Hard Wood (Hard n' Dirty Book 3)

by Tara Crescent

  One day. I’m allowed one day.

  Tomorrow, I’m going to spend some time with a really hot guy. A guy who, if I’m being honest, is way above my league. I haven’t had a proper day off in months. For a few hours, I’m going to flirt with him and forget my cares. I deserve that much.

  Then, on Wednesday, I’ll remove the glass slippers and return to my real life.

  Having made that plan, I slip into my sleeping bag. To no one’s surprise, when I masturbate that night, it’s to the memory of Dom’s voice, deep and sexy, asking me if I want him to show me how his sex chair works.

  “Coffee?”

  Of course Dom would be a morning person. At eight in the morning, I’m a bleary, sleepy mess. Dom, on the other hand, looks wide awake, and good enough to eat. It’s not fair.

  Then again, he’s also holding out a mug of coffee, so I can’t get too grouchy. “Thank you.”

  “No worries, spitfire. There’s milk and sugar upstairs if you want. Have you eaten breakfast?”

  My stomach growls in reply. “I had a box of cereal in the cabin, but I ran out of milk.” I take a sip of the coffee and close my eyes in bliss. “This is really good.”

  “It’s my one weakness,” he says. “Ethiopian Yirgacheffe. I have to drive down to Toronto to buy it.” He grins. “I’m waiting for you to tell me that’s insane.”

  “I’m a brewer, remember? I understand obsession.”

  “So you run out of milk but never beer?” His voice is approving. “A woman after my own heart.”

  His words are casual. A throwaway compliment, but I feel myself blushing. Get a grip, Cat, I tell myself sternly. “Do you live here?”

  He nods. “Upstairs. Come on, I’ll show you around, feed you some breakfast, and then we can get on the road.” His eyes dance with amusement. “Don’t worry, it’s perfectly safe. I believe in buying my dates dinner before I send them a dick pic.”

  My lips twitch involuntarily. “That’s good to know.”

  I was too irritated yesterday to take in his space. Today, I look around curiously as I follow him up the wooden stairs. Brick walls, open layout, large garage doors. “This is an interesting building.”

  “It used to be an old firehouse.”

  “Seriously? That is so freaking cool.” We reach the top. The upstairs is open-concept too. High ceilings, large windows, gleaming wooden floors. My mouth falls open. I’d dismissed Dom Wilde as a small-town carpenter, but this is an eclectic, sophisticated home. An assortment of funky metal light fixtures hangs down from the beams. Modern art—original paintings, not prints—decorate the walls. “Wow.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.” He moves to the kitchen. “Unfortunately, my breakfast options aren’t much better than yours. Donut?”

  Hell yes. “Do you have any chocolate glazed?” I peer into the box he’s holding out and grab a chocolate-and-sprinkle covered donut. “I’m finding it difficult to read you. Your home looks like it could be on the front of Architecture Digest, but you eat donuts for breakfast.”

  “Architecture Digest? You insult me, Cat. I’ve always thought of my home as having more of a Dwell aesthetic.” He helps himself to a donut too, eating it in two bites. “I’m pretty easy to read. I moved to Toronto after high school. Went to a semester of design school, dropped out, started making my own furniture. When I got tired of sharing a three-bedroom house with five other people, I moved back to Madison.” He looks around. “There are pluses and minuses to living here,” he says. “But I could never afford something like this in Toronto.”

  He offers me the box of donuts again, and I hesitate for precisely three seconds before grabbing another. “I’m on my feet all day,” I say in explanation, even though he hasn’t asked for one. “I tend to work off the calories.”

  “You’re the brewer?”

  “Yes.” I brace myself, waiting for him to open his mouth and say something really stupid. I didn’t think women could be brewers. What do girls know about beer? Something dumb and sexist that will transform him from hot to cringe-worthy in ten words or less.

  His lips twitch. “Admit it,” he says. “You want to look in my refrigerator, don’t you? You want to know what kind of beer I drink.”

  I let out a burst of surprised laughter. Whoever Dom Wilde is, he’s definitely more than he appears to be. “A little bit.”

