Nailing Studs

  Nailing Studs

  A Contemporary Reverse Harem Romance

  Virna DePaul

  Contents

  Description

  More From Virna DePaul

  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

  Hard Time Excerpt: Prologue

  Hard Time Excerpt: Ch 1

  Get Hard Time

  Books by Virna

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Description

  When fantasy becomes reality X 3…

  I’d been doing just fine as a New York food and wine critic, content with books, baking, and my boyfriend. But “content” wasn’t what I was after. Passion and excitement were more like it, but now that I’d gotten royally dumped and unceremoniously fired, “sucked” was the best word to describe my life.

  So I moved. To Northern California. To claim my inheritance from my great-aunt: a run-down house in a small town that had yet to recognize the arrival of the twenty-first century.

  The house was a wreck and there was no money for repairs. But then the Fix-It Guys arrived, three sexy as sin alpha males who offered their services to fix up the house…and teach me a thing or two about hammering, nailing, and drilling.

  Suddenly I had all the passion and excitement I could handle.

  Taylor, Dom, and Logan were all about giving me what I wanted, and I was more than happy to cater to their needs as well. But falling in love with three men? That never happens, at least not with a happily ever after, right?

  Wrong.

  Grab hold—Kayla’s path to love with three hot men will take you on a wild ride.

  ***If you are a new-to-me reader, I hope you’ll check out my other books. Please visit my website and join my mailing list to receive these (2) FREE Series Starters!, and be the first to hear about new releases and giveaways! You can also follow me on Facebook. Thank you! Virna

  Contact Virna Here

  Website: www.virnadepaul.com

  Twitter: @virnadepaul

  Email: virna@virnadepaul.com

  Facebook Fan Page: www.facebook.com/booksthatrock

  More From Virna DePaul

  BAD BOY DOCTORS SERIES

  KISS TALENT AGENCY SERIES

  HARD AS NAILS SERIES

  GOING DEEP SERIES

  BEDDING THE BACHELORS SERIES

  HOME TO GREEN VALLEY SERIES

  ROCK CANDY SERIES

  THE PARA-OPS PARANORMAL ROMANTIC SUSPENSE SERIES

  His Royal Hotness (A Royally Hot Romance)

  1

  Kayla

  “You’re a freak in bed, Kayla.”

  Two weeks ago, that’s what my boyfriend Grant told me in an effort to justify why he’d cheated on me with Brittany, his former childhood friend turned adult friend with benefits. He hadn’t stopped there, however. Reason number two he’d strayed? I’d apparently “let myself go” even before I’d lost my job as a food and wine reporter at the New York e-zine I worked for.

  It was all bullshit. He knew it. I knew it.

  Let myself go? I’m sorry, but gaining ten pounds did not mean I wasn’t hot anymore. So what if I enjoyed baking and sampling what I cooked? I loved my body and felt sexy as hell, even if his words still stung.

  And I wasn’t a freak in bed so much as Grant was lazy and unimaginative. I’d recently brought a couple of rather bland sex toys into our lovemaking, and when I’d presented them to him, thinking it would be fun to try, he’d crawled right out of bed and jumped in the shower as if the mere thought had been so dirty he had to get himself clean. It’s not like I was out to win a Kinky Couple of the Year Award or anything. I’d just wanted a little…a little spice. His freak out wasn’t my problem, it was his.

  The truth was, I was better off without Grant and better off without the job that had started to bore me, but that didn’t mean my life hadn’t been going through a major case of suck ass, especially since before all this happened, my favorite relative, my great-aunt Tabitha—who’d never liked Grant, by the way—had died, leaving me heartbroken. Even worse, I’d been flattened by a bad case of pneumonia and hadn’t been able to make it to California in time for the funeral. I felt so guilty for missing it, and instead of being able to count on my job to keep me distracted or my boyfriend to comfort me, I suddenly found myself all alone and homeless, because I’d been living in Grant’s apartment. So yes, when we broke up, I’d been the one who had to move out. Since I’d been drifting away from my college girlfriends, who were all married and had children by then, I ended up checking into a cheap motel until I figured out what to do next.

  It was enough to make me feel worthless.

  But I’d never go that low. I was worthy, and knew someone—some hot, sexy soulful someone—would find me worthy, too. I just needed a change of pace.

  And wouldn’t you know, a few days after I moved out of Grant’s apartment, the universe opened a window to make up for all the doors slamming in my face. Tabitha’s lawyer called me, telling me she left me her house in Fosterman, California, and as much as my heart ached missing my amazing aunt, I couldn’t believe my change of luck.

  I’d always adored everything about Tabitha’s house, but hadn’t been back for over ten years. After I graduated high school, she came to visit me in New York where I’d attended college and found a job. She said she loved the energy of the city. When she visited, we’d watch a few Broadway shows, do the museum hop, and go cupcake-hunting in Tribeca. She always loved the red velvet from Mel’s the best and would roll her eyes when I said nothing was better than the carrot cake from Apple City Co.

