Her Rock Hard Mountain Man is almost here!!
You guys, I couldn’t help it — I loved Mia and Elias so much that I had to give them a story, too. This book got a little crazy — I’m officially obsessed with their love story, plus the Iron Diablos are bad and they’re as bad as ever 😉
Read Chapter 1 now, totally free!
Her Rock Hard Mountain Man is a total standalone, but Her Obsessed Mountain Man is FREE on Kindle Unlimited, if you haven’t read it yet!
Hope you love it!!
Chapter one
Mia
It should be illegal for men to be this hot.
And it should be extra-illegal for them to hang out in groups like this. Seriously. What kind of straight girl stands a chance in a situation like this?
I lean over to Ruby to whisper in her ear.
“Who authorized this gathering?” I ask.
Oops. That was less of a quiet whisper and more of a hoarse shout, and I’m pretty sure everyone around this fire pit heard me.
Ruby giggles, her face radiant.
“What are you talking about? I did,” she says.
She snuggles up against Jax, her new husband, his face in her hair. He’s one of the hot men I’m talking about, He’s taken, obviously, but I’d have to be either blind or dead not to realize he’s attractive.
“There are too many hot guys here,” I whisper, too loud again. “What were you thinking?”
Ruby just giggles as an answer. I know I shouldn’t be harassing her about the density of attractive men at her own wedding, but I’m slightly drunk and I think she’s more than slightly drunk, and also, I’ll probably never see any of these unfairly-attractive men again, so who cares?
And he’s not the only one. Apparently, his unit in the Marines was a unit that consisted solely of super-hot guys, because everyone else here, at this post-wedding-reception bonfire, is also extremely attractive. There’s Kellan, a quiet-but-hot guy with hair that’s copper in the firelight and dark, brooding eyes. He hasn’t said much tonight, but every so often, he’ll smile at something that one of his friends does, and it hints at something more between his ears than one would expect.
There’s Mason, light-haired, blue-eyed, and jovial tonight, though I suspect the whiskey’s helping with that. He’s sitting next to his best friend Calder, who’s got dark hair and eyes that I think are green, though it’s hard to tell exactly in just the firelight. He’s mostly quiet too, though occasionally he’ll burst out laughing at something that one of the other men says.
“Okay, tell me if you’ve heard this one,” a rough, low voice says to my left. “What do you call a fake noodle?”
I take another pull from the beer I’m drinking and try to think of an answer, staring intently into the fire. I’m a little afraid that if I look directly at the guy who just told what I’m sure is a very bad joke, my face might melt off.
Because the joke teller, Elias, is the hottest of all the happy couple’s friends. I think he scorched my retinas when I first laid eyes on him earlier today. During the wedding ceremony, when he was the best man and I was the maid of honor, I could barely look over at him for fear that I’d just start giggling in the middle of Ruby and Jax’s vows.
I’ve never seen a man this attractive in the wild. Ever.
And he’s telling me the worst jokes he knows, trying to make me laugh.
It’s working.
“I don’t know,” I answer. “A pseudle?”
“Not quite,” he says, grinning. “It’s a good guess, though.”
I bite my lip, trying not to giggle. I’m a little tipsy, and I probably shouldn’t be flirting with Elias.
Actually, I definitely shouldn’t be flirting with Elias. I shouldn’t be flirting with anyone, at least not while I still live at home during college. If my father knew what I was doing right now, he’d flip his lid.
My father is… intense. I’ll just leave it at that.
“Fine,” I say. “What do you call a fake noodle?”
“An impasta,” he deadpans, his face perfectly serious.
I hold it together for exactly two seconds.
Then I snort-laugh. At first, it’s a giggle, but it quickly builds to a full-body, laughing-so-hard-I-can’t-help-myself cackle.
Elias just grins, his deep eyes watching me as he takes a long pull from his beer bottle.
“Thought you’d like that one,” he says, his voice still rich and growly.
“Why?” I gasp, still fighting the fit of laughter. “It was terrible.”
