Hard Wood Read online

  Hard Wood

  Lauren Blakely

  Contents

  Copyright

  Also By Lauren Blakely

  Dedication

  About

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Epilogue

  Another Epilogue

  And One More Epilogue

  STUD FINDER preview

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Lauren Blakely

  Contact

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2017 by Lauren Blakely

  Cover Design by Helen Williams. Photography by Wander Aguiar

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This contemporary romance is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. This ebook is licensed for your personal use only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with, especially if you enjoy sexy, hilarious romance novels with alpha males. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Also By Lauren Blakely

  Standalone Male-POV books

  Big Rock

  Mister O

  Well Hung

  Full Package

  Joy Ride

  Hard Wood

  One Love Series dual-POV Standalones

  The Sexy One

  The Only One

  The Hot One

  Standalones

  The Knocked Up Plan

  Most Valuable Playboy

  Stud Finder

  Most Likely to Score (January 2018)

  Wanderlust (February 2018)

  Come As You Are (April 2018)

  Part-Time Lover (June 2018)

  The Real Deal (Summer 2018)

  Far Too Tempting

  21 Stolen Kisses

  Playing With Her Heart

  Out of Bounds

  The Caught Up in Love Series

  Caught Up In Us

  Pretending He’s Mine

  Trophy Husband

  Stars in Their Eyes

  The No Regrets Series

  The Thrill of It

  The Start of Us

  Every Second With You

  The Seductive Nights Series

  First Night (Julia and Clay, prequel novella)

  Night After Night (Julia and Clay, book one)

  After This Night (Julia and Clay, book two)

  One More Night (Julia and Clay, book three)

  A Wildly Seductive Night (Julia and Clay novella, book 3.5)

  Nights With Him (A standalone novel about Michelle and Jack)

  Forbidden Nights (A standalone novel about Nate and Casey)

  The Sinful Nights Series

  Sweet Sinful Nights

  Sinful Desire

  Sinful Longing

  Sinful Love

  The Fighting Fire Series

  Burn For Me (Smith and Jamie)

  Melt for Him (Megan and Becker)

  Consumed By You (Travis and Cara)

  The Jewel Series

  A two-book sexy contemporary romance series

  The Sapphire Affair

  The Sapphire Heist

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to the readers. To all the wonderful people who picked up Big Rock, or Mister O, or Well Hung, or Full Package, or Joy Ride, or this book. You are the reason Hard Wood is in your hands. Hee hee. Hard Wood in your hands :)

  About

  Women often say a good man is hard to find. And a hard man is even better.

  That’s why I’m quite a catch— good, hard, loaded, and wait for it…I’m ready to settle down too. But the woman I want to pitch my tent with lives clear across the country. Neither of us wants to get lost in those woods. All I have to do is resist her for the week she’s in town.

  I try. I swear I try. But yeah, that doesn’t work out.

  And after one fantastic night with my good friend Mia, I’m ready to give her years of nights under the stars. What’s a few thousand miles when love’s involved? But there’s a hitch in my plans — she just hired my adventure tour company. If there’s one thing I’m committed to, it’s running a squeaky clean business. Number one on my list of iron-clad rules?

  Don’t screw your customers.

  But what’s a guy to do when she’s so hard to resist? How hard can it be to keep our hands off each other for a quick group tour down the hills and over the trails? I’m about to find out, and I have a feeling I’m going to need a new badge of honor because things are about to get very hard in the woods.

  Prologue

  By now, most women have met the half dozen or so basic types of men in the world.

  Just to be sure, though, let’s review the lineup.

  First, there’s the too-cool-for-school playboy who solemnly swears he’ll never settle down. Next to him in the modern-day parade of dudes is the Grouchy McGrouch Pants. This surly, bearded guy is a softie beneath the dickhead exterior he shows to the world, along with his beanie cap. By his side is the guarded businessman in his three-piece suit, housing deep, dark secrets that only one woman can unlock. We have other roles in Guy Central Casting: the lumbersexual, the groomed father, the citified pretty boy, the hot nerd, and the bad boy with a heart of gold.

  Trust me when I say the ladies of the world have heard every one of their stories.

  I know that because I’ve fucking heard them. I’ve heard them from the guys, and I’ve heard them from the gals. When you take people out of their comfort zone and into the woods, they tend to tell you everything—every sordid detail. I’m honestly kind of amazed that men and women, women and women, and men and men get together at all. There’s so much baggage going around, it’s like a goddamn virus.

  As for me?

  I’m simple. I travel light. I don’t bring luggage to the table. I hoist my backpack and I’m ready to go.