  No matter where we were, if I was with Tabitha, I was happy, and Tabitha had come through for me once again. Her house would be a place I could stay until I got back on my feet and made a new game plan. So I packed up what little stuff I had, shipped it to northern California, and caught a flight to the west coast. I arrived in San Francisco this morning, rented a car, drove the couple of hours east to Fosterman, and even got a little grocery shopping in before I pulled up to my destination.

  So here I was, standing at the front door of Tabitha’s house—now my house—smiling hopefully as happier memories swam over me.

  The whole trip to California, I pictured all the summers I spent here in my youth, with Tabitha running around the house, all non-stop chatty, wearing flowing pastel dresses and bright pink lipstick, regaling me with wild stories about the seventies. In the living room, we played board games. In the kitchen she taught me how to make her mother’s top secret molten chocolate lava cake recipe. In the sun room, we’d read for hours, discussing classic literature in a way that made the stories come alive.

  I’d always meant to come back to Fosterman, of course, but it had never seemed to be the right time.

  Now, Tabitha was gone.

  I pressed back tears. Then I took a long, deep breath. It would be hard, being here without Tabitha, but the house had been her legacy to me. Her gift right when I needed it most.

  “Thank you, Tabitha,” I murmured. Juggling my grocery bags, I unlocked the door and pushed it open.

  Stagnant air rushed out to mingle in the hot summer’s sun, the scent hitting me and making me sneeze. I waved the smell away and peeked inside…oh, my God.


  A knot tightened in my stomach and I swallowed hard.

  The place was worse than I could’ve ever imagined. Much worse. An enormous hole in the tea parlor ceiling, paint peeling from the walls, broken floorboards… At first glance, it looked like the place had been hit by a tornado. But then I looked closer, and realized Tabitha must have been in the middle of renovating when she died.

  I spotted new wood floors in the kitchen, even though the cabinets were still falling apart, but the lack of baseboard where the floor met the cabinets made it clear the work had been left unfinished. A hole in the wall had been “fixed,” but the plaster had cracked. Whoever she’d hired to do the work couldn’t have been a professional.

  The adorable place I fondly remembered was definitely here, somewhere, but it’d take a fortune to restore it. There was absolutely no way I could afford to fix the house up enough to live in it on a permanent basis. Plus, the pain of being here, of experiencing this house without the beautiful soul who’d lived in it, was deep and elemental. The excitement buzzing inside me only moments ago when I’d walked up to the front steps had been replaced by the gnawing, empty realization that my aunt really was no longer here and that I could not stay.

  My plans to reinvent my life here in Fosterman slid away through the open door along with drifting dust motes. As much as I’d loved spending time here with Tabitha, taking on the job of fixing it up was just not something I was capable of doing right now, mentally or financially.

  I’d have to sell, use the profits to rent a small place, and somehow find a job at the same time. There wasn’t anything for me back east, and I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to find a position as a food and wine critic in Fosterman, population 4,561. I’d have to look for work in San Francisco, or one of the surrounding cities in the Bay Area.

  It will be okay, I told myself. You don't have to leave tonight. You can at least stay until you sell the house. It was some comfort at least.

  I flipped the light switch and warmth flooded the room from top to bottom. “Let there be light,” I said, forcing myself to smile, then frowning when something electrical crackled upstairs then fizzled out with a snap. “So much for that.”

  When I looked around, however, I smiled again, this time without having to force it, because I was better able to see the strong bones of Tabitha’s house now that it wasn’t so dark.

  The ceilings were high, the wooden crown molding that ran around the edges intricate and elegant. The furniture that remained was old but well-maintained and the wallpaper was peeling, but it was pretty in a vintage, shabby chic sort of way. Tall windows overlooked a messy garden springing with weeds, and not having noisy buses outside was a plus. In fact, I’d forgotten how quiet it was at Tabitha's house.

  How peaceful.

  Uncertainty reared its head.

  Did I really have to sell it?

  Maybe I could make it work. Maybe I could find a way to stay. So what if the half-finished repairs seemed shoddy and there was a hole in the ceiling? The place was still habitable. As long as there was electricity, running water, and a roof over my head, I could survive.

  I imagined Tabitha happy as a lark in heaven, looking down and seeing me living here, making it work, renovating her home to its former glory, one day at a time. The thought calmed me down.

  I went into the kitchen with the groceries I’d carried in with me. Even though the kitchen was old, it was big. With some new granite countertops and the right lighting, I could see myself making dinners and desserts to make Tabitha proud.

  I turned on the faucet, pleased with my new outlook. A loud hissing and groaning sound split the air. Suddenly the handle was in my hand, completely removed from the sink, and a fountain of water was spraying up in the air, strong enough to hit the ceiling. I couldn’t find a towel, and my boxes of belongings wouldn’t be arriving for a day or two. I got on my knees, opened the sink cabinet, and found the water valve. As water splashed all over me, I turned the valve until the fountain became more of a drizzle. Eventually, even the drizzle disappeared.