“What are you talking about? You can hardly breathe. I think I had you pegged exactly right.”
Then he winks.
It should be illegal.
My heart just about stops in my chest. My cheeks flame, and I desperately look anywhere but his face. I take another long pull of my beer to hide how much his single, solitary wink is affecting me.
“I’m just being nice,” I finally tease, still not looking at him. “I’m taking pity on someone with such bad jokes.”
“I doubt that very much,” Elias murmurs, still looking at me, the firelight playing over his features.
I’m, like, ninety percent sure he’s flirting with me and I have no idea what to do. Not only is he hot, he’s older, and I’m sure that with this kind of charm and looks, he’s had plenty of experience with women.
Whereas my experience with men? Big fat zero. I mean, I’ve been on a couple of dates and kissed a few guys, though the last one who tried it never came back after my dad chased him off the front porch with a hatchet.
Like I said, my dad is… intense. In a lot of ways.
I drain my beer and try to focus on finding something to say to Elias that isn’t just another snort-giggle.
“Doubt it all you want,” I say, tossing my hair back just a little too forcefully. I’ve got that drunk girl confidence going on right now. “It’s still true.”
Elias barely smiles, but he gives me a long, appraising look. Suddenly I understand what a smoldering look is, because I just got one. It makes my mouth go dry, and a heat I can’t quite name starts deep down inside me. I have to look away from him before I do something dumb.
Oh my God, that was a sexy look, right? Like a look that means Elias is thinking about sex with me?
Heat rises to my face, and I’m so glad that it’s too dark to see it.
No. You’re imagining things. You have no idea what you’re talking about.
“You know, Mia —” Elias starts.
Ruby interrupts him, standing and raising both hands for attention.
“We’re going to bed,” she announces. Next to her, Jax smiles quietly. I’ve noticed he’s not too much of a talker, but he’s obviously completely smitten with his new bride.
Can’t fault him for that.
“Get it!” I shout.
Then I immediately regret it. That was the beer talking, and I try my best to sink back into my chair and become invisible.
Luckily, Ruby just grins. She’s had a couple glasses of champagne, too.
“See you guys tomorrow morning at breakfast, right?” she asks, though she doesn’t wait for an answer before she and Jax step away from the fire, hand in hand.
And just like that, I’m alone with Jax’s Marine buddies, around a campfire, in the dark. Across the fire, one of them gets up to grab another beer, and I look around. I’m not quite sure how everyone else left without me noticing, but they did.
I fiddle with my empty beer bottle, trying to think of something to say, when I catch Elias giving me anther smoldering look. His eyes are incredible, even in the dark — deep green, the color of a pine forest.
And the way he looks at me. Like I’ve got one hundred percent of his attention, all of it laser-focused on me, but even more than that. He looks at me like there’s nothing else in the world that he possibly could be looking at.
Naturally, I freak out.
I jump up from where I’m sitting. The bench I was on knocks into my hand and I drop the beer bottle. I bend to pick it up, then realize that I’m bending over in front of Elias and I abruptly straighten before I even pick up the bottle, leaving it on the ground and probably looking like a crazy person.
He just watches me, that same intense look in his eyes, the one that makes my stomach twist.
Just leave, I remind myself. He’s giving you sex looks and you’re a drunk, nervous virgin, so just leave before anything happens no matter how much you want it to.
“I should go to bed,” I say, stepping away from the fire pit, toward the dark ringing us. “I’ve got — you know — morning, tomorrow…”
Elias is also standing now. God, he’s tall, and he’s wearing just a button-down shirt and slacks, his tie undone, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The firelight flickers over the muscles and veins in his forearms, one of them with a Semper Fidelis tattoo.
The rest of him looks equally good, his muscles bulging against his shirt sleeves, his shoulders broad, the shirt barely containing them.
“Let me walk you back to your cabin,” he says, his voice still low and dangerous.
“Nope! Fine. I’m fine, it’s good, I’ll just see you in the morning!” I manage to squeak out, turning away from him and the fire, looking for the path.