  I’m a man of many skills. Give me a battery and I’ll start a campfire. Show me an old phone and I’ll make a compass. I’m the guy who knows how to get out of jams. I can fix a tire, repair a sink, gut a fish, pick
a lock, and survive a bear attack—I’ve been there, done that, and have the merit badges to prove it.

  Not gonna lie. Women do tend to like a guy who can get shit done without bitching about it. That’s why I’ve had a nice run of luck with the ladies. But I’m not looking just to get lucky anymore.

  I’m ready for a whole lot more.

  I’d like to think that makes me the good guy with all the skills when we’re talking about types. I’m the unicorn, and I’m not just talking about the length of my horn, if you catch my drift.

  I’m the guy who’s fit, successful, baggage-fucking-free, and—wait for it—ready to settle down.

  Just call me a four-leaf clover.

  The trouble is the woman I want is off-limits. She’s my buddy’s sister. But don’t worry. That’s not the issue. Max is a cool cat, and he has no problem with the fact that I have it bad for his little sis.

  The problem is something else entirely, and I have one week to fix it. This is where all my life-hacking skills will have to come into play.

  Let’s do this.

  1

  Human beings tend to overthink all sorts of stuff, but a lot of our quandaries are pretty basic. You’re either going out to dinner at the new Italian joint, or you’re staying home to make a turkey sandwich. You’re doing the laundry so you have a fresh shirt to wear, or you’re sniffing the hamper, hunting for an old-but-good-enough-ie. You either carve out the time to run five miles, or you watch another ten episodes of Breaking Bad.

  For the record, the answers are Italian, wash on hot, and lace up.

  I take the same straightforward approach to the current black-and-white question posed to me by Camilla Montes, the local WRBC Channel 10 morning news anchor.

  “Patrick, how will our viewers know if Fluffy wants to go for a hike?” she asks in that perfectly modulated TV reporter voice that matches her coiffed black hair.

  “If you’re wondering if Tiger, Tom, or Tabby is ready to become an adventure cat, there’s a simple litmus test any pet owner can conduct.” I sit on the couch across from her and run a hand down Zeus’s back. He arches into my palm and rumbles, his purr so loud he could land a career in the cat sound-effects business. Show-off. But in his defense, if I possessed an Al Green-style purr, I’d make sure the ladies heard it all the time, too. “I like to call it the drag or no-drag cat.”

  “Interesting. Tell us more,” she says, her voice dripping with curiosity.

  “Your cat either willingly lets you put a leash around his furry neck, or he turns into putty when you harness him, and you wind up dragging his feline butt across the floor.” I mime tugging a gone-limp cat on a leash.

  “That does make it crystal clear.” Camilla flashes her practiced grin, then points a polished fingernail at me. “But how did you know to try with Zeus? Did you simply want a famous hiking partner, or did he insist on it?”

  “I listened to the cat.” I lean forward, parking one hand on my knee where my cargo shorts end, since the station likes me to dress like an REI model for my segments on Tips and Tricks for Enjoying the Great Outdoors. “His behavior told me he might be willing. For instance, one time, I headed down the hallway to drop the trash in the chute, and Zeus followed me out the door of the apartment, staying by my side the whole time.” I lower my voice, cup the side of my mouth, and speak in a stage whisper. “And I don’t think it was only because there was leftover salmon in the trash.”

  Camilla laughs.

  “Salmon aside, he exhibited this inquisitive behavior often, and that’s when I decided to give a leash and harness a whirl.”

  “And now he’s become The Hiking Tomcat.” She gestures grandly to my long-haired cat, who’s lounging next to me, his white-gloved paws folded in front of his chest and a look of satisfaction on his furry face. I swear this dude is such a ham. He was born for the cameras. “Can you show our viewers how a cat who likes to go for hikes will handle being harnessed?”

  “Why, I thought you’d never ask,” I say as I stand, grab the leash and harness from the couch, and pat my leg.

  Zeus stretches, slinks down the side of the couch, and gazes up at me.

  “Want to go for a hike?”

  His tail swishes back and forth.

  Look, I’m not claiming he understands English. He’s a cat, after all, not some kind of Cesar Milan-trained dog. But Zeus knows the drill, and the leash is dangling in my hand. He stretches his neck out, almost as if he’s inviting me to put the red hiking harness over his head. I slide it on and clip his leash to the end. Zeus struts a few feet.

  Camilla’s smile beams as brightly as the TV lights blasting from above. “There you go.”

  “Would you like to walk him, Camilla?”