  He gestures toward the refrigerator. “Go ahead. I’ll brace myself for your judgment.”

  “I’ll be gentle.”

  “Will you?” His voice deepens, and his eyes lock onto mine. “I can’t promise the same thing, Cat. I’ll be harsh, little spitfire.” He takes a step toward me, his eyes glistening with heat. “I’ll be exactly as rough as you need.”

  A shiver of lust runs through me. My skin erupts into goosebumps, and my insides flutter at the intention in his voice. “You don’t know me,” I whisper. “How do you know how rough I need it?”

  “I know more than you think.” Another half-step. A vein beats in my neck, and Dom slides his thumb over it. “You’re wound so tight, kitty cat.” His voice is low and hypnotic, and it tugs at something inside me. I’m made of strands of need. When he touches me, I unravel. I forget we just met yesterday. I forget I don’t know him. Nothing exists but this moment. Nothing exists but the fierce beating of my heart, thumping like a trapped, caged bird fighting to get loose. “You’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders. A thousand things you must attend to if your brewpub is to be a success. If you take your eyes off the prize, even for a minute, you worry that it might all fall apart.”

  I stare up at him, a million unasked questions in my eyes. How does he know?

  “But the weight is like a backpack,” he says softly. “You can set it down for a while. You can take a break from it.”

  “With you?”

  His thumb is stroking my neck. Slow, steady and seductive. He’s not pushing. He’s taken two steps toward me, and he’s stopped, and I know that if I want this to go any further, I’m going to have to make the next move. I’m going to have to move toward him.

  “I’m not a nice guy, Cat. I’m not the guy you take home to your mother. The only thing I have to offer is sex.”

  A year ago, I might have balked at his words. Dom’s making it clear he’s not looking for commitment, and I don’t do casual sex. But the last few months have been eye-opening. My so-called nice guy boyfriend told me he loved me. He told me that I was the woman he wanted to grow old with. And then, he stole my recipes and made it impossible for me to continue with my job.

  Dominic’s not pretending. He’s not lying to me. He’s not sweet-talking me. And after Will’s betrayal, I appreciate his honesty, his directness.

  One day, you said, my conscience reminds me.

  Except he’s really hot. He’s not an alpha-hole. And I’m really, really attracted to him.

  But when he’s touching me, I can’t think. My brain is short-circuiting.

  “Good sex?”

  “The best sex of your life.” No bravado. Just absolute confidence.

  Six weeks to opening day. I swallow hard and take a step back. His hand drops to his side, and he gives me a questioning look. I know what I should say, but the words that come out aren’t the ones I intended to say. “Why don’t I take a look at your beer selection first? And if I like what I see…”

  His lips curl up into a smile. “If you do…?”

  “Then you can buy me dinner. Or text me a dick pic. Your choice.”

  7

  Dom

  “Well?” I ask her, once we get underway. “Does my beer pass muster?”

  I’m not holding my breath as I wait for her to reply. That would be demented. Absolutely fucking insane. I’m definitely not glancing at her out of the corner of my eye, trying to see what she’s thinking.

  One touch. That’s all it took for all the blood to leave my brain and flow to my cock. One touch of her neck. Even now, I have to struggle not to reach across and touch her. Bru
sh a strand of hair off her face. Lace my fingers in hers. I’m acting like some kind of weird combination of sex-obsessed teenager and love-sick Lifetime TV romance hero.

  Kill me now.

  She laughs at my question. “Twelve cans, every one of them Ontario craft beer, and not a gimmick beer among them. It was impressive.”

  I can’t hold back my smile of relief. “I’m glad you approve.” Pull it together, Wilde. What the actual fuck. “Gimmick beer?”

  She makes a face. “People put all kinds of crap in their beer,” she says. “Coconut, ginger, chocolate. One time, a brewer I knew added garlic and pickle brine in his beer. It was vile.”

  “You’re a purist, then.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, I’m making an apricot wheat beer tomorrow for the pub. It’s just not what I gravitate to.”