As I walk away, I can hear him call after me, but I pretend I’m deaf, even as a sliver of disappointment works its way through my chest.
Better to not make a fool of yourself at your best friend’s wedding, I think. Besides, can you imagine if you took him back to your cabin, things got heated, and then he found out you were a virgin?
Awk. Ward.
The wedding took place in the woods, at a place called the Whispering Pines Resort. It’s both fancy and rustic; all the rooms are cabins connected by lighted brick pathways. The only problem right now is that, after staring into the fire for an hour or two, they’re not that well-lit and I’m still wearing my heels, picking my way back along the path as quickly as I can.
After a few moments, the voices behind me fade and I can see better, though the walkway is still a little uneven. Now that I know where I’m going, I can relax a little and obviously my mind shifts back to Elias, the hottie I just left at the fire pit.
You could have at least made out with him, I think regretfully. That’s totally within the bounds of acceptable wedding behavior, right?
I mean, is it even a wedding if no one makes out?
I’m still debating this with myself when suddenly, the heel of my bridesmaid stiletto comes down wrong on the uneven pathway.
I go sprawling. I don’t even have time to make a noise besides the heavy thud and oof of me hitting the ground, pain spiking through my right ankle, knee, and hand where I landed.
I gasp and hold my breath, tears forming in my eyes because holy shit, this hurts. I take a few moments just to breathe and pull myself together, because between the pain and the fact that I’ve been drinking, I’m tempted to just start sobbing.
Please don’t let it be broken, I can’t handle six weeks in a cast…
Still fighting tears, I manage to sit upright on the brick walkway. My right hand and knee are both scraped up, and they sting, but I’ll live. My blue dress has also seen better days, but I think it’s okay.
Gingerly, I move my ankle toward my body until I can grab it with both hands. That hurts, but it doesn’t hurt any more than it did before. I prod the joint very, very carefully, and finally move my ankle just a little.
It hurts like hell, but I don’t think it’s broken. If it were broken, I think that moving it even that small amount would make me scream in pain, and I’m just gritting my teeth against the pain.
Okay. Now all I have to do is get up and get to my cabin, where I can go to sleep and deal with all this tomorrow, when the sun is up and I’m sober. The first step is to get these stupid shoes off — obviously — and then I can figure out how to get to my feet.
I’ve managed to remove my shoes and crawl to the walkway railing when I hear steps behind me, and my heart freezes in my chest. For a split second, I pray that it’s just some random resort guest, and hopefully someone nice enough to help me hobble back.
Basically, I’d like it to be anyone but Elias.
The steps stop.
“Mia?” a voice asks.
It’s Elias.
“Are you okay?” he says, already next to me. I’m sitting on the ground in a nice dress, practically hugging the railing, so I’m not quite sure how to answer that.
“What’s wrong? What happened?”
His voice has lowered to a protective growl, and he kneels beside me, totally ignoring that he’s wearing a nice suit. He puts one big, gentle hand on my shoulder, and even though my ankle is still throbbing it sends a thrill through my body.
“I’m fine,” I say, pulling at the railing again. I fail to stand, even though I can get my left foot under me.
Elias gives me a once-over — my God, those eyes — quickly appraising the situation.
“You sure about that?” he asks.
He obviously doesn’t believe me, and he’s obviously not going anywhere until he’s got an answer. I sigh, wishing once more that literally anyone else had found me here, like this.
“I think I might have twisted my ankle,” I say quickly. “I stepped wrong in these shoes and my foot just kind of… went the wrong way.”
I hold up the shoes in explanation, and Elias’s frown deepens. Without speaking, he pulls out his phone and turns on the flashlight, holding it over my feet.
I tug my dress down, realizing too late that it’s halfway up my thighs, giving anyone who comes along a pretty good view, but Elias acts like he doesn’t notice.
I’m not sure how I feel about that. Good, I guess, because what exactly would I do if he did notice?
“This one?” he asks, his fingers brushing over my right ankle.
