UNTAMED

A True Mountain Man

Frankie Love

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Cover by Mayhem Cover Creations

Edited By:

Teresa Banschbach

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Copyright © 2017 by Frankie Love

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 written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Darling Reader,

Remember that you are loved, and that you are lovely, just the way you are.

xo, frankie

Contents

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

Claimed By The Mountain Man

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Also by Frankie Love

About the Author

Chapter 1

There are only a few things that can get me off my mountain.

Weddings. Funerals. The birth of a baby.

And, apparently, my brother’s engagement party.

I take a drink of my whiskey, scanning the swanky restaurant where we’re going to be served a six-course meal. The place is stuffy. Overpriced. And not even mildly entertaining. There’s no one here I’m interested in making small talk with, and certainly no one I’m interested in taking home tonight.

“Do you think you could look more irritated?” Taylor asks, standing beside me, shoulder to shoulder. We may be brothers, but we couldn’t be more opposite. Taylor is business suits and cufflinks and courtrooms. And he’s boring as fuck. His idea of a good time is walking around Pottery Barn.

Me? I’m flannel shirts and fresh air. Blood, sweat, and tears have been my motto for the past three years, ever since I left Denver and made my way to the Yukon Territory. Determined to stake my claim in the world, on my own terms.

Working for the man might work for a guy like Taylor, but I’m not him.

Of course, my sort of “life plan” pisses everyone off—honestly, I’m guessing that’s because they are jealous little fuckers, sick of the daily grind they’ve indebted themselves to.

My brother has never been out to see where I live and what I do. And I like it that way. Let them talk about me; shit, no one else’s words define me.

“I’m not irritated,” I tell him before finishing my whiskey. “I’m just bored. You said this was an engagement party? I’m still looking for the party, brother.”

My brother knows I’m giving him a hard time—I like parties just about as much as I like having a boss.

“Well, then you just keep standing here drinking your bourbon, looking pretty,” Taylor teases. “Meanwhile I’ll go talk to Sophia’s parents. Have you met them yet?”

I cock an eyebrow at my brother. He might be six years younger than me but he's always been the bossier one.

I scoff, “You think I talked with your fiancée’s parents? Who the hell do you think I am?”

Taylor shakes his head. “I know, sometimes I just... Her parents are very nice and it’s nice to see a nice family.”

“You think you can squeeze another nice into that sentence?” I know what my brother’s getting at, though. We lost our parents when we were young; were shuffled around from foster home to foster home for years.

I was old enough to pull myself up by my bootstraps and keep Taylor under my wing. I had plenty of guilt over the whole situation, but I knew Taylor needed me, so I did well by him.

Taylor though, being younger, always missed having a mom and dad. I see it when his eyes narrow, and for a second I feel like shit for not offering him more of a family myself.

Leaving like I did for Canada, it probably fucked him up more. But Taylor was in law school when I left for the Yukon, he had his life mapped out and he knew how to take care of himself. And he has.

I may give him a hard time for his three-piece suits, but he’s a partner at his soon to be father-in-law's law firm, and is engaged to a woman who comes from a legacy family. He always wanted a family and it looks like he’s finally got it.

“Look, you sure do know how to lay it on on thick.” I set down my whiskey and nod toward Sophia’s parents, the family that he picked for himself. “Introduce your brother. I know I’m the only family you’ve got, together we can make a good show of things.”

Taylor claps me on my back, and I know I did well. I’m glad I made the effort to come down here, leave my work on my mountain. I may be cold and not need a whole bunch of family getting up in my business the way Taylor has always wanted, but this night isn’t about me and what I need or want. This night is about my brother.

We walk through the restaurant where people are mingling, still just arriving and getting cocktails before the six-course dinner is served.

At the far end stands an older couple with silvery hair and big, white toothy smiles. When they see Taylor and me approach, they open their arms and offer my brother hugs and a kiss on the cheek. Then Taylor introduces me to Troy and Cora Larson.

“So, this is the long-lost brother we’ve heard so much about,” Cora says, reaching out to touch me as if needing to prove to herself that I am real. “How is it that my daughter Sophia has been with Taylor for the last two years and yet we’ve never seen your face?”

“I don’t leave my mountain very often. Good to meet you Cora, Troy.” I offer them a tight smile; it’s the best I can fucking do. Like I said: family meet and greets are not my bread and butter.

Speaking of food, my stomach growls. I could use some bread and butter right about now.

“Well lucky for you, you won’t have to go too far from it for the actual wedding,” Sophia says, sidling up to her fiancé and wrapping herself in his arms. Sophia is blonde, blue-eyed, and wearing a pearl necklace. Her dress leaves everything to the imagination. If I were to sum up this woman with two words it would be tight-ass. Or maybe, hard line. Perhaps, stick in the mud, but I know that’s more than two words. So, we’ll just stick with, no thanks.

“What do you mean?” I ask. “Where’s the wedding?”

“In Whistler!” Sophia says, squealing. She claps her hands and for the first time I see actual life in this boring woman. “It’s going to be small, intimate, everyone here tonight will be there.”

“Is that so? The wedding is at Whistler?” I ask, repeating her statement and looking at my brother for confirmation.

Taylor nods. “Sophia and I met on the slopes in Aspen, and a destination wedding would be apropos. Valentine’s weekend—in two months. We don’t want any of that long engagement fuss. And Valentine nuptials may be a bit cliché,” Taylor says, eying the circle around us, “But anything for my Sophia.” He gives his bride-to-be a chaste kiss and her parents clap encouragingly.

I do my best to suppress a laugh, and as I look away, my eyes fall on a woman who’s has just arrived at the restaurant. She drops her purse onto an empty chair, pats down her wild blonde hair, and unapologetically pulls on the waistband of her skirt, adjusting her tights.

She walks toward us and immediately my cock twitches. My body has a strong reaction—maybe I’ve been alone in the woods for too damn long, but I don’t think it’s just that. She’s gorgeous.

She has an upturned nose, dark brown eyes that seem to catch the light of every lit candle. She looks like fresh air feels. Like you could take a deep breath of her and feel better.

Her clothes are a stark contrast to the room: bright tights, bold patterned blouse, and a short-ass skirt. It looks like she dressed without caution, without pretense —the clear opposite to everyone else here who is poised to perfection.

I always pick the road less traveled, the dirt path and the gamble, maybe that’s why this woman is so damn attractive. She isn’t ordinary. She is set apart.

If Taylor and the others were still talking about wedding details, I couldn't tell you any bit of it. Instead of paying attention, I was imagining dragging the woman with the kaleidoscope outfit away to the nearest hotel room for some fun.

“Ava,” Sophia says. “You finally came. I thought you might be a no-show. Again.”

Ava frowns openly. “I’m ten minutes late. God, had you written me off that quickly?”

“Well, you are my sister,” Sophia says. “I thought you might be one of the first to arrive. Not the last.”

Cora shoots her husband dagger eyes that look like some kind of secret family voodoo I’ve only read about.

“Okay, girls,” their father says, resting his hands on both of his daughters' shoulders. “Everyone’s here now. It looks like you could both use a drink.”

Ava rolls her eyes. “Great, because what’s a family get-together without alcohol? I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of such a thing.”

She may be ripping her family a new one, but as a waiter walks around with a tray of champagne she reaches for two flutes. Handing one to her sister, she smiles. “Sorry. I know I’m being a brat. It just took me forever to get here, and the Uber driver got lost and I know that’s no excuse but,” she... stops talking and pushes a hand out in front of her as if preempting the lecture her sister is about to dish.

“Seriously, though, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to make excuses. I know you hate when people are late. But here I am. And here you are,” she says, this time dropping her hand and raising her champagne. “To Sophia and Taylor. To dreams coming true and being swept off your feet and to having the happily ever after you both deserve.”

Personally, it may be a little over-the-top as an introduction, or even as a toast, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that her presence is refreshing. There’s nothing stuffy or uptight or boring about her. Ava is everything her family is not.

“You’re supposed to save the toast for dessert. But that’s fine.” Sophia smiles tightly and then turns to her fiancé. “Taylor, introduce your brother to everyone.”

With that, all eyes turn to look at me, but I don’t look around the circle.

Because my eyes, well, they are firmly planted on Ava.

Chapter 2

I guzzle my champagne. No, I’m not a lush. I mean, unless it’s Monday night and I’m watching The Bachelor. But today is an exception. Today I’m at my sister’s engagement party.

Now, I am happy for Sophia. Taylor seems like a really nice, albeit boring, man. But yes, the two of them are going to have a very nice life. I say nice because there really isn’t a better adjective to describe the pair.

Most people,—ahem, my mother–would say I am a little jealous.

But why would I be jealous of my sister’s perfect life? I’ve never wanted a life filled with garden parties and tea with the ladies.

The thing is, when it comes to sisters there’s always going to be one who is the winner of the family, and one who is the loser.

I finish my champagne, instantly looking around for another waiter to replenish my bubbly. There are none in the vicinity and to avoid my mother’s judgmental gaze, my eyes hit the floor.

And then they run up my leg to see the gaping run in my pink tights. I shouldn’t have worn pink tights to this fancy pants restaurant. I should’ve worn sensible sheer hose. Maybe some peep toe shoes and a dress from a department store.

I look at my sister in her delicate pearl necklace and diamond earrings and huge diamond ring. She looks so put together. So perfectly put together. So perfectly not me.

Exhaling, I remember who this is about—Sophia and Taylor, and their wonderful news. I may be jealous, but that isn’t the real emotion rising inside of me. Tears prick my eyes at the happily ever after they are finding.

I lift my chin, open my eyes wider, paste on a smile. I am determined to be present. To be happy. To be in this. I focus, which, yes, it’s not exactly my strong suit, but I try. I focus and listen to the conversation around me.

“So, Samson, you live in the mountains? And what is it you do out there, exactly?” My mother is a prier. She doesn’t drop a subject until she gets what she wants. Except, not with me. I’m a supreme disappointment due to my lack of ambition and drive. Because, according to her, starting a “craft business” is not a business. It’s a hobby and I need to grow up.

Let’s not think about the fact that my business is thriving. Growing. That I just had a super sexy art show at a gallery in Boulder.

Whoa. Deep breaths, Ava Grace. Clearly coming here tonight has been a trigger.

I need to stop thinking about myself, which, I know, would be an amazing accomplishment for a 24-year-old young woman to do. Yes, some people might say I’m a little self-indulgent, but that’s what happens when you’re the baby of a family like mine.

My father owns the most prestigious law firm in all of Denver. My mother basically runs the country club. My sister does charity work. Yes, that is her actual job title. Charity Work.

And me? I’m an artist. A flailing mess of an artist.

So yes... see how quickly I am back at me? It’s time for me to grow up. I blink, stop looking at my mother and follow her gaze to—oh.

Samson.

This is the infamous recluse, long-lost older brother of Taylor.

Samson.

My stomach tightens and my lady parts respond. I swear I dropped forty-three eggs just standing here looking at him. He looks like he was made from solid oak. Or pine. Or maybe maple? I’m not actually sure what kind of trees grow in the Yukon Territory where he is supposedly from, but he looks like he was made from the earth. A sexy beard. A flannel shirt rolled to his elbows—which, in and of itself, is a turn on.

Who is this mystery man who had the balls to show up here at this restaurant, where entrées are three figures, in blue jeans and yesterday’s shirt? I’m already wanting to jump in his lap and let him ride me home.

Or give him a ride home.

Or okay, I’m not going to pretend here, one look at this hottie of a mountain man and all I want to do is have his babies. All of them.

“I work on a mountain.” Samson’s sentence is short and to the point and pretty damn vague. My mother hates this kind of answer.

“Work? What kind of work?” My mother asks again. I look over at my sister and see her eying her fiancé nervously. I know how badly she wants this night to go perfectly. Because that’s how everything goes for Sophia.

Which is good. Great, even. I mean, there have to be people whose lives go perfectly, to balance out the people whose lives do not. And now I’m rambling. To myself. Awkwardly. Probably looking like a maniac. To make up for my internal dialogue, I blurt out, “I love the mountains. And I love work. That is so great.”

Everyone looks at me. I raise my empty flute and magically a waiter replaces the empty one and I bring it to my lips and drink that sweet, sweet liquid courage.

Not that I need any courage at this moment; it seems like I have this totally under control.

“Is everything okay, Ava Grace?” my father asks, giving me a stern look. A look I am quite familiar with.

“Oh, I’m so good. It’s so good to meet you—Sam?”

I have this thing where I make up for my insecurities by acting like I’m totally confident and cool. All of which I’m not. I don’t think it really works, but it makes me feel better about myself.

“Samson,” he says coolly. “Not Sam. Samson.”

Okay. Well, that was a conversation killer if there ever was one. Realizing I have overstayed my welcome, I squeeze my sister’s hand and lean in to her ear to apologize again for being late. And to tell her she looks lovely, and that I am so happy for her. Yes, it’s a lot to whisper, but Sophia and I are close and she knows my language. She knows me. Flaws and all.

She whispers back, “I love you more.”

Wanting her to be back in the spotlight, I address the group, “Well, it’s been fun catching up, but I’m going to go look for cousin Trudy. I haven’t seen her in months.” I smile widely at everyone and make my way to the cousin who is about as exciting as fried liver.

I know, that’s not very nice. But last Christmas I sat next to her at dinner and she literally gave me the blow-by-blow of every Pokémon she had caught on her cellphone. Because that’s a thing. Apparently.

* * *

Several hours later, the engagement party has come to an end. I am properly tipsy to the point that I don’t even give a damn about my ripped tights.

“It went well, didn’t it?” Sophia asks as we are saying our goodbyes.

“It went brilliantly. Everyone is so happy for you and Taylor.”

Sophia smiles, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright —she is going to be a beautiful bride. “And don’t forget we have a dress fitting soon,” she tells me. “Janet and Cecily are going to email you the details about the bachelorette party.”

“I know.”

“It’s just a lot to remember, Ava, the wedding is going to be here so fast, and I’m going to need you.”

“It’s all on my calendar,” I tell her. She thinks I’ll forget. But I won’t.

I may be jealous. And a brat. But I love weddings. And I love my sister. Even if she is the perfect one.

Sophia kisses my cheeks and leaves to say goodbye to some of her other guests. Meanwhile, Taylor and Samson find their way to the foyer and the three of us exchange hellos.

“I’m glad to catch you—without Sophia, Taylor,” I say. “Because, I was wondering if you would like any help with the wedding rings.”

Taylor pushes his lips forward. “I think Sophia has some strong opinions about the wedding bands.”

“I know, I just thought if you wanted them to be custom, I’d love to help.”

“I’ll let her know, but don’t hold your breath, Ava. You know how Sophia is. And she’ll want the band to match her engagement ring. In both quality and quantity.”

I try not take it personally, and instead offer him a fake smile. This is not about me. This is so not about me. This is about what they want. On their hands for the rest of their lives.

“How would you help with the rings?” Samson asks.

This is the most I’ve heard him say all night. I watched him during dinner, because how could I not? He is seriously the hottest man I’ve ever seen. And I don’t think he smiled or engaged in small talk even once. If I was to sum him up in two words I might use steak and potatoes. Or not necessary. Or perhaps, strong silent type. So, that’s three. You get the point.

“I’m a jewelry designer.” I shrug, mostly because no one in my family actually takes my designs seriously. Setting up an Etsy shop didn’t give my parents a reason to believe my fine arts degree from Berkeley was worth it. So, I’m not holding my breath that this man who lives alone is the woods is going to care about custom wedding rings either.

Jokes on them, because my rings are fucking amazing.

They just don’t understand.

“Do you work with stones?”

“I do. I know people say diamonds are girl’s best friends, but I like more precious gemstones... Ones that are more unique.”

“And you use gold for all your metalwork? Right?” Taylor asks, adding to the conversation.

“I didn’t realize you had taken an interest in my artistry,” I tease.

“Not me, I’ve just seen the website, Sophia was showing me some of your work. She had some ideas of how you could revamp your website and possibly get more clicks if you reworked your SEO.” Taylor starts rambling about CPC and targeted campaigns and I zone out.

“Gold?” Samson asks, breaking through my mental fog. “Where do you source it from?”

“There’s a guy in Portland who I buy wholesale from. It’s not what I want exactly, but it works. Do you know anything about precious metals?”

Samson shrugs. “Not much.” He has a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and for a fleeting, stupid moment I wonder what hotel he is staying at tonight.

Realizing the conversation has once again hit a dead-end I offer Taylor a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“It was nice meeting you, Sam.” I intentionally leave off the son, wanting to give him a little wiggle room in case he wanted to flirt.

“It was nice to meet you too, Ava Grace.”

Okay. So, he wasn’t looking for an in as much as a goodbye. Roger that, ruggedly sexy man from the middle of nowhere.

I leave the restaurant and the November night is chillier than I expected. I run my hands over my arms and look around the empty street for a cab. Of course, there are none to be seen. I pull out my phone and bring up the Uber app. I request a ride and prepare for a ten-minute wait.

“You just planning on standing out here in the cold?” Samson says, coming up beside me.

I smile, his face warming my heart. Okay, let’s be real. His face is warming up my pussy. “I’m just waiting for a ride. I don’t have a car.”

“I don’t have a car here either.”

“At home you do, though, right? Or have you sworn off cars too?”

“I’m guessing you’ve heard some stories about me?”

“Yeah, I heard you were some creepy loner,” I tell him, deadpan. I’ve heard no such thing. Taylor says his brother took care of him for years but then just went off the rails. No one said anything about him being a creep. “I heard that you’re out in the sticks, living off the land. Is that, about right?”

“Something like that.”

“So... Did you need a ride too?” I ask. I know it’s totally insane, but part of me is wondering if I could end up with him tonight. I mean, I want to end up with him tonight, but he’s exactly the kind of man I have written off.

Unavailable. Unstable. Prone to wander.

If someone wanted to track the last four years of my relationships, I think they’d all be categorized in one of those three ways. Winning!

“Can you ride?” he asks, his voice low, his eyes on me. Is he checking me out? I pull in a deep breath realizing, yes. Yes, he is checking me out. Definitely checking me out. This hunk of a mountain man is eying me up.

Can I ride? What does that even mean?

I look down at myself, trying to see what he sees. I’m in bright pink tights. Un-sexy black ballet flats. My top has little ponies printed all over it. Yes, I am that girl. That dork of a girl who shops the sales rack at Forever 21 mostly to spite my mother. But also, because they have some freaking adorable clothes.

Not getting a response, he repeats himself, “Do you ride horses?” His hand brushes the shoulder of my top.

Oh. Ponies. Horse Riding.

“I ride, I ride hard,” I smirk. “But not horses.” I cover my mouth because I’m laughing. Because I literally just said that out loud to my sister’s fiancé’s brother. I know, completely inappropriate.

Samson is unfazed. “So, what do you like to ride hard, Ava Grace?”

His eyes narrow, and I think this is his version of flirting. Maybe living in the mountains has made him lose some of his game, or maybe he is one of those guys who thinks less is more.

It emboldens me.

“I like to ride things that are solid. Things that are big. Something that knows what to do with a girl like me.”

“A girl like you?” His dark eyes sparkle—in a way I didn’t even know brown eyes could—and he takes a step closer.

“Yeah,” I say leaning closer. “A girl like me. A girl who has no filter.”

“Why do we need a filter tonight?” He licks his lips, his question plain. Simple.

In the next millisecond, a thousand flimsy excuses run through my brain. But for some reason, they don’t seem like they would work on Samson. Telling him that my sister might get mad seems so inconsequential. The truth is, I want this. He’s letting me know he wants it too.

And I have literally nothing to lose. I don’t only wear ponies on my sleeve; my heart is there too. The universe is telling us something.

“I guess we don’t need a filter.”

The Uber pulls up, Samson opens the door without asking permission. Then he slides in after me.

The car speeds off, and I smile to myself, knowing this won’t be our only ride tonight.

Chapter 3

Ava Grace is like a gust of wind. Like wildfire on the loose. She’s both a burning star and a fanning flame and I don’t think even she knows what she is.