  We talk about Toronto, about books and podcasts, TV shows and movies. I don’t expect to enjoy myself, but I do, immensely. When she remembers to relax, Cat’s easy to talk with. She’s fun and funny, and she doesn’t take herself too seriously. “This feels so wrong,” she confesses, her dark eyes wide and startled. “I should be brewing.”

  It’s not the brewery part she should be worrying about. It’s the front, which needs a lot of work. But since I don’t want to stress her out, I don’t point that out. “Where’s your partner in crime?” I ask. “According to local gossip, there are two of you.”

  Her lips curl up. “That’s going to take some getting used to, everyone knowing what I’m up to. Local gossip is right. Vicki’s finishing up in Toronto. She’ll be in Madison in a couple of weeks, thank heavens.”

  They’re cutting it fine. Not that it’s any of my business. My interest in Cat is purely sexual. That’s all.

  In the summer, Zach’s farm is gorgeous. The farmhouse is set on the only hilltop around for miles, and the fields sprawl in all directions around it. It’s April, so there isn’t much green yet, but there’s a hint of warmth to the air. It feels like spring is just around the corner.

  Cat leans forward as I pull into the driveway. “This is a BDSM dungeon?” she asks, clearly surprised.

  “Zach converted one of the barns into a play space. Most of the place is a working farm. They grow apples mostly.”

  “Your friend is a farmer?”

  “It’s a hobby farm. Zach’s in tech. He divides his time between San Francisco, Boston, and Toronto. This is where he gets to relax.”

  “A tech billionaire with a penchant for BDSM.” Her eyes dance with amusement. “That’s the plot line of half the romances I’ve read.”

  I pull in front of the barn and turn off the engine. “Spend a lot of time reading about BDSM, do you?”

  She doesn’t respond to my fishing expedition. “Among other things.” Before I can come around, she opens her door and jumps out. “This will be my first dungeon though.” She looks around, a wry smile on her lips. “Farm. Horses. Barns. I’ve got to admit, this isn’t what I thought it would look like.”

  “That’ll teach you to make snap judgments, spitfire.” I crook two fingers at her. She looks both intrigued and nervous. “Ready to explore?”

  There’s no one in sight. The place is quiet and peaceful. We’ll be all alone inside. Just Cat and me, in a space designed for sex, for the loss of inhibitions, for the surrender of control.

  Thinking about it, my cock stirs again. Ever hopeful, my dick.

  “Spitfire?” After a split second of hesitation, she moves next to me.

  “Seems to fit.”

  She laughs softly. “Would you believe that I’m terrible at confrontation?”

  The playroom is locked. Zach can unlock it remotely, but I haven’t bothered calling him. I know the door code. Cat’s eyebrows rise as I punch in the ten-digit security code on the keypad. “Should I be nervous that you can punch in the code from memory?”

  The lock clicks, and I turn the handle of the door, but don’t enter. Now that we’re here, she’s tentative and skittish, and I don’t want her to bolt. “I’ve known Zach since kindergarten. I’ve done a lot of work for him over the years, and I have a standing invitation to use his playroom.” I give her a reassuring smile. “But I assure you, there are no axes inside.”

  It takes her a second, and then she laughs, a short, startled sound. “Fair enough.” She takes a deep breath. “Show me around, Dom.”

  8

  Cat

  I take a step into the playroom, my heart hammering in my chest. My stomach flips nervously; my insides are a knot of tension. It feels like crossing this threshold is taking a big step into the unknown.

  I’m very aware that we’re all alone. There’s no one in sight. We’re on a farm in the outskirts of Bainbridge, a tourist town that absolutely no one is visiting in April.

  There’s a voice inside me that whispers that this might not be the smartest thing I’ve ever done. I don’t know Dominic Wilde. He’s a perfect stranger. And yes, the chemistry between us crackles like lightning, but lust has a way of blinding people. I’m very aware that Dominic Wilde has at least fifty pounds of lean, hard muscle on me. If this situation goes south…

  Except he gets it. He’s not touching me. He’s not crowding me. He’s not even at my back as I walk into his friend’s playroom. The door’s propped open, and I can hear him outside, getting the sex chair from the back of the truck.