I shiver lightly, and my pulse quickens in anticipation of the pain. But Elias is gentle as can be, his fingers skillfully moving over my swollen joint.
“Yeah,” I confirm, though he’s obviously figured it out for himself.
There are a few moments of silence as he inspects my ankle, fingers playing over it.
“Can you move it?” he asks, his voice a caress the dark night.
I swallow hard, trying to get visions of him kneeling between my legs and pushing my dress up out of my head.
“Some, but it hurts,” I say.
“Can you put any weight on it?” he asks.
I just shake my head. Even using it to push myself to sitting hurt like hell.
Elias sighs, still inspecting my ankle. Then he puts his phone with its flashlight to one side and kneels in front of me, both hands on my wounded ankle.
“Take a deep breath and let it out,” he instructs me. “This might hurt.”
I do it, and before I’m all the way done, he rotates my foot in both hands. He’s gentle — it barely moves — but I gasp in pain.
“It’s not broken,” he says quickly, stilling my foot again. He’s still got both his big, rough, warm hands on my foot, and I try not to think about how dirty and sweaty that foot might be. “I think you’ve got a mild sprain or a bad twist.”
He looks up at me, and my heart nearly stops. If I thought Elias was handsome before, he’s breathtaking right now, on his knees on this brick walkway, giving me a half-smile with his hair falling forward, slightly obscuring his eyes.
“Just ice it tonight and by tomorrow morning you’ll be halfway to better,” he finishes.
“Thanks,” I say, and push myself further upright, because I’m not sure what else to say. I’m still kind of drunk, still sitting on the ground in my nice dress, and I think I’m hoping that he’ll just leave so I can figure out how to get upright and back to my room.
“Which cabin are you staying in?” he asks me, rocking back on his heels.
“Skylark,” I say, still trying to obtain an upright sitting position. “It’s up at the top of the hill.”
Elias stands, brushing his hands together as he looks down at me.
Thank God, I think. Please let him leave so that I can hobble back to my cabin with a minimum of embarrassment.
“Grab your shoes,” he orders me.
I frown, looking up at him, but he just raises both eyebrows expectantly.
So I grab my shoes, not sure what’s going on.
In one quick, graceful movement, Elias bends down, puts his arms around me, and picks me up as though I’m light as a feather.
I yelp, my arms flying around his neck, and one of my shoes bonks him in the head.
“Ow,” he says, but he’s smiling.
I’m glad it’s dark and he can’t see the shade of red I’ve just turned.
“Sorry,” I say. “You don’t have to do this, I’m okay, really.”
He just grins and doesn’t answer me, already walking toward my cabin with me in his arms. Even though every nerve in my body is jangling at his touch, I relax into his big, hard body.
There’s something really safe about Elias, even though I only just met him.
Safe and sexy. There’s also something very sexy about Elias, and I don’t mind that part either. I’m not crazy about him coming across me at a low, “drunk girl trips” moment, but I don’t mind all the physical contact.
When we get to my cabin, I unlock it without getting out of his arms, and he carries me inside gallantly. It’s very nice but small — one queen bed, a chair, a TV mounted on a wall over a gas fireplace. It’s all very faux-rustic, complete with a fake bearskin rug in front of the fireplace.
At least, I’m assuming it’s fake.
Elias puts me down on the bed as gently as can be, my body sinking into the plushness. I fall back on my hands, and for a moment I’m tempted to just lie down and bat my eyelashes at him, like a temptress from a black-and-white movie.
I control myself instead.
“Thanks,” I say, but he’s already on his knees next to the bed, my foot back in his hands. In the better lighting of my cabin, I can see how swollen the joint is, though at least it’s not black and blue. Elias prods it gently, and I let him, trying my very best not to think salacious thoughts about my very own prince charming.
It doesn’t work. Every touch sends an electric shiver over my whole body, and I can’t help but imagine what else his hands could be doing. Like skillfully skimming up my leg, under the hem of my bridesmaid’s dress, his mouth pressed against mine as he growls…
Finally, he stands, running one hand through his hair, and I shove my dirty thoughts out of my mind, hoping they aren’t obvious on my face.