  Her glossy red lips part in a wide grin. “I would love to walk this Internet superstar.”

  I place a finger to my lips. “Shh. We don’t want his fame to go to his head.”

  “If he only knew how purr-fectly popular he is.” Camilla takes the leash and walks Zeus around the set. “We brought in something to simulate the conditions on the trails.”

  Camilla escorts my boy to some fake rocks set up for this demo while the on-air screen shows an Internet video I’ve shot of Zeus clambering up a hill on a nearby trail. When they reach the rocks, the shot returns to Camilla, walking alongside in heels as Zeus scurries up the rocks and then down the other side. Note to self—score this cat some commercial work and see if we can retire on Friskies royalties.

  But then, I’ve no interest in slowing down. My life is the textbook definition of so fucking good. My business is thriving, my family is healthy and happy, and my friends are settling down. There’s only one thing I long for more of. Well, not a thing. More like a lovely, captivating, I-just-click-with-her someone.

  But now’s not the time to dwell on a certain woman.

  Camilla returns to her blue chair, and I park myself on the couch again, alongside my loyal companion. I spend the next forty-five seconds reviewing trail safety for those who walk with their cats. After all, hiking with a feline is not for the faint of heart. People with dogs have no idea how easy they have it. Hiking with a feline is a whole other kettle of fish, but well worth it for the photos alone. We’re talking unexpected goldmine. When my sister, Evie, plunked this cat on my doorstep and begged me to give him a home, I had no idea he’d turn out to be, one, totally cool, and two, the best marketing ever for my adventure tour company.

  When the segment ends, Camilla thanks me and cuts to a commercial. “See you again next week, Patrick. I’ve been thinking we could do a piece on first aid in the woods.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “And you know what I’ve been dying to have you do a segment on?”

  “Whatever you want, I can do it,” I say, keeping up the easygoing vibe, since that’s what works best for business partners.

  “What if we did a piece on how to glamp?”

  I chuckle lightly, rubbing a palm across my short, neat beard. “I can do that, and I can also give you a simple trick for camping with style right now if you’d like.”

  Her chocolate-brown eyes twinkle with excitement. “Please do.”

  “Do you have your phone with you?”

  “Of course. It’s on silent, but I’m never without my closest companion,” she says, taking it from her skirt pocket, unlocking the screen, and handing it to me.

  I tap a few words into the search bar, and the result I need returns quickly. I hand the phone to Camilla. “This is who you call.”

  Her reaction is priceless—a slow smile spreads as the name and number for the Ritz Carlton appears on her screen.

  “So true. What can I say? I’m not an outdoorsy girl at all. But I love your segments. So does my new intern, Taylor,” she says, lowering her voice and looking toward a bubbly blonde who’s waiting to escort me from the set. Funny, since my job requires me to find my way out of pretty much anywhere on God’s great, green earth. Not to mention, I’ve been the guest commentator for t
he station’s Friday morning outdoors segment for a few months now and I know the way to the door.

  Then, because I like the furry dude and don’t want to torture him—and taking a cat for a walk on the sidewalks of Manhattan is a unique and terrible form of torture—I drop Zeus into my backpack, slide the straps on, and leave the studio with the perky cheerleader girl by my side and the cat’s silvery head poking out the top of the pack.

  “I made s’mores the other day,” Taylor offers with a big smile, her bright blue eyes meeting mine. “They were so good.”

  Her so has eight syllables and all of them drip with innuendo.

  “That’s great,” I say, since I’m not interested in entertaining any syllables or innuendo with someone barely past puberty.

  “Do you like s’mores, Patrick?”

  “Who doesn’t like s’mores?”

  “I was wondering, though, if you might have any tips for me on how to make them. Like, how do I get the chocolate and marshmallow to come together perfectly?” She stops at the door, leans her hip against it suggestively, and twirls a strand of her hair.

  And I do believe s’mores porn is officially a thing.

  Even though I pride myself on making the world’s greatest version of the campfire treat, I keep my answer simple, but clear. “It’s all in how long you let the ingredients age,” I say, since Taylor is twenty, twenty-one at best. “See you next week.”

  I say goodbye and leave, catching a train downtown then walking through the streets of lower Manhattan.

  Do I get stares because of the cat on my back?

  Hell, yeah.

  Do I enjoy it?

  Absolutely.

  I smile and nod, giving a few salutes and a couple of how are yous and even a meow as a little kid walks by with her mom and whispers while pointing at my shoulder. As if I don’t know there’s a badass pussycat purring in my ear.