And that’s okay because tonight we don’t need to know.

Tonight isn’t about figuring out our shit, tonight is about having good old-fashioned fun. And I can tell that this girl is a firecracker.

I watched her all through dinner. She didn’t think I was, but damn, there’s no way in hell I could keep my eyes off her.

She kept touching her hair, smoothing it down, as if she could tame the wildness that is in her.

When I heard she made jewelry, worked with gold, I could just imagine her soldering pieces together. Taking something unfinished and making it into a thing of beauty.

In the car, she positions her body to face me, and she is unabashedly eye-fucking me. This girl is gonna be the right kind of crazy in bed.

Damn, this night is going a hell of a lot better than I thought it would.

Ava Grace is fucking beautiful, that’s what she is. Her eyes are clear blue, big and round like sapphires. I’d stare at them all night, but I have a feeling her eyes are gonna be closed half the time, while she’s on her back, panting out her pleasure.

Sitting next to her in the car, I run my hands up and down her thighs. Truth is, I can’t keep my hands off her, and she seems to love the attention.

“You are making me so...” she starts, then blinks and shakes her head.

“So, what?” I press, not just my words. I press my hand between her thighs until I can feel her wetness through her tights. She is hungry.

She laughs nervously. “So horny, Sam. That’s what I am.”

She’s taking me to her place, says she has a thing about sleeping in her own bed at night, and I understand. This girl is more than just the free spirit she’d like everyone to believe she is. She’s been born and raised in a country club.

Her parents are filthy rich, and so she may want to be a starving artist, but deep down I can tell she’s used to more luxuries than she likes to let on.

I know that for a fact as we pull up to her condo. It’s a nice part of Denver; the sidewalks are clean, the street lamps are bright, and there’s no trash on the pavement. I follow her up the front steps and she unlocks the front door.

I don’t give her a hard time, though, about the obvious fact that her daddy pays for this place. And as she pushes open the door and leads me through the foyer into the living room, my hand is on the small of her back.

She flicks on a light and reveals a house made of cotton candy. There’s pink everything. Well, pink and gold everything.

I’m talking pink wallpaper and a gold chandelier and a plush pink carpet and throw pillows that say hello lovely and be mine. She lives in a Valentine’s Day card.

“You decorate this place?” I ask.

Her eyes flit over her living room and she smiles. “You like it? I mean, it’s pretty much the opposite of manly man, there’s no rustic cabin or wood stove,” she says, waving her hands in front of me. “But maybe for one night you can enjoy the ambiance of a place with a feminine touch?”

I step toward her, my fingers inching inside the waistband of her black velvet skirt. “Oh, I’m looking forward to a feminine touch, alright.”

I look at her dead on because I’m dead serious.

She doesn’t take it that way. She doesn’t think I’m genuine, even when she saw how badly I want her.

Her head falls back. A wave of blonde hair swishing over her shoulders and a laugh as sweet as a box of chocolates —cherry cordials to be exact.

“Oh, so you’re not just hard edges, you have some soft sides too?” Her heart-shaped lips part, her eyes are wide, her neck stretched and she looks at me. “You need a little tender loving care tonight, is that you’re saying, Sam?”

“That’s exactly what I need tonight.”

My cock is already straining in my jeans; it’s been a long-ass time since I’ve had a woman that smells so good and looks so sweet, this close to me.

People I work with might say I push everyone away from me; that I don’t let people get close. That I’m a hard-ass.

But I’ve never really cared what people say or what they think.

“Do you think my sister and Taylor are going to hate us?” Ava asks as my arms snake around her waist. I feel her slipping from this moment and feel the need to steady her.

I cock an eyebrow at her, my hands running under her blouse, up her bare spine, touching her soft skin. “What the hell do they matter?”

“Well, they might not like the fact that we are...”

“Do you really give a fuck about what they think?” I pull her closer to me. No way in hell is she getting away.

“I mean, I don’t want to ruin anything for them. I want their wedding to be perfect. More than perfect. I want it to be everything.”

“We’re not gonna ruin anything because they don’t need to know anything. This is just you and me, one night. A little bit of fun. Right?”

For a second, I think Ava is going to pull away; that maybe she doesn’t like the idea of a one-night stand. But hell, that’s all I have to offer. I’m not made to be anybody’s man.

I look around her pink and gold house, this carnival of a living room. I sure as hell am not made to be her man, but we can have a good time.

“Totally. Have some fun. That’s all it is.” She smiles, but it’s not as genuine as her laugh from a moment ago. It makes me feel like shit, and it makes me want to make her feel better.

So, I do. I pull her close, cup her face with my hands, and I kiss her. I kiss her hard. Our mouths collide, our lips part, our tongues entwine. My cock, damn that thing, is ready for the ride she promised, and by her soft whimpers in my mouth, I know she’s ready to get her engines revved up too.

“Damn, you’re something else, Ava Grace.” My fingers pull down the zipper of her skirt and it falls to the ground, landing on the plush pink carpet. She lifts her arms and I pull off her top.

Her breasts are beautiful, creamy and full, and she’s wearing a bra that was made to be seen. Lacy and delicate.

She reaches for my jeans, she unzips them and her hands wrap around my waist. She slides her hands under my briefs, grabbing hold of my ass.

“You like that?” I ask, my hands tugging at her ridiculous tights. I need them off, I need to see her sweet little pussy, I bet it’s as sweet and pink as this fucking house.

Chapter 4

Samson takes complete control of the situation. He seems to inherently know that if left to my own devices this entire night could quickly become a disappointment.

Because that’s what I usually do. Get too attached. Get too insecure. Get too deep in my freaking head.

Right now, there’s no room for me to be in my head. There’s no room at all.

Samson is in my sugary living room, filling up the space adequately enough. More than adequately.

Because my hand is down his pants, inside his boxers, and I feel the length of his shaft.

And there is nothing merely adequate about Samson's cock.

I smile as my fingers run over the velvety smoothness that is his manhood, thinking to myself that if he led with this instead of a scowl or dismissive word, he could have sex with any woman he wanted.

He runs his hands over my ass, tugging down my panties, and I step out of them. They are discarded next to my ripped tights, my skirt, and top. He expertly unclasps my bra.

Maybe he does have sex with anyone he wants. Left and right, all the sex. That is the kind of man Samson is. He does what he wants and doesn’t ask permission. He certainly didn’t ask his brother if he minded.

This is the kind of man I need. The kind of man I’ve been waiting for. His thumbs roll over my nipples. My eyelids flutter, not intentionally, I’m just so overcome with this unexpected sensation. My body being covered by the hands of this ripped and rugged mountain man.

His mouth is on my neck, his beard tickling my collarbone, and my pussy is dripping wet.

Clichés be damned, right now, this is a fucking dream come true.

“You like it when I touch you?” He’s asking a question that he clearly doesn’t need an answer for because his hands have moved to my pussy, and he feels how wet I am for him.

So, I don’t answer, but I do let out a soft moan, because how could I not?

I haven’t been touched like this in so long. Maybe forever.

Why have I been with so many fucking idiots over the years? Why didn’t I hold out for Samson?

“You know how to touch my cock nice and good, don’t you?” Here he goes with the questions again, questions I can’t answer. Because why would I need to?

With his boxers on the floor, I look down and take in his cock in all its full, hard, glory.

“I’ve had sex before, if that’s what you’re asking,” I tell Samson.

“That’s not what I was asking. I was just saying you’re good at touching me. I like that. I like that you know how to touch me, nice and slowly.”

My heart goes pitter-patter. Yes.

And I unabashedly lap it up. I milk this romantic, swept-off-my-feet, unexpected rendezvous in my living room. This is the kind of romance I’ve dreamed about.

This is why I’m so happy my sister is having a perfect wedding, a perfect marriage, and a perfect life. I want that for her; I want that for everyone.

I may be an artist, but I’m a romantic at heart, and this is what my daydreams are made of.

A man touching me, so unrestrained, his hands running all over my skin as if he owns me. His cock in my hand, my pussy wet, my body his.

“So, you don’t care that you’re not my first?”

I don’t know why I feel this desire, this need, to push this question even further. Especially since this is just a hookup. A one-night stand. He’s the one who called it that.

Which of course, it must be, because he is my sister's fiancé's brother. He lives a million miles away, in the woods. He doesn’t have a real job. He’s a recluse. A not-creep. He’s absolutely not the kind of man I need.

I always go for these sorts of men: unavailable, uncommitted...… ohh damn.

I need to get out of my freaking head. Samson is running his fingers over my pussy, and I exhale after having forgotten to breathe.

Oh, my God. That’s it. That’s exactly it. I can’t think anymore because Samson has pressed his fingers inside my pussy, he’s rolling his thumb over my clit like he knows exactly what to do.

Because he clearly does. A man like him has done this a hundred times before. I’m glad to be his hundred and first. Because that means he has had lots and lots of practice.

“Oh, my God, Samson, that feels so so...”

“Fucking good?”

“Too many questions,” I moan.

“Just give me an answer.”

“Yes,” I forfeit. “So, fucking good.”

He grins and picks me up—yes, literally lifting me off the ground with his ridiculous biceps. “Where’s the bedroom?”

I smile, wrapping my legs around him, feeling weightless and beautiful and like a girl in a movie because no guy has ever attempted to pick me up like this — or would have been even capable of doing so— and yet here Samson is, all strong arms and persistence.

Samson is my deepest fantasies come to life.

I point to my room and he carries me there, I see a look of doubt cross his face as he enters my bright white and pale pink bedroom.

“I don’t think I’ve ever set foot in a bedroom that makes me feel more out of place,” he says as he sets me down on the floor. He towers over me and I look up at him, smiling, teasing.

I bite my bottom lip; wrap my hand around his hard cock. “Did you want to leave?” I ask, lowering myself to my knees.

I wrap my mouth around his hardness, widening my lips and then I start to suck.

“Hell,” he growls, “I’m not going anywhere.”

I use one hand to cradle his balls, loving how deliciously hot and heavy they are, tight too. My head bobs up and down and I take as much of him as I can. There’s so much of him that I can’t take him all, but I try.

Sucking him makes me feel so sexy, and he runs his hands through my hair making me feel like a freaking queen as I kneel before him, pressing my head closer to his cock.

I love the way he commands; the way he takes what he wants.

I love the way he wants to take me.

So, I give him the blowjob that women’s magazines write articles about.

I suck him, hard, fast. My fingers rubbing along the ridges of his length, my tongue circling around his soft tip. I suck him until he’s groaning above me, telling me he’s about to come.

And I just keep going.

Wanting so badly for him to explode in my mouth. I want to taste him, all his salty release. I want to swallow his come, and then I want to stand up and put his cock in my throbbing pussy.

“Oh, you’re gonna make me come so hard,” he groans.

And he does. I don’t stop sucking him as he explodes in my mouth, his milky cream coating my throat. I swallow, taking all of him.

When he finishes, I wipe my lips, he shakes his head.

I stand, feeling like I just accomplished a marathon. Except it was less exhausting and gave me more endorphins. Okay, it wasn’t a marathon at all. I sure as heck can’t run or jog. Power walk, yes. I can do that. Sort of.

Okay. Once again, I’m off topic.

The point is, Samson doesn’t hesitate; he pulls me to him, his hands on my neck at the base of my skull, my chin tilted toward him, his fingers in my hair and my breasts against his chest. He kisses me hard with abandon. Kisses me, and then he pulls me onto the bed.

Chapter 5

She’s on her back, in her bed, wavy blonde hair strewn out around her like a halo. She looks so fucking gorgeous with her breasts so full, her waist narrow, her eyes bright, and her pussy wet.

“You better spread those legs and get ready.”

“Oh, I’m ready for you, Sam. I’m ready for you to come in me, hard.” She smiles again, and so do I because this girl has got a mouth on her and I like it. I like the way she knows what her body needs as well as I know my own.

“Good.” I stroke my shaft a few times, it’s still nice and hard, even after she got down on her knees and sucked me until I came like I’d died and gone to heaven.

I still can’t believe this is the sister of that tight-ass Sophia who’s marrying my brother.

Ava Grace is nothing prudish or boring or generic.

Ave Grace is a fucking unicorn.

I grab a condom from my jeans, slide it on quickly. Ava watches, smiling softly.

“Thank you,” she says. Her eyes are locked on mine for a moment too long. A moment that tells me she can fall for me in ways I’m not prepared for.

Tonight, is not about finding our happily ever after, it’s about having a little fun. It’s my brother and his girl who are riding off into the sunset, right? Not a guy like me. I’m not the kind of guy a girl like Ava Grace wants or deserves.

I lean over her, my hands on either side of her narrow shoulders, and her hand reaches down to guide me inside her.

Her pussy is so tight, so fucking tight. As my cock fills her up, she whimpers — not in pain, in pleasure. But also in surprise.

“You’re so big, like, tremendous really.”

I smile. I may be a mountain man, but I’m still a man. A girl telling me she likes my cock is gonna give me an ego boost.

“Good. I’m glad you like them big.”

“I’ve never had one as big as this. Clearly, I’ve been doing it wrong all these years.”

Her hands slide down to my ass, holding me tightly, and I rock inside her, filling her up in ways she’s never been filled before.

“All these years? How old are you, Ava Grace?”

“I’m twenty-four. How old are you?”

Our bodies are as connected as they can possibly be. My fingers lace through hers as I thrust deeper.

“I’m thirty-two.”

“Never been married?” she asks, between moans. Her pussy is pulsing around me, her breath is bated. She’s fucking loving this.

I sigh, not wanting to start talking about marriage and commitment. Not when I am so close to coming.

Her eyes search mine, though, and I feel compelled to answer.

“Never been married,” I tell her. “And I never intend to.”

“I thought as much,” she says, sighing, and I can’t tell if it’s because of what I said or if it’s because her body is reacting to the orgasm rushing over her.

Her pussy is so slick, so fucking wet and ready, and I move in and out of her nice and hard.

She whimpers, and I keep her arms pinned as I fill her up, as I come. She comes too, liking it when I am in control. With me guiding her, we come together.

Fuck, this woman has worked my body over like no woman ever has before.

I kiss her — I can’t help it. I know this hook-up means nothing, but there is a part of me — a tender part that I never think about or talk about — that has come alive. That is awakened as I hold Ava Grace in my arms, as I kiss her sweet, luscious lips.

I kiss her, my cock still in her, her hands still held. I kiss her, and for a split second, I think I could stay like this. In this cotton candy house with the woman who is the opposite of me.

Because it feels so good and so right.

“I don’t want to kill the mood but I’ve gotta pee,” Ava says, before rolling out from under me, scooting out of bed, her bare ass so fucking cute as she walks away.

When she leaves, I sit up, look at her room. I see her stack of books—all romance novels—with a Kindle on top, and a handwritten list, titled, TBR: WILDER, Mother Trucker, HUCK, Love Is Crazy.

Not having any idea what any of that means, I prop myself back up on the pillows on her bed and notice a DVD collection on a shelf next to her wall-mounted TV. Every fucking romantic comedy I swore I’d never watch.

She has a framed photo on her wall that reads She Loved with All Her Heart. And the piece de resistance is the dried flowers hanging from a corkboard.

This woman is gorgeous, funny, sexy, and knows how to give one hell of a blowjob... but she also clearly wants to fall. Hard and fast and forever.

I can’t be that for her.

All I can offer is one night.

After all, I left town three years ago, and never came back. I’m a loner, a recluse, a man who has never been in love.

I’m not perfect; hell, of course, I know that.

But Ava Grace is looking for perfect.

She’s looking for someone that is not me.

Chapter 6

The truth is we slept together four more times. But who’s counting? Okay, clearly, I am counting. And those four times don’t even include the blow job. Or the hand job. Or the time I sat on his face.

Okay, I already said I wasn’t a lush, but I also want the record to show that I am not a hussy.

But I do like to have fun. And I did. All night long, I had so much fun. All the fun.

The next morning, Samson is still asleep, which I think is kind of cute, considering he claims to be some rough-and-tumble mountain man. I picture a man like him getting up at the crack of dawn, but here it is, 8:30 in the morning, and he’s snoring.

I slip out of bed, pull on a pair of panties and a tank top. Then I tie on a robe that barely covers my ass. I pull my hair up in a messy bun and look in my bathroom mirror.

Blinking, I try to remember how much champagne I had at the engagement dinner. Maybe not so much after all. There’s no headache. My eyes aren’t red. And my skin is actually glowing.

Apparently, my body responds well to mountain man sex.

In my fluffy pink slippers, I pad to the kitchen, where I heat a kettle of water and measure out grounds for my French press.

It’s Friday morning and I have a day of work ahead, but I also don’t want to kick my houseguest out earlier than necessary. In fact, I’m thinking that a post-breakfast shower sounds like the perfect way to add a few hours to this rendezvous.

I pop two English muffins in the toaster and pull out a jar of strawberry jam. The whole time, I’m thinking about ways my sister could come to terms with me and her fiancé’s brother becoming a couple.

I’m not trying to get ahead of myself, but as I pull a butter knife from the drawer, my mind is imagining picking out new silverware for a wedding registry.

Just as I’m grabbing the half-and-half from the fridge, I hear Samson getting out of bed.

He comes in the kitchen just as I’m pouring the coffee. “Coffee?” I ask.

He grunts out a yes, and when I move to add cream he shakes his head fiercely.

“Just black.”

I hand him a mug of steaming java and watch as he examines it as if it might be poison.

“Is there a problem?”

“The mug?” He turns it toward me, the words printed on the ceramic read You’re a hot mess.

I smile, take the mug from him and hand him mine. “That better?”

He reads the words on the new mug, Make today your bitch.

That gets a tiny smile from him.

“Not a morning person?” I ask.

He sighs, and then takes a long sip of coffee. I turn from him and butter the English muffins, add jam, then hand one to him on a cloth napkin. We carry our breakfast to the living room and I sit cross-legged on the couch, eying him and his naked body, save for the plaid boxers he pulled on before emerging from my bedroom.

His chest is just as chiseled and ripped as I remember.

“It’s not the morning I’m having a hard time with.”

For a moment, my breath catches and I think that maybe he’s going to say something like, I’m having a hard time because I don’t want to leave you. Or, I’m having a hard time trying to figure out how we can explain to Taylor and Sophia that we are starting a relationship.

“I’ve got to fly back home today, turnarounds like this are rough. I flew in yesterday afternoon and haven’t even been here twenty-four hours. I was just thinking maybe I should’ve allowed for more time here.”

“More time for...” My heart thumps. More time for me...?

“More time to catch up with Taylor. I haven’t seen him in three years, a lot has changed since then. But I gotta get home. I have a meeting tomorrow I can’t miss.”

My eyes narrow, seeing through his flimsy excuse to get away from me. What kind of meeting does a mountain man need to attend? What, does he sit around with the bears and wolves discussing last quarter’s financial statement?

My heart falls, as naïvely and ridiculous as it is, I had—in the space of the night—thought that maybe this time things would be different. That maybe Samson would break all the rules and turn out to be more than an unavailable and uninterested man. The kind of man I always fall for.

But he’s not.

He may make my lady parts melt; my heart beat fast — he may be funny in an I-know-I’m-an-asshole kind of way and may seem like the sort of man who could keep my crazy in check.

But he’s not going to be that for me.

I’m trying to be this mature and put-together grown up, but still... I can’t help but wonder when it will be my turn. When will it be my chance for a happily ever after?

“Well,” I say, trying to be an adult. “It’s still early, maybe you still have time to meet up with Taylor before you leave. When’s your flight?”

“12:30.”

“Then you should go, you should go to your brother.”

He looks at me and nods.

“Call him. If you don’t, will you even see him before the wedding in February?”

“No, well, except for the bachelor party.”

“Is that already planned?”

Samson snorts. “Everything with my brother is planned. I swear he has an itinerary for everything. Makes sense, though, growing up things were really rocky for us, and now he craves security.” When he finishes, his jaw is set, and he looks tense.

I know bits and pieces about Taylor’s childhood. How he grew up without his parents and floated from home to home.

I try to soften the conversation. “Well, Sophia is the same way about schedules and plans. That’s why they are perfect for each other.”

