in town, but we’re both staying away from it.

  Nina broke my heart when she left without talking to us, leaving only a short, stilted note that explained nothing. I don’t want to run into her, and I don’t want her back. I’m never going to give someone that kind of power over my heart.

  Zane:

  I’m not in New Summit because of Nina. I’m only here because my dad needs a favor.

  Here’s the thing about my father. He’s a good guy, but he’s a crazy workaholic. His real estate development company has always come first. I know that. My sister knows that, and my mom knows that.

  Except that after thirty-four years of feeling like second-best, my mother had enough. Three months ago, she left him, and that was the wake-up call my father needed. He went after my mother, promised her things would be different, and since then, he’s been systematically finding people to take over all his projects.

  “The subdivision is almost done,” he’d said to me when he called. “All you have to do is manage the sales process.”

  “In New Summit,” I’d said flatly. Yes, fine. I admit it. I’m not a fucking saint, okay? I Googled Nina to see where she’d ended up.

  “Please, Zane,” he’d said.

  It was the ‘please’ that did it. My father has never asked me for anything. He didn’t complain when I took off to play in a band rather than join his business. He spends all his time working, but I’ve never doubted that he loves me.

  So here we are. The timing is pretty convenient. For the first time in months, we have nothing scheduled on our calendars. After more than five years of non-stop touring and recording, we finally have time for a vacation.

  There’s very little to do in New Summit—no clubs, no underground concert scene, nothing. The only decent bar is run by my ex-girlfriend. I thought I’d miss the energy of Manhattan, but the peace and quiet are surprisingly nice.

  There’s a series of loud knocks on the front door. Frowning at the noise, I head to answer it. “If this is some kid selling Girl Scout cookies, I’m going to be cranky,” I mutter darkly.

  Scott looks up with a grin. “Don’t bite the kid’s head off,” he advises. “It’s a good cause. Get me a couple of boxes of Thin Mints.”

  It’s not a Girl Scout at the door.

  It’s Nina.

  She’s wearing jeans and a long-sleeved black sweater. A moss green woolen scarf is wrapped around her neck. Her cheeks are pink with cold, and her jewel green eyes sparkle with rage, and when I see her, the two years drop away.

  “What the fuck,” she begins, her voice low and dangerous, “are you playing at, Zane? What are you doing in my town?”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Matthew’s truck pull up in front of the last unfinished house. “Would you like to yell at me in the street, or would you like to come in?”

  She catches sight of Matthew and mutters a curse under her breath. “Fine.” She pushes past me and stalks into the living room, an angry scowl on her face. She’s a tiny little thing, Nina, but every inch of her body radiates outrage.

  It’s been twenty months since she left. I thought I was over her, but the heat coursing through my blood tells me I’m not as immune to Nina as I’d like to be.

  Scott’s body goes still when he sees her, and his eyes turn wary. “Nina,” he says. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

  “No.” She shakes her head vehemently. “We’re not going to make polite small talk, Scott. You do not get to do this. You don’t get to w
altz into New Summit, and you don’t get to walk all over my heart again.” She takes a deep breath, and when she continues, the life in her voice has leached away. “Why are you here, and when are you leaving?”

  Scott’s lips tighten with anger. “Maybe we’re moving here,” he replies coolly. “I’ve always wanted to run a concert venue, and I hear there’s a vacancy next door to your bar.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Isn’t your building for sale? I might buy that.”

  Her face pales. “You wouldn’t,” she whispers, her hands clenching into fists. “Even you wouldn’t go that far.”

  Scott shrugs. “You know me, baby,” he says callously. “I’m a prick with a fuckton of money.”

  I should put an end to this conversation. Scott has no intention of staying in New Summit; he’s lashing out from a place of hurt. Except I don’t want to play peacemaker, and I don’t want to soothe her fears. I thought I was over her, but the anger in my heart makes me realize I was lying to myself.

  “Why are you playing the aggrieved party, Nina?” I raise an eyebrow at her. “We were together for eighteen months, but you couldn’t even say goodbye in person. No notice, no warning, just you walking out one night while we were on stage, and you’re angry at us?”

  My voice starts to rise, and I take a deep breath and force myself to calm down.

  Nina laughs sharply, disbelievingly. “What a fantastically revisionist history, Zane,” she snaps. “You’re going to stand there and pretend you didn’t see it coming? For eighteen months, I played second fiddle to the band. You’ve conveniently forgotten how adrift I felt, haven’t you? I kept telling you I didn’t want to live on the road, and you kept ignoring me to focus on the next show. Was I supposed to follow you around like a puppy forever?”