“Am I gonna live?” I ask, looking up at him.
I bat my eyelashes. I can’t help it.
“I think so,” he says in his deep voice, one side of his mouth hitching up. “But you stay right there, I’m gonna get some ice.”
With that he turns and leaves my cabin, no room for argument. I feel bad that he’s spending his night tending to some drunk girl, but since the drunk girl is me and besides the busted ankle, I’m quite enjoying his attentions, I’m not all that upset about it.
In a few minutes, he’s back with a bag of ice. He ties it off and wraps a towel around it, then walks back to me, my feet still dangling over the bearskin rug, the bed too high for them to touch the floor.
Elias kneels in front of me. My heart thumps harder, and I feel a little like Cinderella, finding out if her glass slipper fits. Only Elias is tending to my busted ankle instead, and I’m really, really glad these shoes weren’t made of glass because oh, my god, can you imagine how bad I would have hurt myself?
I’d be in the ER right now, not watching Mr. Marine McHotStuff bandage me up.
He puts the makeshift ice wrap around my ankle slowly and carefully, almost delicately, tucking the ends in firmly, making sure there’s no way it’s coming off unless I want it to. When he finishes, he’s still got my calf in his hands, and as he lets my leg go, his fingers trace along my skin in a way that makes me bite my lip despite myself.
Stop it, I command myself.
He’s nice and you’re drunk. That’s all. Sleep it off and you’ll be glad you behaved yourself in the morning.
Elias is still kneeling. Looking up at me, his hands on the bed on either side of my knees. There’s an intensity in his green eyes that I’ve never seen before, and it takes my breath away.
I almost lean down and kiss him.
Almost.
But just as I’m starting to make the move, I have a very sober moment where I think about how dumb I’ll feel tomorrow if I try to hook up with the hot groomsman, and I stop myself.
He stands at the end of the bed, his back to the fireplace. There’s something strong and commanding just about the way he does it — sleeves rolled up, his hands in his pockets, his eyes traveling over my body like he owns it.
Another involuntary shiver makes its way down my spine, and I can feel myself flush pink.
He’s just being nice and helping you out, I remind myself.
“That’ll help the swelling,” he says. “You should be halfway better by tomorrow.”
“I’m never wearing heels again,” I say, sighing and wiggling my toes. My ankle is already going numb from the ice, not that I mind. It’s a welcome change from pain.
“They weren’t the most practical choice of footwear,” Elias concedes.
“Well, my Birkenstocks didn’t really match the bridesmaid dress that well.”
A slight frown passes over his face, and he glances at my foot.
Right, he’s a guy.
“Birkenstocks are those ugly sandals with the cork soles,” I explain.
“No, I guess they wouldn’t match,” he says, still giving me a long once-over, only by now it’s more like a thrice-over. He’s still standing about six inches away from me, so close that I can feel the heat radiating off his body, my head still tilted backward so I can see him.
I want to reach out, pull him in, wrap my legs around him even though my ankle’s busted. I’m almost dizzy with lust — okay, and also with whiskey — and there’s a very wicked part of me whispering do it, do it.
But I don’t.
“Thanks for carrying me back,” I murmur, looking up at him through my eyelashes.
“Don’t you need anything else?” he asks.
I swear his voice lowers a few notes, and I swallow hard. I’m almost positive he isn’t asking if he can get me a glass of water.
“What were you thinking?” I whisper.
Elias leans down, and now he’s leaning on the bed, his hands on either side of my hips. His face is inches from mine, and my heart is practically tapdancing in my chest.
“I just want you to tell me to stay a little longer”
My pulse stutters, and suddenly I feel like all my skin is being electrified. His face is so close and so beautiful, his forest eyes and full lips, the five o’clock stubble already coming in.
I swallow again, hard. I lick my lips because I don’t trust my voice, not right now, but I finally muster up the courage.
“Stay,” I whisper.