Samson smirks. “You think? Two people, who are the same make a good match?”

“I never thought of it like that, but those two seem to get along so well. They’re really compatible. I’ve never seen them argue.”

Samson shrugs, “In that case.”

“So, when’s the bachelor party?” I can’t help but ask. “The bachelorette party is the first weekend in January. A month before the wedding on February 14.”

“That makes sense, that’s the same weekend as the bachelor party. They probably planned it that way.”

“Yep, can’t bear to be out of one another’s sight for longer than necessary,” I say.

The conversation stalls, and I know it’s time to say goodbye.

“Well,” Samson says, setting down his coffee cup and pushing up from the couch. “I guess I should get going.”

A few minutes later Samson steps out of the bedroom with jeans and a flannel shirt on, ready to face the day.

He throws his duffel bag over his shoulder. “It’s been fun,” he tells me.

“Super fun.” I lean over and give him a kiss on his cheek.

The sex-vibe from the night before is slipping farther and farther away.

He doesn’t make a move to kiss me or grope me or bend me over. All things I would have done willingly.

Instead, he just nods and says, “I guess I’ll see you at the wedding?”

And then he’s gone.

Chapter 7

Leaving Ava’s condo is hard as hell.

Here’s the thing, I never thought about settling down and getting married. Not because I’m some coldhearted asshole, it’s just that after everything with my parents I knew I’d never get attached like that with another person.

They died tragically–and I blame myself. My brother and I were left in the wake, and it showed me how fragile life can be. The last thing I’ve ever wanted to do is get wrapped up with someone, have a family with someone, only to ruin it all.

So now, I’m a realist. And the reality is this: life is fucking hard and scary and it can change in the blink of an eye. The last thing any woman needs is me and my baggage and my mountain to make it any harder.

But walking away from Ava Grace? After the night we shared? It hurts like hell.

I made love to her sweet little body all night long, woke up with the taste of her pussy still on my lips. I walked into her kitchen and saw her looking like sunshine and promise and hoping that I could offer her all of me.

I saw what she was thinking all too clearly.

So, I left with nothing more than a goodbye because I can’t offer her any promises.

Who knows what’s gonna happen to me out on the mountain? I could die, freeze to death. I could get lost in a snowstorm or fall in an avalanche.

The last thing anyone needs is a man who might not always be around. It’s too fucking risky.

My brother meets me at the coffee shop. A fucking Starbucks because that’s the kind of man he is. I watch him order a skinny latte with two sugars. Watching him, I conceal a smile. Poorly.

“What are you laughing about?” Taylor asks.

“Nothing, but are you sure two sugars will be enough?” I get my black drip coffee and carry our drinks over to an empty table.

“I thought you were flying out early today,” Taylor asks as he lifts his white paper cup to his mouth, waiting for me to answer

“I’ve got an hour before I have to get to the airport, thought we could do some catching up.”

Taylor laughs. “Catch up? Samson, you’re my big brother but for last three years, you’ve been MIA. I know things got rough for you here for a while but—”

“Rough for me? Taylor, I took a fucking break. Working for the man made me crazy. And you’ve been fine without me.” We’ve talked every few months—enough to know he was proposing to Sophia, enough to show up for the engagement party. “You don’t need me around. You went to law school, have Sophia and her family—you don’t need me.”

“You’re still avoiding the question.” Taylor looks down, avoiding my eyes. He looks like a little boy, like the nine-year-old who has lost his parents, who is looking for anyone to hold onto. I was the only constant, and then I left. Looking at him now I see he still needs me.

“Look, with the wedding—the guest lists, and Sophia’s family being so involved,” Taylor, says, looking back up at me. “Sometimes, I just wish I had my brother back. You're the only family I’ve got.”

“I’m here, aren’t I? I bought a ticket to come back for your bachelor party. I know I’m the only family you’ve got, and maybe I’ve been busy getting my shit together for the last three years, but I’m not too busy for you. And the wedding being in Whistler is fucking perfect. It’s gorgeous country up there, and not so far from where I live.”

“I wish I’d known. Sophia and I have gone skiing there the last few Valentine’s Day weekends. It’s why we’re getting married there.” He shakes his head. “I just wish you’d invited me to your place.”

“I’m sorry, Taylor.” And I am. It’s just another reminder that I am not in a place to be in a real relationship — I can’t even make things work with my little brother.

“I put my life back together, that’s a good thing,” I tell him. “And now I’m in a place where I can be more a part of your life. Maybe it’s all coming together at the right time.”

“You sound like an inspirational book, not like the older brother I know who’s always swinging fists and calling people names.”

“I’ve changed.”

“How much of you changed? You still believe that you ought to be alone, so you don’t accidentally hurt them?”

I look down at my coffee cup, realizing that my brother is the only person on the planet who could talk to me like this. Like a fucking shrink. My employees would never address me so intimately.

“I still think that, but,” I say offering him a slow grin, not wanting to end this on a negative note. “You know, I’m sure happy you found Sophia. But you don’t have the same baggage I do.”

“That’s not true. You could still find someone. The night mom and dad died was—”

“Stop,” I tell him. “I know you and I can get to the heart of things pretty damn fast, but that’s cutting it way too close.”

Taylor nods then drops the subject and tries again. “What hotel did you stay at last night?”

I should’ve thought this part through. “One by the restaurant.”

“By the restaurant?” Taylor asks. “There’s not a hotel within a ten-block radius of the restaurant. What was it called? Maybe a new one was developed since I’ve looked.” Taylor, always one to stick with the facts.

“I don’t know, it was nice. A lot of pink, though.”

Taylor frowns. “Pink?”

“Yeah,” I smile. “Pink carpet, pink couch, pink walls.”

Taylor sits back, eying me as if he’s onto me. Hell, he probably is. “I saw you leave the restaurant with Ava.”

“Yeah?”

“Did you go home with her?” Taylor asks, not beating around the bush.

I’m sure where this is going, and I nod slowly. But Taylor’s approach surprises me.

“That girl’s quite a character, right? Sophia and I are just glad she hasn’t gotten married yet.”

This gets my attention.

“Why’s that?”

“She has these ideas in her head about love, marriage. She thinks happily ever after equals a romantic comedy.” Taylor shakes his head. “She drives Sophia crazy with her talk about soulmates in best friends.”

“And that’s not how love works?” I ask.

Taylor shrugs. “Look, Sophia and I are in love. But it’s not the kind that elicits puppies and beds of roses.”

“Puppies?”

Taylor shakes his head; he clearly has plenty of opinions about Ava. “Girls love puppies, right?” When I don’t respond, he continues, “The thing about Ava, that’s different than Sophia, is she has a pattern for falling for every wrong guy. The girl’s been hurt by more assholes than any woman I know. She always goes for the who's unavailable, a douchebag. So, when I say I’m glad she’s not married, I mean it. If she got tied to one of the guys she’s dated it would only end in bad news. She has horrible taste in men.”

“Is this a warning?”

There’s a tightening in my chest, I don’t like the way Taylor is talking about Ava Grace. Or about me. I saw Ava’s apartment, saw her DVDs and her quote of the day. I get that she’s a romantic. But I also saw her funny, heart on her sleeve, all-in approach to life. It was fucking hot as hell.

“Look, Ava Grace is not my business,” Taylor finishes. “But Sophia is. I don’t want anything to put a hitch in her wedding plans. And you hooking up with her sister would not end well.”

I shrug. What the fuck am I supposed to say? Hell, one day in Denver with my brother and I’m already fucking things up for him. Therefore, I don’t get close to people. I always mess things up.

I’m better off alone in the mountains.

Taylor pushes his lips forward. “If you slept with her, fine, but just let that be enough.”

I raise my hands, letting him know he can drop it. “I’m leaving for the mountains, I won’t fuck anything up, I promise.”

– –

Later, in my house with the fire roaring in the hearth, Esme, my housekeeper, brings me a tumbler of my favorite whiskey.

“It’s so good to have you back, Samson.” Esme is a sixty-year-old woman and takes care of all the things I don’t want to manage. Groceries and laundry and shit that takes me away from my one focus: the mines that made me a billionare and set me up for life in Faro, a town I love. Mostly because it’s small as fuck. Denver is nice and all, wide streets and sidewalks and restaurants that serve more than greasy diner food like we have here.

But Faro doesn’t have Ava Grace.

“Everything alright, Samson?” Esme asks, closing the drapes over the windows in my study.

“I’m good, it’s late, though, you should call it a day,” I tell her, knowing she stayed up late waiting for my arrival.

“Well, welcome home, dear,” she says before leaving the study.

I lean back in the leather chair, thinking how good it is to be in this room that feels like home. A far cry from Ava’s pink and gold condo, that’s for sure.

There’s a deer head mounted above the fireplace, rich leather sofas and walls lined with books. There’s a bearskin rug on the floor and enough whiskey in the liquor cabinet to get me through ten years of winter snowstorms.

My brother thinks I live in some cabin in the middle of nowhere, and I do live in a cabin, and it is the middle of nowhere, but it’s also the middle of my five thousand acres. And it may be a cabin, but not what he’s picturing—no one would call it rustic.

This cabin was built by a guy named Jaxon and his crew in Idaho. They build custom homes—I saw them on a reality TV show. Hired them right away. And this one is fucking magnificent.

I had it built two years ago, after the windfall. I came out to the Yukon to strike it on my own, but after a year here, I managed to strike gold.

I was mining for gold, but so were a lot of guys. There were a few news stories that came out about some people going to the Yukon and finding gold.

Never thought I’d be so lucky, but I was sick of the nine to five grind, not to mention I was fucking things up left and right. Drinking too much, playing way too fucking hard dddd —it was like after years of taking care of Taylor, my body rebelled against the idea of being responsible. All I wanted was to let loose.

I needed a fresh start if I ever wanted to get my shit in order.

I was one of the lucky ones.

I hit enough gold to set me up for my lifetime.

I still mine because I love to be in the great outdoors, a modern-day treasure hunter. I love this land and I love this country. Being out here let me clear my head to figure out who I was and why.

It’s safe out here, no one getting too close. There’s no one to hurt.

My mind, though, it isn’t clear right now. Right now, I’m only thinking about Ava Grace.

Her smile and her laugh. Thinking how I left her this morning and wondering why I wasn’t the kind of man who could just stay.

I wish I could see her again, speak to her. Learn all about her. But I know a man like me would only hurt her. From what Taylor said, she’s been hurt enough.

But damn, I’m a selfish bastard because I still need to see her face.

I take another drink of my whiskey, glad to be home and drinking the good stuff, and get out my laptop. I pull up fucking Facebook, thinking that’s the best place to find this girl.

A few clicks later I have access to her public profile. It lists her birthday, where she went to college, even her email account.

My cock is hard the moment I see her face, and there is picture after picture of her. In every single one, she’s smiling, looking like a breath of fresh air.

I scroll through her feed and see her post about getting a pedicure with a girlfriend, pictures of recent jewelry designs — incredibly impressive designs — and most recently, a post about going to her sister’s engagement party.

Besides her updates, I see she’s taken quizzes. Lots of fucking quizzes.

What character from these romantic comedies are you most like?

Who should be your leading man?

What is your dream date?

Every quiz zeroing in on the fact that Ava Grace is a hopeless romantic.

I swallow, not believing I have the capacity to be the man she needs, but my memory of our night together tells me I should have her anyway.

I take another drink. My head feels less cloudy, things are becoming clearer. Even though it is the middle of the night, and it’s been a long-ass day—I know what I want. What I need.

I’ve got to talk to Ava again. But I need to take a different approach, a different angle. Because I don’t want to get close and hurt her. When I left this morning, I gave her every reason to think I was just like the rest of the men she’d been with.

Detached, unavailable, one and done.

Maybe I can try something different. Maybe I can give her a reason to think I’m more. A woman like Ava Grace deserves to be wooed —she wants a romance worthy of a movie, and fuck, I may not have any clue what it means to fall in love, but I want to see if I can win Ava Grace’s heart.

Without a second guess —because when I make up my mind, I don’t second guess myself.

I type in the URL for Fastmail and I create an account for myself. A way to get to know Ava... a way for Ava to get to know me—without judgment or preconceived ideas about what kind of man I am.

It will give me a way to figure out if I have what it takes to be the man she needs.

I can compose an email.

To: AvaGraceWentworth

From: heartofgold

Chapter 8

I spend the rest of the day wishing I were more like Sophia. I can’t help think that Sophia is doing something right.

Maybe my personality is a turn-off. Maybe I drive men away with my pink tights and my pony tops.

I sort through my clothing, looking for something Sophia would wear. Unfortunately, I don’t own khakis or turtlenecks so I am left wearing my leggings and Uggs. But the record should state that I tried.

And usually, on the heels of a guy letting me know they aren’t interested — thanks, Samson —I would drink a bottle of Pinot Grigio and order an extra cheese pizza while watching How to Lose A Guy in Ten Days. But, this was a new me. A new Ava Grace who could be more like my responsible, sensible sister.

So instead of indulging in liquid calories and a carbalicious crust, I bake a chicken breast and sauté some broccoli. I have one sensible glass of red wine – because of the heart-healthy benefits – and instead of watching Gilmore Girls reruns in bed, I make a cup of chamomile tea and download Amazon’s Top Literary Fiction pick of 2017. Yes, it sounds boring as fuck, but that is the point here.

The next morning I wake determined to be my best self. After getting ready for the day I sit down with yogurt and blueberries, a cup of coffee and open my laptop. Clicking on my email I purse my lips together, not recognizing one of the senders. I click on it anyway.

From: heartofgold

Ava Grace,

You may not remember me, but I remember you. Thoughts of you keep me up at night, I can’t get you out of my mind.

I want to know more about you; I want to know everything.

But first, tell me this, what is your deepest desire?

Your secret is safe with me.

– HOG

What the actual fuck?

I wrack my brain for HeartofGold. I have no idea who that is... He remembers me? Is it even a he?

Am I straight up getting catfished?

I swallow.

I can’t get you out of my mind.

My hands shake, but why are my hands shaking? Who is this email even from?

My fingers hover over the keyboard, shaking uncontrollably because I don’t want to be messed with. But also, because this email is the most exciting item of correspondence I’ve ever received.

This may be a complete joke, a way for me to make a fool of myself… but maybe it’s not. Maybe there really is someone out there who is fantasizing about me the way I was fantasizing about Samson all night.

Hell, maybe it is Samson.

I reread the message.

I can’t seem to get you out of my mind.

Okay, definitely not Samson, he hightailed it out of my place faster than a cheetah — if there were, like, cheetahs in Denver apartments.

I can’t help myself. I type a response.

To: heartofgold

HOG,

who are you?

– AG

I hit send before I think not to.

I hit refresh as if HOG would have seen, composed and sent an email all in the span of two seconds.

HOG hasn’t.

I take a bite of my yogurt. Suddenly, I don’t want to eat. I just want a response from this person. Is someone messing with me?

I clean out my inbox.

That takes six seconds.

Refresh. Nothing.

I carry my breakfast bowl to the sink, wash it, set it to dry.

Return to my computer. Refresh.

I imagine Meg Ryan in You’ve Got Mail, wishing I could go back in time to 1997 when an alert would tell me you’ve got mail.

There’s no alert, but there is a new message.

I open it.

From: heartofgold

Dear AG,

Who I am isn’t important.

Your deepest desire? That is.

-HOG

Well, that is not helpful.

My deepest desire? Who does he think he is to ask such a thing?

I have most of what I want.

I like my life. My house, my job, my family—

All these things are good. I’m not looking for a man to entertain me—I know how to entertain myself, with a vibrator or without. I am satisfied with watching movies I’ve seen a dozen times before meeting up with girlfriends to go shopping. My life is good. Great.

But what is my deepest desire?

And why would I tell it to HOG?

My phone rings, it’s my sister.

“Hey, what’s up?” I ask.

“I’m glad you answered, so... I was thinking...” Sophia starts.

“What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that you should be thinking about who you’re going to bring with you to the wedding. Your date is really important. I mean, whoever it is will be in the photographs, and it’s not that I want everything to be perfect–”

“But you want everything to be perfect.” I laugh, knowing my sister all too well.

“Not perfect, just... I don’t want to look back at this wedding album ten years from now and not even know the man you are standing with.”

“That’s a lot of pressure. You want me to find a man who is worthy of a ten-year memory in the next two months? You do know I’m not dating anyone now, don’t you?”

“That’s just the thing, though, Ava. Maybe you should start thinking about looking for someone you can have a serious relationship with.”

“Where is this all coming from?” I laugh again, this time sharper, more pained. My sister doesn’t notice, and for that I am glad.

“Sophia,” I tell her. “We don’t need to make this about me. The next two months should be all about you. Who I date and bring to your wedding is seriously a low priority. Hell, I’ll bring anybody you want to the wedding. Or I can even go stag.”

“That would totally mess up the seating arrangements.”

“You’ve already figured out seating arrangements? Your engagement party was only two days ago.”

“The wedding is in a few months, I’m not being crazy.”

“I thought you were only inviting twenty people. I can eat wherever.”

“Can you be more supportive, please?”

I exhale, not interested in this level of detail on the heels of the most intoxicatingly, unexpected email of my life.

“Just sit me next to cousin Trudy,” I say to placate Sophia. “She won’t bring a date.”

“You haven’t heard?” she asks.

“Heard what?”

“Trudy got engaged. Yesterday.”

“No way.” I shake my head refusing to believe that my cousin Trudy who is about as interesting as a stick of gum is engaged to be wed.

“Really,” Sophia confirms. “Guess she’s been seeing this guy for a long time, but they met on the Internet. It’s actually really cute, they were on a Star Wars forum together.”

“Huh.” I have no words. I am such a bitch. Here I am judging Trudy and her ability to find love.

Maybe it has nothing to do with being responsible or sensible. Maybe falling in love has to do with being open. Available. Finding someone you can connect with, someone who connects with you.

Someone who wants to connect with you.

“That’s wonderful,” I finally manage. “When are they getting married?”

“In two weeks,” Sophia gushes. “Bananas, right? Apparently, Aunt Linda is having a fit over it, but I think it’s actually kind of sweet. They’re going to a Star Wars convention in Dallas and are getting married there. In full costume.”

“Wow, they’re like, all in.”

“All in, and apparently totally in love. Go on Facebook and you’ll see the photos of their engagement. The guy flew in from Nevada, dressed up as Chewbacca. I mean, I know Taylor and I are about as vanilla as it comes, and I know it might come as a surprise about me that I think this is, like, totally adorable, but I do.”

“I guess being engaged has made you a romantic?” I tease.

“Maybe, or maybe I just want everybody to be really happy. I’m so happy right now, and Trudy is so happy, and I guess that’s why I’m calling. I want you to be happy too. I know I gave you a hard time at the party for coming late, which I know — you weren’t even late. I was just stressed and took it out on you.”

I brush off her apology, but appreciate the sentiment. “Thanks, Sophia. No hard feelings.”

I feel like my sister is squeezing my shoulders as she pulls me into a hug. “Then, maybe you should stop looking for guys in the same places you always do, Ava. Maybe you should start thinking outside the box, like Trudy. Maybe then you’ll find someone you can be happy with.”

I swallow, trying to not get emotional over my sister’s comments. It’s sweet, I mean really sweet.

Also, really depressing.

Maybe I’ve been doing everything completely wrong. Forever.

I look at my computer, see the email from HeartofGold.

What are your deepest desires?

Maybe finding love is all about taking risks.

I end the call with Sophia and click on new message.

I can take a risk.

Right this second.

Chapter 9

From: avagracewentworth

To: heartofgold

HOG,

My deepest desire?

To love and be loved.

By someone besides my pizza delivery man.

Oh, and the barista I always tip very well even though he never makes my salted caramel mocha correctly.

You?

AG.

From: heartofgold

To: avagracewentworth

AG,

There seem to be a lot of men in your life.

Should I be intimidated?

HOG

From: avagracewentworth

To: heartofgold

HOG,

Avoiding my question?

And yes. I didn’t even mention the FedEx dude. I have a thing for online shopping. And you? Do you have a favorite online store?