  I crawled out from under the sink and plopped down hard on the soaking wet floor. Defeated, I leaned back against the rickety cabinet.

  “Great,” I mumbled, hanging my head. “Welcome home, Kayla. Welcome home.”

  2

  Kayla

  Fifteen minutes later, I’d dried the kitchen floor and ceiling by standing on the shaky counters, changed my clothes, and poured myself a glass of merlot to decompress. I couldn’t stay in a house that didn’t have a properly working kitchen sink, even temporarily, so that would have to be first on my To-Do List. Luckily, the groceries I’d bought were mostly fruit and stuff to make sandwiches, so I wouldn’t need the sink tonight.

  After dinner, a PB&J paired with a banana, I poured myself another glass of wine and headed upstairs. I settled into the guest room with my luggage, unable to bring myself to go into Tabitha’s room. Propped on the gigantic bed (Tabitha had splurged on some stuff, at least) and drinking wine, I scrolled through my phone, looking for repairmen within twenty miles.

  Yes, I’d managed to shut off the water in the kitchen, but I wasn’t skilled enough to fix what was wrong with it. Whether I sold the house or not—and once again, I was pretty sure selling it was my only option—I still needed a working kitchen sink.

  I clicked on a local contracting company that had gotten the highest Yelp rating—the Fix-It Guys. The company website displayed two uber-handsome models to market their services. Cut abs, tight shirts around bulging pecs and biceps, gleaming smiles…the whole nine yards.

  “Yeah, okay.” I giggled. “The Fix-It Guys,” I added in an overly dramatic voice laced with wine. The real workers were probably old and flabby with butt cracks showing out the back of their pants. As long as they did their jobs well, that was all that mattered. And as long as I got to drool over images of hot guys marketing construction services, all the better.

  I clicked on the number and hit “Call.” A guy who identified himself as Taylor answered. I explained I was new in town and needed someone to come fix a kitchen sink.

  Silence filled the line, then the man asked, “Where are you located?”

  “In Fosterman.”

  “Whew.”

  “You okay?” I asked, wondering why the guy was chuckling under his breath.

  “You’re calling from a New York City number. It would have cost you a small fortune for me to come out there.” Taylor’s voice sounded like he was smiling, which made me smile. He was funny and had a great, deep voice that didn’t go with my mental image of Flabby Butt-Crack Plumber Dude I had in my head.

  I laughed out loud, probably my first time in weeks. “No, sorry, you won’t be getting an all-expenses paid trip to NYC. I’m calling locally.”

  “Address, please?”

  I told him the address and waited while he mumbled it back to himself.

  “Tabitha Vanderzee’s home?”

  “Yes!” My heart lit up knowing that someone knew my great-aunt. Coming from a city of twelve million people, it was easy to forget that small town folks knew everybody. “She is—well, was my aunt. You knew her?”

  “Yeah, sure. She was a fixture in town. Funny lady. Sweet, too.”

  “She was, yeah.” Suddenly, it occurred to me…could Taylor be the contractor Tabitha had used to get the house in its current state? I frowned. If so, this would never do. “You never, uh…worked on her house, did you?”

  “No. She always went for the more…uh…shall we say, economical repair guy.” There was that smile in his voice again.

  “Ah, yes, I can see that,” I said. Tabitha, you went for the cheapest company, didn’t you? At least the Fix-It Guys weren’t the ones who’d half-way destroyed her lovely home.

  “It’s a great house,” Taylor continued. “The kind that makes guys like me dream of restoring the entire thing.”

  “You do full-on restorations, too?”

  “Yep, focusing on historical r
enovations. Are you looking to restore the place?” he asked hopefully.

  I wish. “Not sure yet but I’m keeping my options open. Anyway, do you think you can come tomorrow for the sink?”

  “I can come at nine AM. That too early?”

  “No, that’s perfect, actually.” I’d get out of bed at a decent time to start my job search, tidy up the house, and wait for the movers to deliver my few boxes of stuff.

  Taylor asked a couple of questions about the leak, and from what I told him, determined that the faucet needed a full replacement. Replacement wouldn’t be too difficult, he said.

  “That house…” Taylor added with hesitation. “It needs a lot of work.”

  “You’re telling me,” I said, my voice laced with amusement but also a weariness I hadn’t meant to disclose.

  “Tell you what. I’ll bring my business partner with me, and we’ll do a full-home inspection. Give you a quote on what it needs. Sound good?”

  I hesitated. “What’s that going to cost me?”

  “Nothing. The inspection is free. We’ll come out and do a visual assessment. Afterward, I’ll send you a quote. You decide what you want to do after that. No pressure.”

  I liked that Taylor was easygoing and not pestering me for money. “Sure, that’d be great. It’d be good to know how much it would take to fix it before I sell it.”

  “Oh, you’re selling the place?” He sounded disappointed.