  Without making a big deal about it, he’s giving me space.

  Dominic Wilde is all kinds of unexpected.

  “Your countertop should be in the lobby,” he calls out to me.

  I hold the door open wider, and he carries the chair in. “Thanks.” He smiles at me. “The damn thing is heavier than it looks.”

  He barely looks winded. I watch his muscles ripple as he sets down the chair in a corner, out of the way. “Zach’s probably going to want to hide it,” he says. “It’s meant to be a birthday surprise for Penny.”

  For my last birthday, Will got me grocery store flowers. He’d promised to take me out dancing to celebrate, but of course, it had never happened. I hadn’t minded. Much. I’d given him the benefit of the doubt, like I always had. Will just wasn’t good with the details. Not the way I was.

  Do I want a sex chair for my birthday? No, of course not. I think. Well, maybe I would. What I want is to be desired. To be the object of someone’s passionate need.

  “Hey.” Dom’s voice pulls me out of my reverie. “You okay?”

  I shake myself out of my gloom. He’s looking at me with concern, and I don’t know why, but I feel compelled to offer him an explanation. “I don’t have a lot of experience with happy relationships,” I murmur. “My parents yelled at each other a lot, and my ex wanted my beer recipes more than he wanted me.”

  “Ah.”

  Dom couldn’t be more different from my ex. Will promised me the sun and the sky and the stars, and I ended up with nothing. Dom, on the other hand, has promised nothing. Dom has been nothing if not straightforward. He’s made it clear exactly what he wants from me. What he’s willing to offer, and what he’s not.

  Casual sex.

  The entire drive here, his offer has been playing in my mind. Over and over, I hear his voice. I see his dark eyes boring into mine.

  The only thing I have to offer is sex. The best sex of your life.

  I have no idea what I want. I’ve never thought of myself as someone who was cut out for casual sex. I wish I were; my life would be a lot easier that way. My friend and fellow-brewer Anise can sleep with a guy and dismiss him from her thoughts the next day, but that’s never been me. I’m a worrier. I get sucked in, whether I intend to or not. I believe the lies that men tell me. I fall in love too quickly, and I trust people too readily.

  Enough, Cat. You’re doing it again. Stop obsessing over Dominic Wilde.

  I move over to a flat, well-wrapped, L-shaped package. “Is this my countertop?”

  He nods. “Only Gino could mix up the two deliveries,” he says ruefully. “One’s large and flat, and t
he other’s a sex chair.”

  I remember the way I yelled at him yesterday. He could have pouted and sulked, but he’d just brushed it off. “I’m sorry I was such a bitch about it.”

  He shoots me a teasing look. “That’s okay, kitty cat. Buy me a drink when your pub opens, and we’ll call it even.”

  For someone who swears he’s not a nice guy, he can be pretty… nice. “I can do better than that. I’ve a refrigerator filled with beer in the pub. Experimental stuff that I don’t just share with just anybody. Once you’re done installing the countertop tonight…”

  He smiles at me, slow and sexy. “Bribing your contractors with beer? You have yourself a deal.” He puts his hand in the small of my back. “Ready for the tour?”

  His touch is light and undemanding, but I’m very intensely aware of it. I feel him. My body rearranges itself, centering around that hand in my back. Every nerve seems to pulse outward from the point of his touch.

  One touch and I’m putty. I might be in trouble here.

  I tear my eyes away from him and look around at the space properly for the first time. The barn looked huge from the outside, but this room isn’t large. The floor is tiled with blue and white tiles. There’s a rectangular bar set against one wall, and the rest of the space is open. The walls are painted a clean, sparkling white. It reminds me of pictures I’ve seen of Greece.

  More important is what’s missing. There’s nothing here that would be out of place in a restaurant or a bar. “Where are the whips and chains?”

  He grins. “For that, we’ll have to step through another door.” He opens an ornately carved wooden door that looks like it belongs in a temple in Asia, and gestures me in.

  Okay. This is more like what I thought a BDSM dungeon was going to look like. The walls are painted black. There are no windows. The lighting is soft and muted.