Tell me about the women in your life...

AG

From: heartofgold

To: avagracewentworth

AG,

1) my housekeeper Esme

2) my assistant Linda

3) you?

HOG

From: avagracewentworth

To: heartofgold

HOG,

Seems a little premature to say I am in your life. But we are confirming you are a man then, correct?

Also, you aren’t playing fair. Deepest desire?

AG

From: heartofgold

To: avagracewentworth

AG,

You are in my life considering I dream about you every day. Every night.

And yes, I am a man.

And I know quite well that you are a woman.

Deepest desire?

To stop being so damn scared of love. Of losing love.

Your turn. Ask me anything.

And no, I don’t have a favorite online store.

HOG

From: avagracewentworth

To: heartofgold

HOG,

Sometimes I wonder if you are my pizza delivery guy. Or, like, my neighbor.

I want to know who you are. I’m scared I am making you to be someone you aren’t.

But what if you are exactly who I imagine you are?

That’s not my question though.

My question is this:

Favorite childhood memory and why?

AG

P.S. I’m not scared of losing love... I’m scared of never finding it.

P.S.S. My favorite online store is Amazon. They sell everything. I got a package today with deodorant AND granola bars. Magic, I tell you.

From: heartofgold

To: avagracewentworth

AG,

When I was eleven years old my dad took my brother and I on a fishing trip in the far North of Alaska. At night, the sky held a thousand stars. My dad knew all the constellations and he never got tired of telling me their names, pointing them out to me. Cassiopeia. Ursa Major. Orion’s Belt.

The world felt infinite and I felt so small and when I told my dad that, he smiled and told me no matter how big I grew, I’d always feel small when I looked at the sky. And that feeling small wasn’t the worst thing in the world to feel. That feeling small meant you were big enough to see that the world didn’t revolve around you.

He was a good man.

HOG

P.S. I ordered a few things from Amazon today. A toothbrush and leaf blower. I tried to find the two most random things I could imagine. Did I do okay?

P.S.S. Favorite movie and why?

From: avagracewentworth

To: heartofgold

HOG,

In college, I memorized the constellations. The professor taught us how to navigate the night sky and every time I found one, my stomach flip-flopped, wondering why I even had the right to understand the sky. Who was I to read the stars?

Your dad’s words were wise.

Favorite movie? Easy.

Titanic. I saw it in the theater twelve times and sobbed. Every. Single. Time. Then I’d come home, my cheeks streaked with tears, and my sister would look at me as if I were insane.

She’d say, “It’s like you think the ending is going to change. But Kate is always going to let go. Leonardo's always going to die.”

She didn’t understand—and still, doesn’t–that it wasn’t about the ending. It was about the journey. The end only hurt because the story was so beautiful.

If Kate and Leo never fell in love, would anyone have cried?

I mean, sure, a ship’s sinking is sad, but so is all of history. A battle lost, a country besieged. But I don’t collapse in tears over history books recounting the Revolutionary War.

Yet when the iceberg hits—I am lost at sea, my face covered in a flurry of tears. I fight to catch my breath but I can’t breathe.

It’s the love story, the fight, the dream. The longing for more than what you have.

That’s what gets me.

Maybe it all goes back to my deepest desire. To love and be loved.

Also, though, I’d like to be seen.

Speaking of... who are you, Heart of Gold? I’m becoming a bit besotted.

AG

Chapter 10

I’m becoming a bit besotted? Who do I think I am? Jane freaking Austin?

I blink, determined to be present. To stop dreaming of an email exchange with a stranger. A literal stranger.

It’s bananas. But also, intoxicating.

The emails have been coming every few days for a month and I’m giddy every morning with the prospect of checking my inbox.

And last night, when I told him I was besotted it was not an exaggeration. I’m falling for an email address. What does that say about me?

Right now, I don’t care. I spend the better part of the night touching myself, thinking of him for the thousandth time. Of HOG’s hands on my ass, whispering gentle words and soft strokes as he fills me up with his cock—because of course, this internet-man has a big cock. The biggest cock, and it is a cock that fills me.

Much like Samson’s had. It fills me like Samson filled me, and fucks me like Samson fucked me. My pussy whimpers in release and then I ask for more.

It’s hot. All of it. I can’t get enough of it. I want more. Everything.

Him.

HOG.

When I fake-fuck him he looks like Samson, the man who had me and left me. Samson was unavailable and detached, but HOG... he is committed and all in and writes me nearly every day and I write him back, which is why now I am pressing my thumb to my clit, rubbing in small circles, harder and harder until I come with a flood all over my fingers. It’s still not enough.

I’m horny and hot.

The alarm on my phone wakes me from my early morning fantasy. Dammit. All I want to do today is sit in bed and compose emails to my internet not-quite-lover, but I can’t. Sophia’s final gown fitting is today and as the maid of honor, I need to be there.

* * *

The bridal boutique is beautiful. The shopkeeper hands champagne to Sophia, her other two bridesmaids, and me while we wait for someone to bring out Sophia’s gown and our dresses. Mom’s here too, but she’s in another area of the shop, her dress is being measured as we speak, and she's paying for the purchases.

“So, what are you up to these days, Ava?” Cecily asks. Cecily is Sophia’s oldest childhood friend. Her question is ridiculous because I know that she knows I’m not dating anybody, mostly because she gets all her gossip from Sophia.

Cecily is wearing heels and slacks and, is she wearing pantyhose? Instead of answering her question I try and get a look closer at the exposed top of her foot, but then I realize I’m looking little creepy so I meet her eyes and smile with feigned interest.

“What’s new? With me? Not much, just enjoying my freedom.” I tell her, shrugging, wanting her to think that her life — being married with a toddler—isn’t something I envy. Maybe that is totally petty of me, to not give her the satisfaction of knowing despite her pantyhose, her life looks damn good from where I’m sitting. “I’m busy with my business. I’m working on a lot of custom pieces right now. I like this work more than the line I designed for the Westwood Gallery in the fall.”

“Oh, so your shop is taking off, then? You’re able to do this hobby full-time?” This condescending line is from Sophia’s newer friend Janet. Janet and Sophia are tennis partners. And they’re hosting this amazing gala in the spring. A tennis gala. Because that is apparently a thing.

I’m trying to not roll my eyes at Janet, but obviously, I’m doing a poor job of it because Sophia rests her hand on my arm.

“Don’t take it so personally. Janet is just being a brat.”

There are a few things I really, really hate in this world. One of them is when people tell me to not take something so personally. Why the fuck would I not take a personal comment personally.

“Whatever.” Usually, shrugging is my defense mechanism but right now I don’t have the urge to shrug. Maybe I’m not feeling defensive. Maybe I’m feeling actually pretty badass. Looking at these women— all three of them, I know in my gut that they have no reason to judge me.

Just because they have gigantic diamond rings on their ring fingers, designer everything and husbands and fiancés and toddlers and McMansions in the suburbs of Denver and impressive tennis swings and destinations weddings doesn’t mean they are superior to me.

I have a thriving business. I have my own condo. I pay my own bills and bought a Mini-Cooper last year on my own, and I’m proud of who I am.

Just as I’m about to jump into another inner monologue about how awesome I am, Sophia gasps at the sight of her wedding gown. I don’t blame her. It takes my breath away too..

“Oh my God, Sophia, it’s so beautiful,” Cecily coos. It’s true, Sophia’s gown is exquisite. It’s strapless with a full skirt in white satin. It looks made for a winter wedding, in the snow in Whistler. The skirt is edged in fur, the train has a million sparkling crystals sewn on, creating a glittering snowscape on white. I was with her when she first picked it out, but since then, the trim has been added and the crystals tripled. It’s made for an ice queen.

“It’s more beautiful than I remembered.” Sophia covers her mouth, tears pricking her eyes. The attendant whisks her away to the dressing room to get her into her gown.

“I just love that they’re having a destination wedding,” Janet says.

“Oh, me too, it’s going to be so much fun. But first, we’ve got to finalize the bachelorette party. It’s coming up soon. And with the holidays it’s gonna be super busy. What do you think?”

Janet and Cecily launch into bachelorette party plans—a party bus, a dozen invitees, a male stripper. Classic, and also, it’s obvious they have a handle on the event.

They are right that it’s a busy time of the year. It’s just a few weeks until Christmas, a week after that is New Year’s, and then the bachelorette party will be a few weeks after that.

Next thing you know, it will be Valentine’s Day weekend and we’ll all be in Whistler.

I feel like the wedding is speeding up time, but also, the emails I’ve been exchanging with HeartofGold have been speeding up time, too.

It’s strange how someone I don’t really know, has found a way to get to the heart of things with me.

I’ve never dated someone who wanted to know my deepest feelings and my fears. I’ve never been with a man who wanted me to tell him more about myself. Who asks questions. And makes me laugh and bring tears to my eyes with his reflections.

And maybe that is an embarrassing tragedy. That I’ve never had a relationship built on mutual respect and understanding. I don’t know what that says about me, probably nothing good.

But that’s okay, I think. Because I don’t need a list of relationships that ended in happily ever after. I just need one.

My sister walks from the dressing room looking radiant and glowing. Everyone smiles, telling her it fits like a glove.

“Okay, you ladies have dresses to try on too,” the attendant tells us before ushering us out of the sitting room.

I change quickly, and when I fasten the eyehook on the side, I take it all in. Thankfully the dress is very flattering. Although modest, it’s the perfect dress for a Valentine’s Day wedding. A-line with cap sleeves, a sweetheart neckline, in red satin. I step out and raise my arms. “Ta-da!”

“It’s sooo cute,” Sophia says, drawing out her words.

Mom walks into the room in her mother-of-the-bride dress in soft gray. It looks very posh, but she isn’t thinking about herself right now. She covers her mouth, overwhelmed with emotion when she sees her daughter standing there in white.

“You look breathtaking, Sophia,” Mom says as she walks toward us, reaching for each of our hands and pulling us into a hug. It’s a sweet and tender moment, and it makes me excited to have one of these of my own in the future. One day.

“So,” Sophia starts, “have you made any headway on a date for the wedding?”

Mom’s eyes are on me. “Have you, darling?”

“No, I mean, let’s not make a big deal of this, okay? I don’t think I really need a date. The holidays are going to be so busy, and it’s not like someone is going to want to meet me and then be a date to a destination wedding a few weeks later. It’s just too much pressure. Can’t you just sit me with someone else who is flying solo at the wedding.”?

The attendant is back, telling my mom that she can go change out of her dress now, and then my sister and I are left alone again.

“There’s only one other person playing solo at the wedding,” Sophia tells me, smiling at her bridesmaids who are now standing at the mirror with us, examining how they look in their red dresses.

“And who’s that?”

Sophia rolls her eyes. “Samson, Taylor’s brother.” My stomach does a flip-flop at the mention of his name. I remember how this morning I touched myself, imagining his strong hands holding me, his body covering me — taking me.

“Great, sit me next to Sam. Honestly, I don’t care. I want to be focused on you that day.”

Sophia smirks. “No way... a little birdie told me you two had a thing...”

I blink.

“Seriously?” Cecily’s eyes are as big as saucers; Janet leans closer, eager for bits of gossip. God, the pair of them are like starved dogs desperate for a morsel of anything.

“Did you seriously sleep with Taylor’s brother?” Janet asks. “At the engagement party, he seemed like the sort of man any decent woman would avoid. If you know what I mean.” She stands with her hands on her hips and I can’t help it, I roll my eyes like I’m a twelve-year-old girl because are they serious with this?

“It’s none of my business,” Sophia laughs. “But Taylor mentioned it, and I was like, no way are they hooking up again at the wedding. You are sitting far, far away from him.”

I try to imagine Samson telling Taylor that the two of us had spent the night together. It’s impossible to imagine, it seems so unlike him. He came off as stoic and guarded, but it just gives me another reason to dismiss the ruggedly hot man from my mind.

Samson doesn’t matter. Especially if he’s a guy who kisses and tells.

Now, HeartofGold? He is a real man.

“You know what?” I sigh. “Fine, keep us far apart, but honestly, I am not even thinking about Sam. My mind is on other things.”

My sister purses her lips. “What aren’t you saying?”

This is the problem with sisters. They know you too well.

“I sort of met someone. But I don’t know where it’s going, so I’m trying to play it cool. I’m certainly not inviting this person to your wedding, but I want you to know that I’m totally over Samson.”

We all head back to the dressing rooms so we can change. Talking through the walls of the rooms my sisters asks, “So where did you meet this mystery man?”

I swallow, stepping out of the red satin and pulling on LuLaRoe leggings. They are patterned with peacocks and make me feel cute as hell.

“Um, online?”

“Really?” Sophia sighs. “You’ve done the online dating thing before and it never works. The guys you date never end up looking like their profile and you get annoyed and yet they still get laid. It’s not gonna end well.”

I slide on my Uggs, not wanting to say I have no clue what HOG looks like, where he lives, and how he knows me.

I just know how his words make me feel. Seen.

“Well, we haven’t actually exchanged photos. So, I guess I won’t be disappointed when I see him.” I step out of the dressing room the same time Janet, Cecily and Sophia do.

They all cock their heads at me in concern.

“Wait, isn’t that like a requirement on those online sites?” Cecily asks. Cecily met her husband online and she’s right. That is a requirement.

“We didn’t actually meet online on a dating site. I mean, he just emailed me out of the blue. And we started talking.”

“How did he know to email you?” Sophia presses.

Not feeling like I have anything to hide, I’m straight up. I am not in the habit of lying to my sister, and I’m not going to start now. Besides, I have nothing to be ashamed of. I needed to try a different approach to my life, be more open minded and accepting.

So, I am choosing to be accepting of HOG.

And I hope sometime soon he will be brave enough to reveal who he really is.

And if he’s the pizza delivery guy, so be it. Hearts don’t lie... and right now, mine is burning strong.

“He says he met me before, but I don’t know his name.” As I’m explaining the last part Mom rejoins us, and Sophia quickly gets her up to speed.

“Oh, Ava, darling, you’re falling in love with a stranger?” she asks, her eyes full of pity.

“Love?” I shake my head. “We’re just friends, just getting to know one another.”

That’s what I tell them, but deep down I feel like my heart is knit with his in ways I would never have guessed. I wake up wanting to see if he has emailed, I go to sleep with his sweet words on my lips.

Sophia frowns. “You always do this, Ava Grace.”

“Do what?”

“Go for the least available, most detached man possible. Samson was a low point, but this stranger who, for all you know, is a ninety-five-year-old man in Daytona? This is really sad.”

“He’s not living in Daytona. I don’t know anyone who lives in Daytona. I've never even been to Daytona. I mean I did go there once but that was just because I got lost on my way back from a 'Love Yourself, You Deserve It' seminar, and I stopped off to have waffles because, well, you know—I deserved them. Wait, why are we talking about Daytona?”

Sophia looks at me as if I am pathetic and just plain old crazy. “Maybe you should find out who this person is before you start making life decisions based on him.”

I swallow, feeling her sharp reprimand and knowing she is exactly right.

Also, suddenly dying for a waffle.

Chapter 11

From: avagracewentworth

To: heartofgold

HOG,

Want to exchange photos?

AG

From: heartofgold

To: avagracewentworth

AG,

How about we exchange some other things first? There is still so much I want to know about you.

Favorite song?

Favorite food?

Favorite place?

Favorite person?

I’m not trying to be difficult, but I’ve been hurt before. This time, I want to get things right.

HOG

From: avagracewentworth

To: heartofgold

HOG,

I get that. It’s just not totally fair. You know who I am.

Still, I’ll play nice. Mostly because I’m a nice person, lol.

Favorite song? Hands down, Jon Bon Jovi, Living on a Prayer. I want this song played at my wedding one day as I walk down the aisle with my husband. Some may think JBJ is cheesy AF—but I unabashedly think he’s the greatest. He married his high school sweetheart for goodness sakes! And he’s like fifty and can still rock leather pants. That’s damn cool.

Favorite food? My grandpa Bill’s chili. He died about five years ago, but he made award-winning chili. I have his recipe and make it every year on his birthday. But if I were to go out to eat in Denver, my favorite place is an Italian restaurant called, Little Mia Mia.

Favorite place? This might sound seriously weird... but I love ice-skating. Sometimes I go on a weekday morning when the rink is empty, and I skate for an hour, probably embarrassingly bad—but I don’t care. I feel like an ice princess, making circles and figure eights. Also, it’s a workout. So, there’s that.

Favorite person? While you’re inching up my list, Grandpa Bill has a special place in my heart—he believed in me in ways no one else ever has. He was the person who taught me how to make my first piece of jewelry.

We’d go to his shop and he taught me how to use a soldering tool. In his will, he left me enough money to start my business. He was a widower for most of my life, and I never met my grandma, but his love for me taught me that what real love means. When he died, he was buried wearing one of my rings.

So, you must answer those questions too, and then answer these for me:

What are you doing for Christmas? (It’s in a few days you know.)

What is your address? (I want to send you your Christmas gift.)

Do you have plans for New Year’s Eve? I don’t. We could meet when the ball drops...

AG

From: avagracewentworth

To: heartofgold

HOG,

It’s Christmas Eve and I haven’t heard from you in days. Did I do something wrong?

Maybe asking for your address is too personal, but telling you all about my hopes and dreams is personal too.

Hope you have a good Christmas.

AG

From: avagracewentworth

To: heartofgold

HOG,

Well. It’s NYE. You haven’t written me for two weeks.

I know we don’t owe one another anything, but I don’t understand you. My sister told me to block your email because I opened up to you and then you just dropped me. And the truth is, it hurts. A lot. People always say I wear my heart on my sleeve, and I always chose to take it as a compliment. But now I just feel like a fool.

AG

From: heartofgold

To: avagracewentworth

AG,

Sorry I didn’t write for so long. I didn’t intend to hurt you. You are not a fool. You are funny and tender and too fucking good for me.

I should admit I didn’t know what to say when you asked for my address. I wasn’t ready to go there yet.

And I’m still not.

But I don’t want to lose you. Can we try again, backing up to a place that doesn’t make me run?

Favorite song? Let It Be by The Beatles. Speaking of people, we’ve loved and lost: my mom died when I was young. She sang that song when she washed the dishes, swept the floor, chopped vegetables for dinner. It was her mantra. I wish I could make it my own, but I am nowhere near as easy going as she was. My thoughts get the best of me. It’s near impossible to turn off the noise. That is something I admire in you. You come across as someone who is always present.

Favorite food? Hands down, my homemade mac and cheese. It’s the one thing I can cook and cook well. Comfort food at its finest.

Favorite place? The mountains. No question.

Favorite person? You. The only problem is, I know I may have fucked things up beyond repair.

Have I?

I wish we’d been together when the ball dropped at midnight on NYE. I would have kissed you.

HOG

From: avagracewentworth

To: heartofgold

HOG,

I’m not going to lie. Seeing your reply in my inbox gave me butterflies. I wanted to kiss you on NYE too, but I should be honest, I always go for unavailable men. Men who refuse to commit. To me.

I’m not doing that anymore.

Things are over between us.

I need a man who understands that my heart is fragile. That it has been broken so many times before.

I get the impression that this is a game to you.

But it’s more than a game to me.

It’s my life, and I’m sorry, but you can no longer be in it.

Ava Grace

Chapter 12

When I receive the final email, I know I’ve fucked things up. Badly.

I started talking to her through email so she could learn to trust me... but now she’s just going to be pissed. She’ll be angry that I played her for a fool. That I slept with her, and left her, and then decided to pretend I was someone else to get to her.

Except I’m not pretending. When I write to her, the person I present is the person I truly am.

I thought if I went cold turkey, let her have her holidays to herself, maybe I would get over her or she would get over me.

But dammit, all it did was cause me to sleep like shit for two weeks straight, and wish I were in a place to commit to her. Forever.

Because that is what Ava Grace deserves.

And now the emails are over.

If I write her again, I’m going to need to tell her the truth. And if I tell her the truth then she’ll never see me as someone she can trust.

New game plan: When I’m in town for the Bachelor party, I will win her over.