“Thanks,” he says, a smile curving up his lips as he leans in. “I will.”
He kisses me. His mouth is warm and dry, soft and hard at the same time, and it takes my breath away. There’s something hungry and needy in the way he kisses me, in the way that his lips move against mine, and the way my mouth opens under his.
Oh my God. What are you doing?!
I slide my hand around the back of his head, lacing my fingers through his hair, pulling him into me so he can’t escape. A low groan sounds in his chest, my toes curling at the sound.
We part for a moment, but he doesn’t move away. My hand is still in his hair, and I’m surprised to find that my knees are on either side of his hips, my skirt hiked slightly over them. We’re both panting for breath, our faces an inch apart.
I kiss him again. It’s fantastic, so why not? Everyone deserves a drunken wedding hook-up once in a while, and if I happen to swipe my v-card during one, who cares? It’s past time for me to get rid of the thing anyway.
I open my mouth against Elias’s, his tongue swiping along my lower lip before finding my own. His hand is on my hip, then my lower back, and before I know it, he’s pushing me softly backward until I’m lying on the bed and he’s kneeling over me, between my legs.
We don’t stop. I don’t think I can, even though my head is swirling, the whiskey still sloshing around in my brain and telling me that this is a good decision. I wrap my legs around his hips and pull him in, hard, and gasp in surprise when his erection presses up against my lower belly.
It seems very big? Not that I know much on the topic.
Elias bites my lower lip, tugging on it gently, and I moan quietly. He chuckles and grabs my hips, rocking against me. I gasp again as his fully-clothed length slides against my clit, and realize as he does that my skirt is all the way up, and the only thing I’m wearing there now is my panties.
He kisses me again, our bodies in full contact. I snake my hands down his neck, to his back, grabbing at his strong shoulders, still trying to pull him toward me, squeezing his hips with my legs. Elias moves his mouth to my ear, his breath hot on me.
He bites my earlobe and chuckles. I just swallow hard, completely unable to think of words.
“Your ankle is freezing,” he teases me.
It takes me way, way too long to realize what he’s talking about.
“Oh!” I finally whisper when I remember. “Sorry.”
I try to lift that foot off his back, but seconds later, a big, warm hand clamps around it.
“I didn’t say I minded,” he goes on. “If it’s the price I’ve got to pay to have your legs wrapped around me, I’m fine with it.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I say nothing and pull him down to me again. I don’t know what I’m doing, but all on their own, my fingers are fumbling at the buttons on his shirt, tracing over the muscles there. I’m completely indecent right now — drunk and horny — and I don’t care. Not even a little.
We keep making out, mouths and hands everywhere. I’m breathless, on my back, legs still around his hips as he kisses my jaw, my neck, his hands on my thighs under my dress. I’m dizzy with anticipation and a little bit of nervousness over what’s obviously going to happen next.
But suddenly, Elias pauses, his lips hovering above mine, and he gives me a long, serious look. I bite my lip, hoping that I’m tempting him somehow, but it doesn’t work.
“Mia,” he says, his voice suddenly perfectly serious. “You’re drunk.”
No shit, Sherlock.
“I know,” I say, and cup my hand around the hard bulge in his pants. “I want you anyway.”
His jaw flexes. I try to kiss him again, but he avoids me, and then takes my wrist in his hand and guides my fingers away, putting my hand down gently on the bed.
“What are you doing?” I whisper. The whole room still feels wobbly, but I squeeze my thighs around him again.
He pushes me off abruptly, a flash of something I can’t name in his eyes.
“I should go,” he says, and stands.
I sit up on the bed, pulling the skirt of my dress down over my exposed legs.
“What? Why?”
He doesn’t answer me right away, but he does pause at the door and turn around.
“Stay off your ankle for tonight if you can. You should feel a lot better tomorrow.”
And with that, Elias walks out of my room, shutting the door behind him.
Her Rock Hard Mountain Man is coming Wednesday, February 20 – but Book #1, Her Obsessed Mountain Man is FREE with Kindle Unlimited!