And just hope she isn’t still heartbroken over HeartofGold and has space in her heart for me.

* * *

The party is everything I hate. Loud shitty music, douchey guys in collared shirts and ties gyrating against half dressed women, shots of crappy liquor—fucking kamikazes and buttery nipples—being passed around. And strippers that look like they need to go home and have a warm glass of milk and bedtime story.

“This is epic,” Taylor shouts over the pop music blaring at the dance club post strip tease. “You guys fucking rock!” Taylor’s tie is wrapped around his forehead, his shirtsleeves are rolled up, a rum and coke in hand as he jumps to the music.

His buddies all give him fist bumps, hovering and grinding against the women on the dance floor.

I grin at my kid brother, thinking that if anyone dared throw me a party like this I’d just straight-up leave. Sure, I hate this vibe—but I love him. But staying doesn’t require me to stay on the dance floor.

I move to the bar, order a whiskey neat, and take a drink, look around the club, shaking my head at the antics that are so far from my day-to-day life.

Scanning the room, I do a double take. A party has just arrived. A woman in all white, a tiny white mini-dress, a veil on her head, a sash across her body reading BRIDE. Sophia is here.

And so is her entire party.

A group of women in tiny dresses, big hair, sloppy drunk, and smiling ear-to-ear lead her to the dance floor. I watch the herd cross the room, all eyes on them, and then I see Taylor realize his bride-to-be is here. A loud drunk laugh that tells me everyone is having fun erupts as the two parties merge into one wild, dancing mob.

I laugh, shaking my head as Sophia wraps her drunken arms around Taylor and gives him a kiss.

Behind me, I hear someone say, “Cute, right?”

I know that voice. I turn to face her, Ava Grace. Her eyes look heavy as she takes me in. I swallow her up. She is in heels, showing off her amazing calves, she wears a sparkly dress, shiny and gold just like her laugh. Her breasts are pressed together, drawing the eye of every man in the room, her curvy hips are accentuated by the form-fitting dress, reminding everyone that she is a woman, as if there were any doubt. She looks like pixie dust. Magic.

“Look at you,” I say slowly, my heart pounding in my chest. I feel like I know this girl inside and out, and all I want to do this weekend is find the time to lay it all out for her. Tell her the truth. That I am the man she has fallen for.

“Look at you,” she says, brow raised. “So, do you want the speech now, or later?” she asks.

My brows furrow. Speech? Does she know who I am?

“Uh, now,” I tell her.

She folds her arms. And then unfolds them. Raises a finger, pointing at me. Fiery and sassy and so damn cute.

“I don’t appreciate the way you told your brother about our night together. Now my sister knows, and the entire wedding party knows. We’re adults here. What kind of dude tells their brother about their hook-ups?”

My eyes widen in surprise. I was not expecting this. “Tell Taylor what?” I’m trying to catch up.

“You told him that we spent the night together.” She crosses her arms, fuming. Damn, I think, this girl has got some ammo.

I think back to the day I saw Taylor after my night with Ava Grace. Our talk at the coffee shop. “It wasn’t like that. He asked where I stayed the night, it came up.” I watch Ava’s eyes consider me with skepticism. “I didn’t give him details if that’s what you are wondering.”

Ava drops her arms as if she believes me, just like that. She sits down at the bar ordering a vodka soda, and I swivel my bar stool beside her. “Honest?” she asks.

“Honest. The last thing I fucking want to do is screw anything up for anyone here. I want my brother to be happy, he deserves some happiness.”

“Oh yeah?” Ava smirks. “Seems like Taylor has a pretty cushy life, does he really need you looking after him?”

“Maybe not. But he’s still my little brother. And life was hard when we were young. Our parents died, and shit, we were in foster homes and stayed with relatives for a bit, but I have always been his family.”

“That’s a pretty heavy confession for a club called Studio 69.” Ava smiles at me, warmly.

I shake my head. “My bad. Sorry.”

“I’m sorry that your parents died.” Ava sips her drink, then surprises me. “A guy I recently dated told me his mom died when he was young too, it just breaks my heart to think of anyone losing their parents when they are young. It just really puts things into perspective.”

I raise a glass, unable to speak, knowing she is talking about me; about Heart of Gold.

She clinks her glass with mine. “To cherishing every moment.”

“Every moment,” I repeat.

She laughs, shaking her head. “Sorry about getting so pissed over Taylor. Maybe it was more me being hurt knowing that after we had an amazing night it was enough for you.”

“It wasn’t enough for me.” I’m trying to figure out how to explain the HOG situation, but before I can, Sophia and Taylor crash into us.

“Ohmigod, you guys are so freakin’ cute!” Sophia squeals. “Are you gonna hook up again? Because you have to, Samson. She needs some fun so bad.”

Ava slaps her sister’s arm. “Shush,” she whisper-yells.

“What?” Sophia slurs, clearly smashed. She would never be so enthusiastic about me having a potential fling with Ava Grace otherwise. Taylor’s arm is snaked around her waist and she wags a finger at me. “My poor sis has had the worst week. She was in love with a man and then he dumped her. Splat. Kablooey. Bang bang bang. Except not. They never banged, did you sweetie?” she says to Ava. “Never banged once, and what is worse—she doesn’t even know him.”

I look over at Ava, her eyes are filled with tears. “Stop it, Sophia, please.”

“I didn’t mean to make you cry,” Sophia drunkenly moans. “Taylor fix something. I messed it up.”

“I’ll help by pulling you away from this situation,” Taylor says, and Sophia acquiesces. She blows kisses to Ava, who smiles back bleakly.

“Well, that was awkward.”

“What was? Your drunk sister? Or the reality that she and Taylor are making out twenty feet away?”

Ava waves her hand in the air. “No, that you heard all that. The entire pathetic truth.”

“What is pathetic about it?”

She laughs sharply. “What is pathetic is that I fell, once again, for a man who is unavailable. I trusted him too, you know that? I trusted a stranger and he broke my heart. If I ever see him, you know what I’ll do?” she asks me.

“What?” I ask. “What will you do?”

“I’ll punch him in the face and kick him in the balls. It’s a shitty thing to win a girl over only to walk away.”

I run my hand over my beard. “And what if this guy apologized, came clean, tried again?”

Ava Grace picks up her vodka, shaking her head. “No way. I am done with forgiving. All it does is leave me hurt. There are no more second chances. He had his chance and he blew it.”

I swallow, my entire fucking game plan is screwed.

So, maybe I don’t tell her the truth. Maybe I just try to take what I’ve learned over the last month and remain open. Not closed up. Maybe I try to earn her love, but this time without any barriers.

“Did I blow it too?” I ask, smiling softly at this woman who is honest and genuine and incapable of holding back.

She frowns, her face so fucking sad in that moment and I want to wrap my arms around her and hold her close and tell her she is perfect. That she makes me laugh and that Bon Jovi is terrible taste in music but that I don’t care, because aren’t we all just living on a prayer?

“My heart can’t handle another man taking me for granted.”

“Then let me take you out, not for granted —but on a date,” I tell her.

“Are you just looking to get in my pants, Samson? Because—”

“No,” I tell her, cutting her off. “I am asking you out on a date.”

Chapter 13

The next night Samson picks me up, at seven o’clock on the dot.

I asked my sister to get the inside scoop before the date—obviously—and she found out that Samson was just here for one more night.

She made me swear that I wouldn’t get all crazy for a man who wasn’t available, and I crossed my heart.

But last night at the club Samson looked different, sounded different too than I remember. Like he was more present, more genuinely interested. I don’t know much about him, but I guess tonight I am going to find out.

“Wow,” he says, walking in my condo with a dozen pink roses wrapped in brown paper, tied with a white grosgrain ribbon. Basically, the most perfect bouquet ever made. “You look beautiful, Ava Grace.”

Tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear, I hide a smile, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks.

“You clean up pretty nice yourself.” I take the proffered flowers from his hands, drinking him in as I do. He is in dark denim and a flannel shirt, but it’s slim fitting, tight on his biceps, and rolled up at the sleeves. He looks freakin', insanely hot. His hair is slicked back effortlessly, and his beard taunts me, -making my ovaries explode as I imagine it between my legs like it was before.

Like I have dreamed about so many times since.

“I made reservations,” he tells me as I fill the vase with water, adding the roses.

“Oh yeah? Where? I’m starving.”

He smiles at that, and then answers. “An Italian restaurant, Little Mia Mia, I hear it’s fantastic.”

“Ohh, that’s my favorite restaurant. You’re going to love it. Do you like meatballs? They have the best meatballs ever.”

He grins, as if unable to resist joking like a thirteen-year-old boy. “You like balls, huh?”

I smirk, grabbing my jacket, gloves, and purse. Samson follows me to the door and I lock it behind us. “Oh, I love balls, Samson. Big, juicy balls.”

He laughs, deep in his belly, and opens the door of the rental car. “Good, because you can have as many balls as you like, sweetheart.”

I squint my eyes, looking at him before he closes the door. Sweetheart? “If I remember correctly, you only have two. What if I want more?”

He laughs again, “Guess you’ll have to order some extra off the menu to take home.”

On the drive to the restaurant, I point out my stomping grounds. “That shop has the best coffee, and this park is where I play Ultimate Frisbee in the summer. Though I’m terrible at it. But it’s still fun. Oh, and that is where the farmers market is on Sundays.”

“You really like it here, then? Could you ever imagine leaving?”

We pull up to Little Mia Mia and let the valet take the car. Sitting down at the table—a corner booth, white linens, candlelight—I feel a sense of calm wash over me. I’m not nervous or trying hard to be something Samson will deem attractive or worthy.

With him, I feel like I can be myself, so I bask in the romantic ambiance of the restaurant, and tell Samson I’m ordering for us both

Then I answer his question. “I love Denver, I grew up here and moved back after college, but I’m not sold on the idea of being here forever. I guess I’m open to anything and thankfully my business is portable. I can make jewelry anywhere in the world.”

“So why don’t you do that?” he asks. “Why not set up shop in Paris or Peru?”

A waiter comes around and I order our dinner: spaghetti and meatballs, of course, and a bottle of red wine.

“I traveled growing up, and in college I did a few semesters abroad. But the truth is, I’m not chasing a dream. I already have it. A business I love, that brings joy to every customer. Honestly, I couldn’t ask for more.”

“Nothing more?”

I sigh, “Well I’d love to be married, have children, but after everything that happened over the last few weeks, I’ve learned more about what I really want, what I want to embrace.”

“And what’s that?” Samson’s elbows are on the table, leaning in as if my words are precious and must be heard.

“I want to learn to just let it be. Let the cards fall as they may and not try to force my life down a certain path. Let it be.”

“Let It Be, like the Beatles song?”

I nod, remembering Heart of Gold, imagining his mother washing the dishes or folding the clothes and repeating the words of the song, words that meant so much to him.

Samson runs his hands over his beard as if considering saying something. But then the spaghetti is served and the mood changes.

“These are some big balls,” he says, grinning.

“Yep. Some of the biggest.” I take a sip of the Merlot, savoring this unexpected evening with Samson. “So, tell me about you. You know where I live, what I do, my family, my life plans. What about yours?”

He chooses that moment to take a bite of pasta, and his eyes don’t meet mine. Awesome, so we are back to square one. I’m on another date with a man who is not intending to open up to me at all.

But then he uses his napkin to wipe his mouth, and he clears his throat and looks me in the eye. “It’s really fucking hard to talk about myself, so be patient, Ava Grace.”

I twist my lips, wanting to defend myself, but then he continues talking and I stop and just try to listen.

“You know Taylor and I lost our parents when we were young, right?”

I nod, not knowing the all the details, but knowing Taylor was only seven years old, and that they spent their childhood being shuffled around to distant relatives, and eventually ended up in foster care for a few years.

“Well, I blame myself for a lot of what happened. They died in a car crash, but it was because they were coming to pick me up from school. I had gotten in trouble, was suspended—again. It was junior high and I was an asshole. But my dad, he left work, got my mom, and the two of them were headed to the school to take care of the mess I’d made. On the way, there they hit some ice and died.” Samson tightens his jaw, his shoulders tense.

I blink back the tears and reach across the table to Samson’s hand. He takes mine in his, his skin softer than I expected, his grip tight as if he needs to hold onto something right now. Hold on to me.

“Fuck,” he says, shaking his head. “I’ve never told anyone that. I’ve blamed myself for years, thinking that if I’d had my shit together, I never would have ruined my family. For a long time, I was on the straight and narrow. Doing my best to take care of myself and Taylor, but once he was eighteen, I let loose again. Let myself get in trouble one too many times, and that’s why I left. I skipped town needing to clear my head, you know?”

“Samson, it wasn’t your fault they died; it was an accident.” I run my fingers over his thumb, my heart aching for him, understanding him better now that he’s shared this part of himself. “And after so many years of taking care of Taylor, still a young man yourself, of course, you let loose for a while, you never had a real chance to sow your wild oats.”

“Even if I know that logically, it’s still hard to believe. Especially now with Taylor getting married. Hell, my mom would have loved to meet Sophia; to be here for all this.”

“That makes sense. I bet different times of the year, in general, are more difficult than others.”

Samson nods. “The holidays are always a shitty time for me. I retreat every chance I get.”

“Do you think you’ll always be this way? Need to be alone in the mountains to stay grounded?” I tear off a piece of bread, watching Samson contemplate my question.

“I hope not, Ava Grace. I don’t always want to be alone.” When he looks at me now, it’s as if he’s speaking directly to my soul. It’s like he sees me, is echoing everything inside of me.

“What do you want then, Samson?” I ask.

“I want a wife, a family. But I’ve always been my own worst enemy. I always push people away because what if I let someone in, really in, and then I fuck it up and ruin things. Ruin them?” Samson is choking up; his eyes fill with tears. “That’s what happened with my parents. I fucked things up and they paid for it.”

I wipe away the tears on my cheek, shaking my head. “No, Samson. That’s not the way it works. Your past doesn’t define you, good or bad. Who you are right now, the man you choose to be today—that is what matters.”

He looks at me, blinking back his tears. “I want to be a good man, a man who doesn’t run when he is scared.”

“Then don’t. Be a man who stays.”

He takes hold of my hand again. The spaghetti’s cold, the wine warm in our bellies, the heat between us growing.

“Let’s get out of here,” he tells me.

He doesn’t need to ask me twice. I want to follow wherever Samson leads.

Chapter 14

I lead Ava Grace from the restaurant, knowing where I’m taking her. The valet pulls our car around and I drive her to the second half of our date. Pulling into the empty parking lot, I park the car.

“Samson,” she says, reaching for my arm. “Are we ice skating?”

I consider, right then and there, telling her the full truth, nothing but the truth, but I don’t want to spoil this perfect night. It’s already been so damn heavy, so damn hard. I opened to Ava Grace like I’ve never opened to anyone in my life.

And right now, her eyes are bright, her smile wide. I’m taking this girl skating.

Besides, I can’t bear to tell her who I really am and have her walk away on the heels of my admission over dinner. Right now, I want to hold on to the energy pulsing between us. She heard me explain my biggest fear, deepest regret, and instead of walking out, she held my hand. She saw my heart.

I’m not the one with the heart of gold. Ava Grace is.

“You think you can beat me around the rink?” I ask, her hand slipping in mine as we walk to the entrance.

“Oh, I know I can,” she says, laughing. “I’m not very good, but somehow when I lace up a pair of skates, I feel limitless.”

“You can’t beat a feeling like that.”

We walk into the lobby, it’s empty, there is only one person in the entire place.

“What size?” the man at the counter asks. The open skate hours are taped to the counter.

“Eight,” she tells him, then looks at me. “Where is everyone?”

I shrug. “I made a few calls.”

“But it’s an open skate night.”

“I rented the place for us.”

“Samson.” She opens her mouth as if ready to argue. “That’s crazy sweet of you.”

“You deserve crazy sweet.”

She just laughs and shakes her head. “What happened to the asshole I met at the engagement party? It’s like something happened to you and you became some romantic sap.”

My chest tightens. I’m nervous as fuck to tell her the truth, but before the night is over, I’ll tell her everything.

“A lot can change in a few months.”

A few minutes later Ava and I are on the empty ice rink. The only lights in the massive rink are the ones on the ice, and as we skate—me much more awkwardly than her —we are quiet. My hand finds hers, and she laces her fingers with mine. Every time her body brushes against mine, I make note of her vanilla shampoo scent and twinkling laugh. Each time I stumble, she helps steady me.

We glide, hand in hand, and listen to the music overhead, a mix of cheesy eighties hits, and… and I feel like I could spend the rest of my life with a woman like her. She makes me feel good in my own skin and I’ve never met a person who made me feel that way.

I’m so lost in thought about how I have fallen for this woman—head over heels—that I literally do. I fall over her. We crash to the ground, she falls on the ice, I land on my ass, she laughs as she winces and I groan as I reach to help her up. Every time I try to stand, I fall back down, and then she collapses on top of me.

The air is cold, our breath hot. She’s across my lap, and I pull her to me, her ass in my hands, her lips on my mouth. I’m sitting on ice, but this woman melts everything inside of me. Everything that has been cold and reserved and held back... is thawed.

The kiss is better than I remembered. Maybe when I kissed her last, it was all hot and heavy, the thrill of the chase and the high of our instant connection.

This time the kiss is different. This time I have gotten to know Ava Grace in a way I’ve never known another soul. And she knows me too, even if she doesn’t realize it herself.

Our lips part, her tongue finds mine, and I refuse to let her go.

“I need you, Ava Grace. I need you now,” I tell her.

She stands, offering me her hand, and I take it. We glide off the ice, and she throws me a look over her shoulder, letting me know she needs it just as bad, before leading me to a locker room.

“The ambiance is a bit different than Little Mia Mia,” she says, looking around as she unbuttons her coat, tossing it on the floor without a second thought. The fluorescent lights are bright but the music fills the room, echoing. But I don’t care where I am in this moment, so long as it’s with her. “It’s cold in here, too,” she says, looking at her nipples, hard through her clothes.

“I’ll warm you up, sweetheart,” I tell her, kissing her neck.

“I bet you will,” she murmurs, her fingers threading through my hair as she wraps herself around me. I kiss her again, this time with more heat, passion, and desire. I need her and I can’t wait any longer.

We undress as if we have no time to lose. And maybe we don’t, maybe at some point when you know it’s right, you can’t waste another second. Doing so would be a betrayal of what is true, what is good. What is ours.

She runs her hands over my bare chest as I pull off her dress. My mouth is on her breasts, pushing down the lace of her bra, licking her nipples and tasting her skin.

“Samson, I want to touch you. I need to touch you. I’ve been dreaming of you for so many nights... Hoping and wishing you to come back.”

Her words are like honey, sweet and pure and I feel like the luckiest bastard to know that they are her truth. She unbuckles my belt and my pants fall to the floor. She reaches her hand around my growing cock and I groan, having longed for this moment since the day I left her apartment.

“You’re so hard,” she says, her mouth on my chest, kissing my skin as if she is as desperate for me as I am for her.

“And you haven’t even touched my meatballs.”

She laughs, the laugh that is bright and beautiful. And then she cups my balls softly, tenderly. She strokes my shaft as if it is a genie’s lamp offering her three wishes.

Oh, I’ll fulfill her wishes all right. Her deepest desires and all her fantasies. If only she’ll let me. Now and forever. I will make her wish come true.

“Samson,” she moans as my fingers push aside the fabric of her panties, finding her wet pussy and pressing against her clit.

“You like that, sweetheart? You like it when I touch you?” I ask. I cup a hand on her cheek; drawing her lips to mine again and I kiss her as if overcome with a fever. Delirious with desire. I inhale her scent, our bodies hot, the ice from minutes ago seeming so far away.

I lift her, hands gripping her ass, her legs wrapping around my hips instinctively. Her arms around my neck, her tongue is in my ear —she envelops me. She covers me and I want to fill her, too.

I press her against a wall, the lights in the locker room buzzing and bright, electric just like we are.

“I want to feel you in me,” she whispers in my ear, nibbling at my lobe.

“Good, because that’s all I want,” I tell her, letting her body open up to me. Her pussy stretching as my cock fills up her tight little cunt. She inhales sharply as I take her. She’s so warm and with her body pressed against mine, she’s uninhibited and open and willing.

And so fucking hot.

Her tits are against my chest and her pussy is creamy and ready. She makes me so damn hard and all I want to do is to ram inside of her until she can’t think of anything besides my cock. My cock that was made for her sweet, sweet pussy.

My cock is in her, thrusting deep inside of her as she takes all of me. Her body was made for mine and so I let her know how hot she gets me. I rock inside of her, her pussy walls tightening against my length and she moans in pleasure as she grinds on top of my cock. Her tits bounce in my face as I move inside of her, harder and harder until she is screaming my name.

Her head falls back, the length of her neck such a fucking turn on, her tits so perky and her nipples so hard. I pound into her, wanting her now and wanting her forever.

“Oh God,” she moans, her fingernails pressing into my shoulder blades. “Yes, yes, Samson, that feels—”

And then she can’t speak, she can only moan, whimpering my name as I fill her with my come. As an orgasm rushes over her like a wave she wasn’t expecting. Her arms hold tight around my neck, clinging to me, and my hands hold her round ass, rocking against her.

“Holy shit, I didn’t know I could orgasm like that,” she purrs once we both finish, our bodies sweaty and hot and I want to wash her up good and clean, and then spread her legs, and lick her cunt like I did before.

I have so many dreams for us. I want to worship her body and show her my mountain and I want to watch her peak as she fucks me every damn day.

I love the fact that I get her so wet and get her off, and I kiss her again, this time soft and tender. This time, I kiss her mouth and then her cheeks and her chin. I kiss her nose and her forehead and her ears.

“What was that for?” she asks, catching her breath as I set her back on the ground.

“You have melted this cold, hard mountain man,” I tell her.

She shakes her head, laughing again, and the two of us dress quickly. Once assembled, with the rush of emotions still surging between us, I take her hands and pull her to me.

“I have to tell you something,” I say.

“What? Another joke about your balls?”

I shake my head, taking a deep breath, searching for the courage and strength to tell her what must be said. To tell her what I know might change everything.

“What is it?” Her face falls as if already preparing herself for the worst.

I wish I could do everything over again, wishing I had found another way into Ava Grace’s heart.

“I want you to know that I never meant to hurt you, Ava Grace. I only wanted to understand you. I wanted to see if we could be something more than a one-night stand. When I left your place after the engagement party, I couldn’t get you out of my mind. But I also knew how you’d been hurt before, and how bad I was at letting people in. I didn’t know if I could do it. So, I tried something different. Something I’ve never done before.”

“What?” She shakes her head. “I don’t understand. Tonight, was such a perfect night. Such a wonderful time, I feel things for you, that I—”

“Wait, Ava Grace, that’s not it. There’s more.”

Before I can say another word, the song in the loudspeakers change.

Bon Jovi, Living on A Prayer blares.

Ava Grace’s eyes meet mine, and I watch as the dots connect in her mind. As she puts two and two together. The Italian restaurant and the fucking ice-skating and this song and my inability to be there for her over Christmas when it’s the hardest time of year for me.

“You are Heart of Gold?”

I nod. “I am.”

I expect her to pull closer to me, or maybe that’s just what I want to happen. But she doesn’t. She pulls her hands from mine, steps back.

“I trusted you and all this time you've been playing me like a fool?”

I reach for her, but she’s already flying out of the locker room. I follow her, shouting her name. “Ava Grace, stop, let me—”

I go after her, but she already has her phone out, a car on its way.

“Don’t go,” I beg her. “Let me explain, I wasn’t trying to trick you, I wanted to see if…”

“If what? I was good enough for you?”

She looks at me, tears streaming down her cheeks. I want to wipe them away, take away all her pain. Make everything right for her.

“No, you are enough for me.”

“Oh, great,” she laughs sharply. “I’m glad you figured that out. But there’s still one problem.”

“What’s that?” I ask, wanting her to soften her stance, hear me out —trust me.

“Samson, I don’t think you’re enough for me.”

Then a car pulls up and she doesn’t even turn to meet my eyes.

“I love you, Ava Grace,” I tell her as she steps into the car.

She turns to me, her face written in pain. “But you lied.”

“I made a mistake.”

“Yes,” she says, her voice soft, her eyes a puddle of tears. “Yes, Samson, you did. I thought I could trust you and I don’t know what that means anymore. I need some time. Away from you and HeartofGold and whoever you think you are. We can talk at the wedding if I’m ready. Please, you owe me that.”

And then she is gone.

And I know, without a shadow of a doubt, what I must do.

Chapter 15

I call my sister while I’m in the Uber, headed home. I hiccup the sob story and beg her to come to my rescue. To come to my place, make me tea, and tell me all guys suck.

She is a good sister, and awhile later I am showered and in PJs, a fleece robe over my shoulders and a hot mug of tea in hand, and Sophia asks for the entire rundown, now that I am not in hysterics.

I tell her everything. The conversation I had with Samson at her wild bachelorette night, how he took me out to my favorite restaurant; how we cried, and he opened up to me. How he rented the ice skating rink and won me over with a quickie and a kiss. Lots of kisses. So many kisses.

“Okay, I get it. You had sex in a locker room,” she says. “Keep going. What happened next?”

I explain that he is HeartofGold, how when Bon Jovi blasted through the speakers I saw how he had orchestrated this entire night to cater to me. To trick me. To make me into a fool.

“Or maybe it was just his way of being romantic?” Sophia suggests.

I roll my eyes. “He pretended to be someone he wasn’t, all that time. I told him my deepest fears, my desires. I told him everything.”

“But, just hear me out okay?” she tries. “He wasn’t pretending. I mean, when he emailed you, he was being himself, wasn’t he?”

“I know your life is perfect, Sophia, and it’s probably hard to wrap your mind around my problems, but why are you on his side?”

“Sweetie,” she says, sitting next to me on the couch, wrapping her arms around me. “There aren’t any sides here. I just remember how smitten you were with the person you emailed back and forth with. You told me you were falling in love with that person, and you had no idea who he was. He could have been a creepy next-door neighbor. But it isn’t. It was Samson. A man you also fell for, twice now.”

“But he lied.”

“Or he was just scared.”

“But he should have told me it was him, back when I asked before Christmas. Instead, he just left me high and dry.”

“I thought you said he admitted that the holidays were really hard for him to get through?” Sophia says. “Maybe what he really needs is someone who understands him, accepts him, flaws and all.”

“I don’t know, Sophia,” I say, blowing my nose. “He’s scared of hurting someone... and what if he does? What if he breaks my heart?”

“But what if he puts it back together?”

* * *

Not knowing how I want to proceed, I wake up the next day determined to focus on something besides my own heart.

When Samson emails, as HeartofGold, I’m scared to open the email. But I do. Mostly because of course, I must know what he says.

From: heartofgold

To: avagracewentworth

Dear Ava Grace,

With all that I am and all that I hope to be, I am sorry. A thousand times over, I am sorry.

Always, Samson

Of course, I want to forgive him... and I will... but my heart aches, wishing he wanted to offer me more.

When I open my work email I get a custom order request.

From: mineandcoassistant

To: avagracedesigns

Hello!

On behalf of my boss, I would like to order a custom engagement ring.

He is a huge fan of your custom work, and loves the latest designs on your website and trusts your concepts.

According to him, it needs to be, “Beautiful, yet imperfect. Pure gold, but rough around the edges. Just like our love. It needs a glittering stone that sparkles, just like her—I want it to be unconventional yet something you can’t help but look at. Can’t help but fall in love with.”

There is no limit to the amount he would be willing to spend.

Also, he would like to supply the gold for the ring. Please be in touch with me so we can work together to get him exactly what he wants.

Thank you,

Linda Patterson

* * *

I read the email again, and then again. It’s hard not to feel jealous of this stranger, the man and also the woman he is asking to be his wife. He could succinctly express what he wants out of this ring, and why. In all the time I’ve been making jewelry, there have been plenty of times when I was brought to tears over the sweet sentiments and stories a couple has shared with me and how they expressed what they wanted their pieces to represent, but never have I read a man explain his love like this.

It takes my breath away.

Still, as I reread the email I can’t help but think it is the most unusual request. The customer isn’t contacting me directly. I pick up my phone.

I call Linda Patterson, to plan, and she explains that her boss wants to use a specific gold that holds a lot of meaning to him.

“That is actually really romantic,” I tell her. “Could I speak with him to get a better idea of what he would like the ring to look like?”

“No, that won’t work,” she tells me. “He really loves your work, and trusts your eye.”

“And money, you said there is no limit? I mean, would he want a two karat diamond or ten?”

“He wants whatever will best represent someone beautiful, yet imperfect. You can invoice me and I will put down a deposit, straight away. And I can express the gold to your studio as soon as you give me the go ahead.”

“So, he just wants me to design this ring, however I like, and spend as much as I want?” I laugh, thinking this request is insane.

“Exactly. How soon can you make it?”

“When do you need it?”

“In four weeks.”

“Well, that will require me to juggle my calendar around slightly—”

“No problem,” Linda says, cutting me off. “He will pay double for it.”

I’m unable to say no, obviously—money is money—but also this is the most exciting order I have ever received. I get the details, send an invoice, and Linda tells me the gold will be delivered via FedEx in twenty-four hours.

I hang up, laughing at the absurdity, but then tears spring to my eyes at the romantic man and the woman who is lucky enough to have him.

I open my design portfolio, determined to make the most beautiful ring I have ever created in my life.

Chapter 16

The month passes in a blur.

Work keeps me busy, and it’s been too damn long since I focused on the company I own and the mountain that pays for my freedom.

The approaching wedding, and knowing I will see Ava Grace again, is a huge motivator for me to go all in with work. I head to the mines each morning on the outskirts of Faro. I get in my pickup truck with the snow-capped mountains surrounding me. The fresh mountain air fills my lungs before I don a headlamp and head below the Earth’s surface to check on my crews.

It’s fucking terrifying to have laid it all out for Ava Grace, not knowing how she will receive me when I see her again, but also knowing I am currently my best self... the best man I have ever been. No longer wrapped up in my past, I am looking to my future.

A future I want to share with Ava.

I send my housekeeper Esme, and my assistant Linda, to my place outside of Whistler a few days before the wedding weekend begins. If Ava Grace forgives me, I want to bring her to one of my houses and then drop to one knee. Which means I want my seldom-used place to look like a home.

* * *

Now the wedding weekend is here. I drive the one hundred miles to Whitehorse and then get on a plane to Whistler. Linda says I should take a private jet, but I don’t need that fancy ass shit. When I finally, hopefully, have my woman here with me, of course, I’ll buy a jet if she wants it—but I don’t need that just for me.

When I finally land in Whistler, I take a deep fucking breath. This place is crowded every day of the goddamned year, and it exhausts me. That’s why I would never stay in the village proper. I have a place thirty minutes outside of the busy ski town and I take a cab to my place to check in with Esme before I meet up with the wedding party.

“Can I show you the redecorated great room, Samson?” Esme asks after I drop off my bags in my room. She hands me a whiskey and we walk toward the back of the house to the room large enough for a gala. The previous owners were politicians, and I get why they’d need a room that could seat two hundred. Me, though? I’m not planning on throwing any parties anytime soon. Still, the room was dated, musty and needed new flooring installed.

“It looks great, Esme. Especially the fireplace. That is really good craftsmanship.” The mantle is made of geodes and raw-edged wood. It's a work of art.

“Oh, Linda had that made. It was all her idea.”

“Is she around?” I ask, knowing that she has a package that is incredibly important.

“Yes, she was just arranging flowers as you requested, in the kitchen. Pink roses in every room, correct?”

“Correct.” I head to the kitchen and see Linda seconds before my mind registers hundreds of pink roses.

“Well, what do you think?” she asks, turning a vase to face me.

“It looks pink.”

Linda smiles. “That is what you asked for, is it not?”

“It is. I just hope it goes as planned. If she walks away...”

Linda nods, understanding the seriousness of what I am doing. “It’s going to be okay, Samson, either way.”

I run my hand over my beard, thinking she is wrong. I don’t know how I can live without Ava Grace. This past month has been torture. Without having an email from her every day, I’m going through withdrawals.

“And the ring?” I ask.

“Here you are,” she says, reaching into a drawer and presenting me with a ring box.

I open it, my throat tight. The workmanship is incomparable. If I thought the fireplace was a work of art, then this must be a masterpiece.

“It’s perfect,” I say, closing the lid and slipping it in my coat pocket. “I need to get going. The rehearsal dinner is in an hour, and I need to change before I go.”

“Of course, a suit is laid out in your room.”

“Thank you, Linda. For coordinating this for me. I couldn’t have pulled it off without you.”

“Now you just need to go get the girl, and bring her home.”

I nod, tense, knowing nothing is ever that simple, ever so easy.

Especially when hearts are on the line.

* * *

The rehearsal is set for four o’clock, and afterward we are having dinner. I pull up to The Historic Claremont a half hour early, wondering what room Ava Grace is staying in. The wedding and reception are both being held here, and after the wedding, the twenty guests are invited to stay at the hotel for an additional four days to ski and relax with the bride and groom.

That isn’t what I plan on doing, though.

Getting out of my truck, I pat my pocket, triple checking that the ring is there. I don’t know when the perfect moment will present itself.

Once inside, I text Taylor letting him know I’ve arrived and he tells me to join him at the hotel bar.

I find him with a handful of friends, the other two groomsmen, Sophia’s father, and some older men that I assume are her extended family.

“Hey, Samson,” Taylor calls, standing up and clapping my back in greeting. I shake the hand of the guys I met at the bachelor party, and reintroduce myself to Sophia’s father, Troy, hoping to steal him away before the night is through.

“Look at you,” I say, shaking my head, a grin spreading over my face. “Can’t believe you’re getting hitched.”

“Luckiest man in the world,” Taylor says, nodding in agreement. “Sophia’s here, want to say hello?” As we walk over, he makes a comment about Ava, how she’s been a wreck over seeing me. How I better not fuck anything up this weekend. He smiles when he says that last part, but I know how much this day means to him. He is making a family, the one thing he and I haven’t had for so much of our lives.

“So, you know... everything?” I ask.

“Of course. Women talk, but sisters? Hell, they are all up in one another’s business.”

“Right.” I try not to let his words discourage me and I follow him to a group of women, scanning the room for Ava Grace, not seeing her anywhere. Sophia wraps her arms around me; genuinely happy to see me and all I can think is she wouldn’t be so nice if she were on Team-I-Hate-Samson.

“You ready for the big day?” I ask, trying to keep things light, easy—not about Ava and me.

“I thought I’d ask the same question of you. Nervous?” she asks.

“About what? I’m not the one marrying this bastard,” I joke, squeezing my little brother’s shoulders.

“I mean about seeing Ava... it’s been a month since...”

“Since I fucked everything up?” I offer.

Sophia grimaces, yet still managing to look in control. She’s wearing a fitted green dress, her hair straight, a small string of diamonds on her neck. Elegant and poised, just like her mother Cora who is a few feet away talking with other guests.

“Speak of the devil,” Taylor says, nodding, looking over my shoulder. I turn, and there she is. A tornado of emotion rushes through me, and I feel swept up in Ava Grace.

She looks like a Valentine’s Day card, pale pink lips and a soft pink dress, hitting her above her knees. The neckline is shaped in a heart, her hair lighter than when I saw it last, and pink highlights frame her face. Ava Grace isn’t trying to be sexy—she just looks like love.

True love.

Now I just need to convince her to be my Valentine.

To be mine, forever.

As I step toward her, an employee runs in the bar, shouting, “Fire,” he yells. “There’s a fire!”

Ava Grace’s eyes meet mine, and then it starts raining from the ceiling.

The sprinklers are triggered, chaos unleashed.

I reach for Ava’s hands; she lets me take them.

With hands held tight we run from the burning building.

Chapter 17

Hundreds of people stream out onto the front lawn of the Claremont. Only trouble is, the lawn is covered in snow. Whistler is a skiers’ paradise, but I am not a skier.

And even if I were, like my sister and Taylor, no one here is prepared for evacuation. My sister, with her beautiful hair and makeup, her dress soaked through, I catch her eye and she is shaking her head in horror as we stand back and watch the hotel ignite.

“Stand back. Stand back everyone,” firefighters yell as they carry hoses from their trucks. The fire is at the back of the building, where all the rooms are, but since the sprinklers went off, not much of the interior will be destroyed.

“My God,” I say, shaking my head in shock. “I can’t believe this is happening to Sophia and Taylor.” My heart breaks for my sister. I know how badly she wanted this day to be perfect, this entire wedding to be a dream come true. And now everything is up in flames.

“I hope to hell everyone’s okay,” Samson says, wrapping his arm around me. His arm feels like safety, like security and promise. I don’t want him to let go.

We haven’t exchanged even a few words yet, and I know things like I’m sorry and I forgive you will need to be said, but then tragedy struck us all.

I nestle myself deeper against him, my cheek presses against his chest, and he smells like evergreen and mountain air. He smells like a man.

And I want to tell him I want him to be my man.

Will I forgive him? One million times over.

Let it be. Let it be.

No one is perfect, every one of us is flawed. But I believe in my heart Samson was trying to make things right when he came clean to me. He wasn’t trying to hide.

And I see him.

“Everyone is going to need to leave the property,” a firefighter directs us.

Samson nods and leads me toward my sister and the rest of the family. The wedding party is huddled on the road, our heels sinking in the deep snow and our bare legs shivering.

“An employee told us that everyone has been safely evacuated,” Sophia explains, her eyes filling with tears. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Taylor looks like a train wreck, stress written in his eyes, and I hate that everything is ruined.

“Does anyone know what happened?” my mother asks. My father’s hand is on hers, and everyone’s watching the back half of the hotel crumble. The sky is full of smoke, and the fact that it’s already nightfall doesn’t help anything.

“I heard someone mention an electrical fire,” my aunt tells us.

As we watch the firefighters work to extinguish the flames, I feel Sampson slip away from me.

Instantly, I wish he were back at my side. I see him speaking with my father and Taylor several feet away.

“I’m so sorry, Sophia,” I tell my sister, wrapping her in a hug. The bridesmaids, Janet and Cecily cling to their husbands, everyone shocked at what has happened.

“It’s all so tragic,” Sophia whispers. “I guess there’s no rehearsal dinner tonight.”

Janet, Cecily and I take in her words. I wish with all my heart there was something I could do to fix things for her.

My mom is talking loudly, not helping the situation, “With this being a holiday weekend all the hotels are booked solid. My third cousin Caroline wanted to come, last-minute, to the wedding, but she couldn’t find a place to stay anywhere.”

“Not a single place to sleep in Whistler?” I ask. “Aren’t there, like, a thousand hotels here?”

“Perhaps, but Caroline wouldn’t stay anywhere less than four-star.”

I realize this is not the time to pick a fight, but it's hard not to roll my eyes at my family’s propriety. All we need now are warm beds, food, and shelter. The truth is, we should just be grateful we are alive.

Several minutes later the men rejoin us.

“Everything okay?” Sophia asks, then groans at herself. “My God, that was the dumbest thing I’ve ever said. Of course, everything is not okay. Everything is ruined.” She wipes the tears from her eyes and Taylor wraps her in a hug.

“Actually, Sophia,” he says. “Everything isn’t lost.”

“What do you mean?” Sophia asks looking up at her husband-to-be.

“The best man saved the day.”

All eyes turn to Samson, who immediately drops his gaze. This mountain man looks uncomfortable in this fancy suit and his beard tells a bigger story. He’s a man who lives on the land and loves this country.

So how is Samson, this reclusive wanderer, going to save the day?

“How?” Sophia asks.

Samson nods his head, looking at my sister. “You’re welcome to join me at my place, for the weekend. It’s not the Claremont, and I’m sorry for that Sophia, but I think it might work in a pinch.”

“Your place?” She asks. She shakes her head confused. “But I thought you lived in a cabin in...” She purses her lips. “Where exactly do you live?”

“I love outside of Faro, in the Yukon. But I have a place here that I keep as an investment property.”

“Investment property?” Sophia asks, looking at me to see if I knew about this. I shake my head, as confused as she is. His words don’t match the image we have of him in our minds.

But then I laugh to myself because this is Samson. Has he ever been anything I thought he was? I thought he was incapable of love, of opening up, being humble and being open. But that isn’t the case all. I got to know him as HeartofGold and realized there’s more to him than meets the eye.

“Why do you have an investment property?” Sophia presses. “I thought you lived in a cabin. In the middle of nowhere.”

“I do live in the middle of nowhere. But, I have a mine up there.” Samson looks at the ground, clearly uncomfortable with her line of questioning.

“A mine?” I ask, thoroughly confused. I guess I assumed Samson hunted bears and foraged for food.

“I, uh, bought some land when I moved up north, and, there was some veins of gold in the Heartland Mountains, which I own.”

“What do you mean, veins of gold?” Janet asks. “Like, a gold mine?”

Sophia is typing away on her phone, lips pursed. Then a shocked gasp escapes them. “Holy shit. You’re not joking.” She turns her phone to face us, images of his mine, his properties, and even a Wikipage on him are listed.

Samson runs his hand over his beard. “Look, I’m a miner, and there was a gold rush a few years back.” Samson nods stoically, looking at the ground, crossing his arms. It’s as if talking about money and his accomplishments is the most uncomfortable thing in the world.

I smile at that, appreciating how he isn’t bound by the trappings of material things. He doesn’t lead with what he has always done. He’s himself, and I can’t help but think maybe I’m not the only one who wears her heart on her sleeve. Maybe Samson does too.

“A gold rush? What does that mean?” Sophia asks.

“It means he’s billionaire.” Taylor says. “Don’t look at me like that, Sophia,” he continues. “I had no idea either. He just told your dad and me just now. But I think this plan is a good one. Solid. It’s not perfect, it’s not the dream you had planned, but we can still get married, you and me. We can still start our life together.”

Taylor wipes away her tears and then she wraps Samson in a hug. “Thank you, thank you so much,” she gushes.

I’m relieved to see my sister finding a way to roll with the punches after so many years of being uptight.

“So how far is your place?” Janet’s husband asks Samson. “Because it’s fucking cold out here. And it’s only gonna get colder.”

“Only thirty minutes away. It won’t take long.”

“And should we order dinner to go?” my mother asks. “Is there, I don’t know, pizza delivery?”

“Oh, my God,” Sophia laughs. “I’ve never heard mom order pizza in my life.” She calms down and says, “I can’t believe the hotel burned down, all of our things are destroyed, were’ standing in snow, and eating pizza for my rehearsal dinner. This was so not the plan.”

We all shake our heads, still not believing what’s just transpired.

“We don’t need to get pizza, Cora,” Samson tells her. “I already called my cook and she’s called in a handful of extra staff for tonight. There will be a dinner for you, Sophia, I promise.”

Cook? Investment properties? The gold rush?

I shake my head in disbelief. Samson saved the day, proving that he truly has a heart of gold.

“Then, let’s not sit around anymore, I’ll sort things out with the hotel later, but for now let’s get everyone out of the cold,” my father says.

“Before you go,” Samson says my father. “I need to speak with you.”

My dad nods and everyone begins to go separate ways, Samson telling them that he’ll text them his address.

I look at my sister, Taylor, and my mom, deciding who I should ride with, grateful we’ve all rented cars when we landed in Whistler.

“Ava Grace,” a voice calls to me. I turned and find Samson looking at me. “I need to talk to your father, but then, you’re coming home with me.”

Chapter 18

I pull Ava Grace’s father aside so we can have a talk. Because later, Ava Grace and I are going to have a talk.

A talk that’s going to change everything.

“What’s this about, son? It’s freezing cold out here you know,” he tells me.

“I know, sir, it’s important.”

“Well then?” He looks at me, waiting for me to continue.

“Here’s the thing, I moved out to the Yukon because I was determined to live my life on my own terms. I didn’t want to be owned by anyone, have anyone tell me who I needed to be or how I needed to do it. I don’t ask permission.”

Troy nods, and I appreciate that he’s trying to follow.

“The thing is,” I tell him. “I thought I didn’t need to ask permission, for anything. But I was wrong. I need to ask you permission, sir. Permission for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

Troy’s eyebrows raise, clearly shocked, I’m not surprised. I figured he might not know everything that’s gone down between Ava and me, but I need to do this right. Even if it’s uncomfortable or seems old-fashioned, I know one thing about Ava Grace. She’s a romantic. Asking her father for her hand in marriage is something I want to do for her. For us.

“Is this something she’s hoping you’d ask? I don’t mean to be rude, Samson, but this is the first I’ve heard of it.”

“I know, sir, I know it might seem unexpected—”

“No, not unexpected. I’ve learned through raising Ava Grace that expecting the unexpected is the only way to survive when it comes to that girl. And who am I to judge? You want to be with her and she wants to be with you, well then welcome to the family. I trust her implicitly. But you, Samson, can I trust you?”

“Yes, sir,” I tell him. “You can trust me, I won’t let you down.”

Troy nods slowly, reaching his arms around me and giving me a fatherly hug. I haven’t received a hug like this in twenty years.

“It’s not me you need to worry about letting down, Samson. If she’s going to be your wife, Ava Grace is the only one you need to worry about making happy.”

* * *

In the car, Ava Grace is silent. I’m silent too, not wanting to push her, but so badly wanting to help her.

Eventually, we get on the road and I know it’s up to me to break the silence.

“I’m so glad you weren’t hurt in the fire, Ava Grace.”

She makes a sharp intake of breath. Her hand reaches for mine. “I forgive you, Samson. I forgive you and I should have told you that sooner.”

“We’ll talk about that, but I don’t want to stress you out. This whole night has already been so—”

“No, I’m not stressed out,” she tells me. “I feel like I know exactly who I am and exactly what I want. And Samson, I hated spending a month without you.”

I look at her, at this woman who takes my breath away. I didn’t expect her onslaught of emotions like this, telling me she’s accepted my apology and that she has missed me.

I wanted her to say these things, of course I did, but I knew I didn’t necessarily deserve them.

“I know what I want too,” I tell her.

“What do you want, Samson?” she asks, squeezing my knee. “Besides giving me your meatballs?”

Her joke makes driving fucking impossible. All I want is to pull over and have her here and now. I groan, feeling my cock grow hard, but knowing I need to get my girl safely home.

I keep my eyes on the road. “I want to talk this all through, but I need to get you to my place safely, first. Hell, especially after we’ve been through the fire, been through hell and back, I need to get you home in one piece.”

“I understand,” she says, keeping her hand on my knee.

My heart is pumping, so fucking grateful that she forgive me. Ava is sitting next to me laughing about mother fucking meatballs and I know we are made for one another.

“So,” she says, “you’re not actually this reclusive man living alone in the woods?”

I shake my head to clarify. “I am a recluse. I live alone, except for some employees.”

“But you live out in the woods? Pretty far from here?”

“I live about a two-hour flight from here, and it’s in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. But it’s beautiful. And I’m lucky bastard to have so much.”

“I can’t believe you’re a billionaire. You really pull off the I-don’t-give-a-shit-vibe very well.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Ava Grace laughs, and that laughter fills the car with what sounds like a thousand stars.

“It is a compliment,” she tells me, lacing her fingers through mine. “A very good compliment.”

* * *

Once everyone has arrived safely to my home, everyone’s eyes widen as they take in my place.

“Damn, brother, this is just one of your homes?” Taylor asks.

“Yeah, but honestly, the things I own don’t define me.”

Ava Grace is by my side. The girl who is incapable of holding back. “So, then what defines you, Samson?”

“The people in my life.”

“Crazy to hear that from you, Samson,” Taylor scoffs. “After you’ve been MIA for so long.”

“People change,” I say, meaning it with every fiber of my being.

Esme and Linda somehow managed to find five people to help run the show tonight. “We sent someone to town to get everyone toiletries and a simple change of clothing,” Esme explains to the wedding party.

“Do you think all of our luggage is completely destroyed?” Cecily asks.

“We’ll know tomorrow,” Troy says. “I just got done talking with hotel and they don’t know how much damage there was. Thankfully, the fire was contained quickly and was just in a portion of the hotel. So, we might be okay.”

“Alright,” Sophia says. “It’s just, my wedding dress...”

“I know dear,” her mother says. “But there is no use fretting over trying to work that all out. Someone is running to grab us pajamas and toothbrushes. So, we can be grateful for that.”

Esme lets everyone know that dinner will be served in one hour and if they’d like to relax in the great room until then, there are cocktails and appetizers waiting.

Everyone starts to leave the foyer, a game plan in place, but I catch the eye of Ava, not wanting her to leave with everyone else.

Not wanting her to leave at all.

“Ava Grace, can you come with me?”

“Are you going to tell me what you want now?” she asks with a smile.

“I am.” I take her hand and lead her to the back of the house. I drape a coat over her shoulders and offer her a pair of gloves. I don a coat as well and open the back door, stepping back into the frigid winter air.

“Better be good, to bring me back out to the freezing cold.”

“It’s good. I promise.” I take her hand and lead her down a path away from the house. The sky is pitch black and you can’t hear a thing. I look at her and then raise my eyes to the stars.

“Ava Grace, there there are more stars in the sky than anyone can count, and that has always made me feel so small. But then I met you, and I didn’t feel insignificant anymore. I didn’t feel like I needed to hide. Your light was burning bright; you are stars, personified. You light up my life and I don’t want to be in the night sky alone. I want to be your star. And I want you to be mine.”

Tears fill her eyes. She’s looking at me as if she can’t look away. And I can’t look away either. She has captivated me.

“I love you, Ava Grace. And I know I am flawed. I know I messed up a part of our story and for that, I am so sorry. But I don’t think our story is finished, I think it has just begun. I think our love was written in the stars. I want you to be my wife. Will you marry me, Ava Grace?”

Ava gasps, covering her mouth in surprise. “Yes, yes Samson.” She’s crying and nodding and trembling all at the same time. She’s laughing the laugh that captured my heart and fills my soul.

I dropped to one knee and pull out the black box. Then I open it, offer the final secret that I’ve kept.

“Oh, my God, Samson. You? You did this... for me?”

“I know is not conventional to ask a woman to make her own engagement ring, but—”

“It’s the most romantic thing. Samson, you truly have a heart of gold.”

She wraps her arms around me, and I breathe her in, her goodness and her truth and her love. I don’t know how I got so lucky as to find her, to have and to hold her, but I do.

And I’ll never let her go.

“I’m going to kiss you now, Ava Grace.”

My hands cup her cheeks and I pull her lips to mine. I kiss her softly, I kiss her gently. I kiss her and promise her my heart.

Chapter 19

I can’t believe my life right now.

We walk into the great room, where everyone is drinking cocktails, laughing, warming up by the fire blazing in the gorgeous fireplace.

I don’t want to steal my sister’s thunder, but today was so wild, so unexpected on so many levels, and besides, everyone I love is here.

My sister and her husband and my parents. My cousin Trudy and her Star Wars fanatic husband and my aunt and her husband. I must tell them the news because there are no guarantees, all we have is now.

Right now, if I tell them, they can celebrate with me. We can toast together... and then Samson and I can continue with our night as planned.

After telling them the news everyone offers us hugs and congratulations. I’m grateful for my sister, because even if she’s got a total stick up her ass in so many situations, her heart is good, and her love for me is real. She wants the best for me the same way I want the best for her. And really, can anyone ask for more than that?

“Ava, I’m so happy. I’m so happy this worked out the way it did.” Sophia’s eyes are filled with tears and I don’t know if it’s the cocktail or the fact that her wedding dress may be burned to a crisp but her support means so much.

“I have the best idea,” Sophia says. “We should have a double wedding. Tomorrow.”

I laugh. “Um, okay, sweetheart, you get right on that.”

“No,” she says, grabbing my hands. “I mean it. After that fire tonight, all I can think is how precious life is. How we can’t have everything perfect—”

“Wait,” I say, raising my hands in feigned shock. “My sister, the one and only Sophia is admitting that life isn’t always perfect?”

“I know, right?” She laughs. “But it’s true. When you find love it would be foolish to squander it, for even one day.”

“I love you,” I tell her, wrapping my arms around her, grateful that even if we haven’t always seen eye to eye, right now we do. Love is precious, and I am going to hold on to mine.

My parents are thrilled as well, apparently, Samson pulled my father aside and asked for my hand in marriage.

Listen, I’m a romantic at heart. I read romance novels and re-watch romantic comedies dozens of times, and make freaking wedding rings for a living. I wanted a love story. And I have one.

“Think that’s enough small talk for me, I may be your fiancé, but I’m still a mountain man, and I need my woman all to myself.”

My heart surges with pride as he calls himself my fiancé. I don’t think there is a better word in the English language. And so, when he takes my hand and pulls me away from the party, from the dinner and the drinks, I let him lead the way.

* * *

In his room, with the door locked, he undresses me. One zipper, two snaps, three kisses along my neck.

“You looked like a Valentine’s Day card today,” he tells me, whispering the words in my ear.

I giggle, actually giggle. As if I’m a giggler. Before I met Samson I was a lot of things I’m not anymore. He has changed me.

“Do you like Valentine’s Day?” I ask, his hand running over my hips, pulling me to him.

“Now that I get to celebrate it with you, tomorrow, yes.”

He drops to his knees and pulls down my panties. His mouth kisses my pussy, and my body is his. Now and forever. His strong arms wrap around my waist, and my hands run through his hair.

“That feels so good,” I moan as his tongue finds my folds, sucking me like my body was made for him. I’m so wet, and his tongue licks me like he was made to taste me.

He stands, cupping my breasts, pulling a nipple to his mouth and sucking it sweetly. He’s waking my body up, head to toe, and I’m in no rush. I get him now and I get him forever. Samson is mine.

He takes off his clothes and I grin like a fool when I see his chiseled body.

“How is it possible that you are more ripped than when I saw you last?”

“I work with my hands.”

“Oh yeah? You like to work with your hands?” I tease, my fingers inside the waistband of his boxers, pulling them off and then letting my fingers wrap around his long hard cock.

“I love to work with my hands, sweetheart.”

His fingers press against my clit as if he knows my pleasure spot.

“Is your home nice?” I ask, my eyes fluttering closed as he touches me.

“You’re gonna love it there. It’ll be just us, no distractions. I’ll spread your legs every day of your life, I’ll lick your pussy and make you drip.”

“I don’t really want to drip,” I murmur. “I want to gush. I want you to make me so wet that my come gets all over your face. I want to sit on you, and I want you to eat me out like you were made to do so.”

Samson growls in my ear, squeezing my ass and then picking me up. “How about we do that right now, baby,” he says, and I sigh out a yes.

I push him on the bed and crawl over his perfect body, uninhibited with him, because after our emails and our heart-to-hearts and our tears and laughter—I feel so safe with him. So, I turn around, my ass in his face, sitting on his mouth, and drop my head so I can take him deep in my throat.

I suck him, his hard cock, into my mouth, burning my throat. He’s so big and so thick, but I love the way it makes me feel when I run my tongue over his hardness. It makes me feel like a woman and makes me feel loved and beautiful.

Samson’s tongue is deep in my pussy, licking me up and down, up and down, my clit is on fire, my juice all over him. He presses a finger inside me, moving in out, faster and faster, making me come. Making me pour. Making me gush.

“Oh, my God, Samson, don’t stop. Don’t stop. Oh, my God,” I moan.

He keeps finger fucking me, and I keep sucking him, cupping his balls with my hand, moving my thumb up and down the hard ridges of his length.

“I’m so close sweetheart, I’m gonna come in your mouth.”

“No,” I say. “I want your cock in me when you come. I want your come inside me, please.”

He squeezes my ass, groaning as I turn around, gliding down on his thickness. Rocking over his chest, my tits bouncing. His arms wrap around my waist as I move with him inside of me. Rocking my hips as we fuck, as his come pulses within me, as my body lights up, the stars in the sky bursting.

“Oh, my God, Ava Grace, never stop,” he groans, his string of words perfection in my ears.

“That was magic,” I tell him, laughing. Giggling.

“You know how it could be more magical?” he asks, his hands on my hips, his eyes on mine.

“What,” I ask, still catching my breath, still amazed that the ring on my finger is the one I made.

“We should get married on Valentine’s Day,” he tells me.

“What?” I laugh. “Did you talk to my sister?”

He shakes his head. “No, why?”

“She said the same thing.”

“Good. Because I want to, Ava Grace. I want to marry you tomorrow. Don’t make this mountain man wait.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “You, this hard-ass man, want to get married on the most romantic day of the year?”

“Yes. For you? For us? Always.”

Epilogue

“I can’t believe I’m getting married today,” Sophia says. Our mother adjusts her veil; her bridesmaids are in their red dresses.

“The fact that our hotel rooms weren’t lost to the fire is such luck,” my mother says.

We all nod in agreement; it couldn’t have turned out better. Of course, the beautiful hotel is ruined, and we can’t have a wedding there, but all our clothing and personal items that were left in suitcases were salvaged.

“I can’t believe you’re getting married, too,” Sophia says, looking at me in the mirror.

My cousin Trudy is fixing my train, and the fact that I’m even in a white wedding gown is a miracle.

“It’s so romantic that Samson had his mother’s wedding dress,” Esme, Samson’s housekeeper tells me. “He saved it all these years, a man who does that cannot possibly have a cold heart.”

“I just feel so grateful that it was able to be flown here on such short notice.”

The dress just arrived from Samson’s house in Faro. We’re having an evening wedding so that all the last-minute preparations could come together.

“I just don’t quite understand why Samson had so many pink roses already.” Janet looks down at the pink rose bouquet in her hand.

“He had them already,” Esme answers for me. “Because he wasn’t exactly sure how his proposal to our Ava Grace would go. There were a lot of scenarios and we were preparing for all of them. One option was to bring her back here alone. That’s what we were thinking was happening. No one planned on a fire.”

I don’t know exactly how Samson would’ve proposed had it been just him and me here. I’m not saying I’m glad the fire happened, but somehow this all feels like it was supposed to happen. And I wouldn’t change a thing.

“Everyone ready?” my father asks, stepping into the dressing room.

Sophia and I nod, reaching for one another’s hands. Her dress is elegant, lined in fur just like she wanted. My dress is much more romantic. A long skirt made of soft chiffon, sleeves off the shoulder, lacy and delicate.

“You look beautiful,” my father tells me. “Your grandpa would’ve loved to see you like this.” My father kisses my cheek and I blink back the tears thinking of Grandpa Bill and how he always believed in me.

“I love you, daddy,” I tell him. He offers me one arm and Sophia his other arm, and then we walk down to the great room, where our double wedding is about to begin.

* * *

The ceremony is small and intimate, the way Sophia wanted it, and I know that Samson prefers it this way too.

Me? I don’t care. All I care about is the fact that I am standing before my husband, slipping a ring on his finger, promising our forevers to one another. Sophia and Taylor have just finished their vows. Now it’s our turn.

The officiate guides us, and I hold on to every word, every syllable. Binding the promises to my heart.

“I do,” he says.

“I do,” I say.

Samson kisses me, on my lips, tenderly. He kisses me and all I want to do is sink into him. But before I can, music plays. The first notes of the song send shockwaves through my body.

I pull back in surprise.

“Is this—?” I ask, my eyes widening, a smile spread across my face.

“You and me, we’re living on a prayer, sweetheart,” Samson says. He picks me up and then carries me down our makeshift aisle.

We have a long way to go. I’ve never been to his home; we’ve never lived life together. In the words of JBJ, take my hand and we’ll make it, I swear.

We’re already halfway there.

I wrap my arms around my mountain man, grinning like a fool, hopelessly in love with my husband and his heart of gold.

❤️❤️❤️

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Prologue

Grabbing the Prosecco from the fridge, Everly finds three mason jars, pops the cork, and divvies up the bubbly. The goal tonight is to forget the reality of the situation she and her two best friends have found themselves in.

Homeless. Jobless. Boy-less.

Champagne will certainly help the cause.

“Is that the last bottle?” Delta asks, as Everly balances all three glasses in her hands and walks back into the living room.

Everly moans as she delivers the drinks. She’s wearing her hair in a messy bun and her nerd-girl glasses contribute to her low-key appearance. But tonight she isn’t acting low-key. Tonight she is dramatic and drunk.

A dangerous pairing for any twenty-two-year-old woman.

“The state of my checking account was so depressing I was like, eff it, and bought two more bottles,” she says.

“That’s what I love about you, Everly,” Delta snorts. “You’re just so damn responsible.” She takes the glass from Everly’s hand and sets it on the coffee table before screwing the cap back on a bottle of eco-friendly nail polish. She’s just painted daisies on her big toes, as if declaring herself the ultimate flower child. Her long hair and boho dress complete the look. She’s a vegan, through and through, and living in Portland, Oregon makes her lifestyle easy.

Clinking the rims of their glasses, Everly takes a long sip. “I know, it’s hard to be such a put-together adult, but somebody has to do it.” She smirks, knowing she’s anything but put-together.

“No, but like, for reals, what are we going to do?” Amelia, who is braiding her hair, asks. She’s in ratty sweats and a tank top, but she gets a pass considering Derrick, her boyfriend of four years, just broke up with her. “I mean, all of us were legit counting on staying at Derrick’s summer house for the next three months. Now we’re going to get kicked out of here in a week. Then what?”

“Calm down. It’s all going to work out,” Everly tells her, not believing the words herself, but knowing Amelia needs the affirmation—considering she’s the one recovering from an unexpected break-up.

Everly falls onto the couch, squeezing between her two best friends. They all take drinks of the bubbly, each lamenting their own personal hell.

They aren’t exactly on top of the world. And they feel deceived. The entire universe led them to believe that if they went to college they would be grown-ups. But here they are, all three of them a week out of Oregon State College, with no job prospects, no boyfriends, and—apparently—no housing.

“This sucks,” Amelia says, her head falling on Everly’s shoulder. “Why didn’t a career counselor ever mention the fact that a Fine Arts degree wouldn’t help me? All it did was teach me that I’m more of a hobbyist in terms of creating visual masterpieces. Like, I can legit scrapbook, but that isn’t a job.”

“Um, sweetie,” Delta says, “my degree is in Hospitality. There are literally no jobs for me.”

“You can be a hotel desk clerk,” Everly suggests.

“Yeah, except I didn’t need a degree for that, and it won’t offer me health insurance or pay my student loans. It’s not realistic.”

“I know,” Everly says. “Even if I sold a story to some magazine, I’d make what—fifty bucks if I was lucky? And I can’t afford to sit here and write the next great American novel. That won’t pay any of the bills.”

Everly thought a degree in English Literature would help her become a writer, but so far she’s only completed a few short stories about her life as a college student. Not exactly inspiring.

“At this point I would do anything to stop feeling so out of control. I just want a plan,” Amelia says. “I feel desperate.”

“I’m not desperate, I’m just horny as hell. I haven’t been with someone in like, three months,” Delta moans. “I want a husband, someone to keep me warm at night and fuck me all day long.”

“Then we should have gotten MRS degrees, not BAs,” Everly says, sighing into her champagne. “Not that I’m exactly ready for marriage.”

Delta and Amelia both look at Everly, giving her puppy dog eyes. It’s no secret that she’s a virgin, and if anyone needs a man, it’s her.

“What?” Everly shrugs. “I’m not holding out for Mr. Right. The problem is, I’m just never going to meet a guy who is okay with taking it slow.”

“You don’t need to take it slow,” Amelia says. “You need a man who isn’t going to take no for an answer.”

“I don’t need to take it slow, either,” Delta says. “I just want to take it, if you know what I mean.”

Amelia shoves a pillow in Delta’s face. “Yes, we get it. You want to get laid. But on a more serious note, maybe there are new apartments on Craigslist?” Amelia suggests. “You know, since we’re getting evicted.”

“Not evicted,” Everly reminds her. “It’s just we’re in campus housing. We have to go.”

“Like, in a week.” Delta sighs. “This is dumb. Let’s do something bananas. Like, move to a commune. Or become Amish.”

Noticing the now-empty glasses, Everly returns to the kitchen and brings back some more champagne. “I just want a nice house and a normal life. Nothing crazy, just something regular.”

“With good sex,” Delta adds, winking. “And on that note, let’s look in the Help Wanted section with an open mind.” She opens her laptop. “At this point we don’t have many requirements.”

“I just want to get out of this college town,” Amelia says. Forgoing a glass, she grabs the bottle from Everly’s hand and takes a swig. “I can’t handle it here,” she says, wiping her mouth. “There are way too many memories of Derrick and me in this town, and I need to move on. Stat.”

Delta scrolls through the housing pages, and it’s more of what they’ve already seen. Tiny studios or massive houses requiring three months’ security deposit.

“Hmmm.” Delta keeps clicking, but there are no new listings. Eventually she takes the bottle from Amelia and drinks before passing it to Everly.

Everly follows suit, then sits between them once again, starting to feel more than a little tipsy.

“There’s nothing,” Amelia moans.

“Even if there were,” Everly adds, “it doesn’t matter. None of us have jobs. That’s priority number one.”

“Tell me again why none of us have parents who can help out?”

The three of them were roommates freshman year, and instantly bonded over the fact they’d all been raised by their grandparents. It was such a coincidence—it felt like destiny, and they had to stick together.

And they always did, through thick and thin, for four years. They put Delta’s grandpa in assisted living, attended the funeral for Everly’s grandma and grandpa, and were there when Amelia’s grandma moved in with her older sister.

They have family that love them, but not family that can support them, or even house them.

It’s time they figure this out on their own.

“Okay, go to the want ads,” Everly says, pointing at the tab on the screen.

“Let’s see, here.” Delta takes another sip as the page loads.

The three of them read the job descriptions, not one of them remotely appealing.

Dog walker, ten hours a week.

Editor, must be proficient in Dutch.

Smoothie stand, pasties the required uniform.

“Well, we could do that,” Delta says, laughing. “We all have decent racks.”

“More than decent, but that doesn’t mean I could do it,” Everly says, frowning, knowing her looks have never been her problem.

The problem is, she’s never had a real boyfriend because she always gets so nervous and shy around guys.

“We’re all cute enough so the tips would be good,” Amelia says, considering the smoothie stand position. “But, it just seems so cold.” She covers her chest with her hands, cracking up.

Okay, so they are definitely buzzed.

“This is stupid.” Everly hovers her fingers over Delta’s keyboard. “Let’s try something totally different.”

In the search bar, she types: pretty girls, college degrees, open-minded, need jobs.

The first hit causes all three girls to tilt their heads to the side, and reach for the champagne, simultaneously.

Huh.

WANTED:

MODERN MAIL ORDER BRIDES

FOR ALASKAN MOUNTAIN MEN.

Chapter 1

SILAS

Living in the backwoods of the Alaskan frontier allows me to be the man I’ve always wanted to be. Self-reliant. Independent. I’m my own fucking boss.

I don’t need anyone telling me what to do, and I sure as hell don’t need someone giving me orders.

Selling my business two years ago was the best goddamn decision I ever made. Sold my company on the North Slope and made my millions.

But shit, I only sold so I could get the fuck away from the bullshit that came with being responsible for all those employees. Now, I do what I want, when I want.

The only thing I’m missing is a woman.

But I’m getting her today.

As I’m getting my gear in the floatplane docked at my private lake, Travis pulls up in his ATV. He’s about my age—late twenties—but was born and raised here in the backwoods of the Denali Forest.

“Dude,” he calls out, grabbing a duffel bag as he heads my way. “So glad you called. I need to get laid in Anchorage. Bad. Once winter hits I’ll be stuck in that cabin with my ma every damn day.”

“I can’t bring you back, remember?” I cock an eyebrow at him, before triple checking that the plane is in working order. Having my own transportation allows me to get where I need to go, when I need to get there.

Travis doesn’t have that luxury.

“I remember you saying that on the radio. No worries. I’ll catch a ride with someone flying through.”

We get in the plane, and I busy myself with pre-flight check.

“Why not, though?” he asks. “You getting that much supplies?”

“No. I’m bringing back a girl.”

The sky is clear, the snow has long since melted, and the days are bright—as in, the sun doesn’t set until after midnight this time of year.

I planned this well. Late June is the perfect time to bring a mail order bride to the Alaska wilderness. In the winter, no woman would want to move to the frozen tundra.

We take off. I’ve travelled this route for the last two years, anytime I needed to show my face in Anchorage to meet with a lawyer, get cash from my bank account, restock supplies—basically any bullshit I can’t do from my off-grid cabin—which has become less and less often the longer I’ve lived out here.

Still, every time I get in this plane, I forget how cramped it always feels for my broad shoulders and tall stature.

“You really bringing back a girl?” Travis asks, once the plane is in the air. “Damn, I need to find some tail. Bad.”

I shake my head at Travis. This guy has zero game. He still lives with his mother and I don’t know if he’s ever had a girlfriend in his life. By the looks of him, I’m guessing no.

“I’m not just getting some tail. I’m going to pick up my wife.”

“Shit, man, what?” Travis asks, his wide eyes traveling to mine.

He’s shocked. And I’m not surprised. Some people might think a mail order bride is old school or crazy or whatever, but I don’t give a fuck about what those people might think.

The last thing I’m going to do is spend time in Anchorage trolling for a wife. But damn, I want one—need one. I need a woman to cook my food and keep my bed warm. I love living in the middle of nowhere, but I need a woman by my side.

But no way in hell am I going to waste my time dating some stupid-ass girl from the city. I don’t want a city girl anyway.

I need a woman who’s ready to make a life with me in the wild.

When Monique at The Modern Mail Order Bride Service contacted me, at first I thought it was a joke. But it wasn’t. They only serve clients with sizable fortunes—which is how they knew about me in the first place—and have made a niche market for themselves in the Alaskan wilderness.

Apparently they’re hooking a few other clients up this summer, too.

I filled out the paperwork this past winter, and when I didn’t hear anything I thought maybe the whole thing was bullshit—which fucking sucked, because by then I had my heart set on making a woman mine.

But then a week ago I was in town, which isn’t really a town—there’s just a post office and a gas station and a tiny roadhouse. Anyway, I got my mail and, lo and behold, I had a woman coming for me.

I called Monique while I was there, because of course I don’t have service up at the cabin, only a radio. She said she found me a bride who she thought was a perfect match.

“Did she meet my requirements? On my application?”

“She did, Silas. You’ll be very pleased with the bride chosen for you.”

We made the arrangements, I transferred Monique funds for the travel and student loan payment that I agreed to, and I got an appointment with my lawyer in Anchorage for the following week.

And now I’m ready to meet this mystery woman.

“What does this girl look like?” Travis asks, pulling me back to the present—which is probably a good fucking thing considering I’m piloting a plane.

“No fucking clue.” I shrug. I have no qualms about the way I’m going about getting my wife. Fuck, Travis has some slim pickings out here in the wild. I don’t want any leftovers. Instead, I filled out an application specifying exactly what I wanted in a wife.

Smart. A hard worker. Sexy as fuck.

It may sound simple, but that’s a tall order out here, where the only girl I’ve seen out here is a female fucking deer.

“You really have no clue what she looks like?” Travis laughs. “That’s nuts.”

“The agency said matches work better when you don’t go into it with expectations. It’d be easy to walk away if I knew what she looked like. This way, I’m taking her home regardless if she has blonde hair or black.”

“You can still send her back, though, right? If you don’t get along?”

“I can do whatever the hell I want, Travis.”

That shut him up.

I had my lawyer look into Monique’s company, and found proper documentation that she’d been placing brides with well-off men for the last decade.

She knows what she’s doing. There seems to be plenty of men with money who aren’t interested in the bullshit of looking for a wife. I’m not alone in that.

Today, I’ll meet my bride. Tomorrow I’ll marry her.

And then I will bring her home.

Chapter 2

Everly

It didn’t feel real when I drunk-applied to the Mail Order Bride website along with Delta and Amelia. And it sure as hell didn’t feel real when the agency called us the next day and we met with the director, Monique, over FaceTime.

It probably should have felt real when I signed my name on the dotted line. But it didn’t. The whole thing felt so insane. So dangerous. So completely not me.

It felt pretend, as stupid as that sounds. Because the required blood test and background check sure as hell were real. The intensive interview held by Monique was real. The truckload of stuff Delta, Amelia, and I dropped off at the Goodwill while cleaning out our apartment was real. The suitcases I packed with all my worldly possessions were real.

Still, the idea that I had a man actually waiting to marry me? Not even close to feeling like reality.

But somehow, stepping off the airplane in Anchorage, Alaska, with Delta and Amelia beside me, all of a sudden it became hella real.

It became OMG WTF get me the eff away from baggage claim real.

Because baggage claim is where my soon-to-be-husband is waiting for me.

“I have to go, I have a connecting flight,” Amelia says. “So I think this is good-bye.”

Her fiancé is in a different part of Alaska than mine or Delta’s. Apparently the state is pretty huge. Maybe we should have looked at a map more closely.

“Why are we doing this again?” I ask them frantically as they pull me into a tight hug.

“Because carpe diem and all that,” Delta says, laughing as she pulls away. She readjusts her tote bag higher on her shoulder, ready for the next leg of her journey. “This is the adventure we were looking for!”

“Worse case scenario,” Amelia says, “is we meet the men, hate them, and tell Monique we want out. No one is forcing us to get married. We are independent women.”

I snort. “So independent that we’re twenty-first century mail order brides.”

Delta smiles, squeezing my shoulders. “I have a connecting flight and I don’t want to miss it.”

“So we’re really doing this?” I ask them. If anyone is looking for an out, this would be it—the last time all of us will be together for a bit. We’ve all been matched with Alaskan men, but we aren’t going to be living in the same towns.

“We are doing this. Meaning, tonight you are going to have….” Delta cups her hands around her mouth. “S-E-X.”

“As are you,” I toss back, not letting the word penetrate. Because the whole sex thing is one of the reasons I considered backing out so often over the last week since we signed our contracts.

“Oh, hell yeah, I am,” Delta says. “All the sex.”

“So much sex,” Amelia adds, laughing. “I haven’t been with anyone but Derrick since I turned eighteen.”

“And now,” I say, shaking my head, “you’ll only have one partner for the rest of your life.”

This fact does make me feel slightly better about all of this. Being shy makes meeting guys impossible; being someone’s mail order bride takes away all that insecurity. The fact that we’ll be committed by marriage makes me feel safe. If I’m bad in bed, it won’t be easy for him to leave me.

Hopefully I won’t be as bad as I’ve been imagining.

And I hope other parts of this insane adventure will make up for the intimidating parts. Like, maybe I’ll finally have inspiration for the novel I’ve always wanted to write. In school I always felt like I didn’t have enough life experience to write a book … but maybe now I can start.

Maybe I can write all day and have sex all night.

Okay. So that fantasy might be a little far-fetched, considering the whole sex thing scares the bejesus out of me … but maybe if it’s the right man all my insecurities will vanish and I can be confident like my friends.

Adjusting my eyeglasses, I look at Delta and Amelia in their heels and perfectly done hair. I didn’t even blow-dry my bob this morning. Exhaling, I remember to ground myself in reality.

I can’t get carried away. First, I need to meet the guy.

“We’re getting married. This is bananas,” Amelia squeals. “Derrick can suck it.”

“I really hope you aren’t just having some overboard rebound reaction,” I say, worried for her.

She’s all-in with this marriage thing, and I wonder if that’s the healthiest choice for her—for all of us, actually. Marrying out of desperation is probably not the best motivator.

However, Monique’s clients are millionaires, or more. She only has clients with fortunes, with legit means to care for their wives.

It could be worse. I could have had to get a roommate on Craigslist and a job at Taco Bell. Maybe this is the way of the future. Maybe my friends and I are actually just the most brilliant young women on the planet, who realize having a loaded husband isn’t the worst thing ever.

“Okay, I really got to go,” Amelia says.

“Me, too.” Delta starts to walk away, blowing us kisses dramatically. She turns back, smiling, and calls to me loudly as she walks down the terminal: “And I’m really glad we waxed yesterday, Everly. He’s going to love that you went totally bare down there.”

My cheeks burn in embarrassment, and I awkwardly adjust my glasses. That is so typical Delta. Of course she’s confident and self-assured—she’s blonde, with long legs and a huge smile. She has nothing to be nervous about when she meets her husband.

Me, on the other hand? I’m terrified he’ll take one look at my boring clothes and tortoiseshell frames and want to trade me in.

“You going to be okay, sweetie?” Amelia asks. I nod, wanting so badly not to be the girl who needs the pep talk. I’m usually the one offering that to Amelia, not this role reversal. “Just be yourself,” she says. “It’s what I love about you, your ability to be real. And this guy is going to want to meet the real Everly.”

“I’ll try.” I smile tightly. “I wish I wasn’t doing this alone.”

“Honey, call me the first chance you get. We all have our phones. And let me know that you’re okay. Don’t worry, Monique vetted these men. She matched us with them perfectly. And we wanted this. We chose to come. If you really don’t, no one is forcing you to stay.”

Delta and Amelia have really gone all-in with the concept since the drunken get-go, maybe because marriage doesn’t seem as binding for them as it does me. They’re looking at this entire situation as almost a joke—a free place to live and a way out of dodge. But they’ve never really been around people who were happily married. Delta was raised by her widowed grandpa, and Amelia by her single grandma.

But my parents were devoted to one another up until they died in a car crash when I was fourteen. And then my grandparents took care of me until they passed away, the same night, in their sleep.

I know what real love looks like … and maybe I’ve just always been terrified of losing it. Maybe that’s why I’ve always hid behind my shyness. Because what if I lost something I found?

The thing is, I have nowhere else to go. I don’t even have money to get myself a plane ticket back to Oregon. If I really want to leave, I’ll have to call Monique and tell her I changed my mind before I even tried.

And the truth is, what do I have to lose?

I mean, besides my virginity.

“I got this, Amelia.” I kiss her cheek and wave good-bye, before adjusting the green infinity scarf wrapped around my neck.

“Love you. We’ll talk soon.”

As I walk away, I feel a pinprick of tears in the corners of my eyes. Which is beyond annoying. I need to be confident when I meet my stranger. I need him to know I’m not some innocent scaredy-cat.

Even if that is exactly who I am.

AVAILABLE NOW:

The Modern-Mail Order Brides:

CLAIMED BY THE MOUNTAIN MAN

ORDERED BY THE MOUNTAIN MAN

WIFED BY THE MOUNTAIN MAN

EXPLORED BY THE MOUNTAIN MAN

Also by Frankie Love

THE ENTIRE FRANKIE LOVE COLLECTION:

NEW RELEASE: HIS MAKE BELIEVE BRIDE

Our Virgin:

Protecting Our Virgin

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A-List F*ck Club

Small Town F*ck Club

From the HIS Collection:

HIS Everything

The Mountain Man’s Babies:

TIMBER

BUCKED

WILDER

HONORED

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The Modern-Mail Order Brides:

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WIFED BY THE MOUNTAIN MAN

EXPLORED BY THE MOUNTAIN MAN

An Arranged Marriage Romance:

COURTED BY THE MOUNTAIN PRINCE

CHARMED BY THE MOUNTAIN PRINCE

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JACK

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COLD HARD CASH

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THE COMPLETE COLLECTION

Stand-Alone Romance:

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Stand-Alone Bad Boy:

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HIS LUCKY CHARM: AN IRISH MOUNTAIN MAN

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About the Author

Frankie Love writes sexy stories about bad boys and mountain men.

As a thirty-something mom to six who is ridiculously in love with her own bearded hottie, she believes in love-at-first-sight and happily-ever-afters.

She also believes in the power of a quickie.

Find Frankie here:

www.frankielove.net

frankieloveromance@gmail.com

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