Ordered By The Mountain Man: A Modern Mail-Order Bride Romance (6 page)

T
he bed
we shared last night is empty. It’s early morning, and Delta has apparently already left the room. I dress quickly, wanting to find her. Last night, I didn’t get a chance to really explain some of the rules around here—rules that she needs to follow for her own protection. There are wild animals in the backwoods, and the last thing I want is for some bear to attack my woman before I’ve made her my wife.

I head downstairs, and the lobby is still quiet. It’s only a little after six A.M., and while this place will be hopping tomorrow at this hour, the employees are taking advantage of their last day of freedom.

Not seeing Delta, I head out to the front porch. No one’s out here in the parking lot, so I head back inside, winding through the dining hall to fill a mug with black coffee.

Trey, holding a basket of blueberry muffins, stops me.

“Hey, Boone, you have a sec?”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“I wondered if maybe we should add a vegan option to the menu?”

“What?” I scoff. “No way.”

“Well, Delta’s a vegan and will be living here full-time—”

“Yeah, but she’s also choosing to move to the Alaskan frontier. She can figure out how to eat moose and salmon, or pick her own vegetables.”

Trey shifts uncomfortably.

“What?” I ask, not wanting to talk about fucking menu plans. That’s what I hired him for.

“She’s gonna be your wife is all—”

“Look, the last thing this lodge needs is some fancy bullshit food on the menu. Guests come here expecting a particular experience. Quinoa and Swiss chard aren’t a part of that.”

“Okay,” Trey says, shrugging, before heading to the breakfast buffet with the muffins. Over his shoulder he says, “Just thought I’d ask.”

* * *

I
step
out back onto the massive deck facing the lake. The sun’s been up since three A.M. The summers here in Alaska are bright enough to blind a man. Though I’ve heard of some folks lining their cabin windows with foil to keep the sun out, I’m lucky to have heavy blackout curtains throughout the lodge.

Outside, the lawn is green and well-manicured. Dirk does a good job, keeping this part of the property appealing to the women who show up here, wanting to sit in the shade reading on their Kindles as their husbands head to the lake all day to catch trout on a fishing tour.

But Delta isn’t on the deck. I scan the surrounding property as I take a sip of my steaming coffee, and then I see her. Her body is positioned on the edge of the dock, her legs stretched far apart, her hands raised to the sky, and her back arched. I watch as she moves in a graceful sequence, folding herself in two and then shifting into a headstand, her feet unfurling as her toes reach the sky.

My cock twitches, and damn, I like seeing how fucking bendy this woman is—
my
woman is.

Turning back to the dining room, I grab a second cup of coffee for her, then make my way off the back deck and head to where she is.

She’s lowered herself from the headstand, and now she’s cross-legged, back straight, eyes closed. I may live in the sticks, but I know that what she’s doing is yoga. As I get closer, she opens her eyes; they’re bright, sparkling in the sun. Her skin glistens with sweat from her workout, and damn, I have half a mind to throw her over my shoulder and get her in the shower. I’d like more of what she and I did last night.

“Morning.” I greet her, handing her the hot coffee.

“Oh, I don’t drink caffeine.” She smiles warmly. “Thanks for thinking of me, though.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you don’t drink booze, either.”

“I drink plenty of booze, don’t worry.” She laughs, patting the dock for me to sit facing her. “It’s just that caffeine always gives me a headache. I can make myself some green tea later. I’m sure Trey can help me around the kitchen.”

For some reason the words
green tea
makes me cringe. Green tea isn’t the sort of beverage people talk about out here. She can do what she likes—within reason, and with some clear boundaries. And it’s not because I’m an asshole. I just don’t want her life to be unduly difficult. This is not Portland.

I sit down on the wooden dock, my knees bent in front of me, and run my hand over my beard, remembering dinner last night.

“So ... I see you were up early to do yoga,” I say. “Is that gonna be a regular thing with you?”

She shrugs, then places her hands on my ankles, pulling at me gently. “You have a tone, Boone.”

“A tone?” I scoff.

“Yeah,” she laughs. “Look, I know we’re slightly different ... but we’re gonna need to find a workaround.”

We watch one another in silence, and I don’t answer. What the fuck does she want me to say, exactly?

“Look.” She starts again. “I love yoga, and so—to answer your question—yes, it is a regular thing for me. Is that all right with you?”

“That’s cool and all,” I tell her, meaning it. “You look hot as fuck out here, and I’m looking forward to getting you in a downward dog, or whatever shit this is, later. But I just need to explain that this routine is not gonna fly when the guests start to arrive.”

Delta pulls back. “What do you mean?”

“I mean guests come here for a real Alaskan experience. Not some Sanskrit retreat.”

She rolls her eyes. “You sound so stupid right now.”

“Do I? Well this business has been lucrative for thirty years because we give guests what they want. If they want a yoga retreat, they go to fucking India.”

“Are you literally telling me that when guests arrive I can’t do headstands?”

“I am.”

“That’s more insane than the meat orgy I witnessed last night.”

“Let’s not get ugly about this.”

She snorts. “Boone, you just told me I couldn’t stretch in public. That is one thousand kinds of bananas.”

“I’ll tell you what is fucking bananas: the idea of my wife coming out to a fishing dock at six A.M., when our tours start, wearing these skin-tight pants and a cropped top, showing off her perfect tits and damn perfect ass for sixty-year-old horndogs while we’re loading our gear up on the boats.”

“You’re so ridiculous, Boone. You want to get married? Then maybe cut it out with the ultimatums.

“Damn, woman, you were a lot more fucking fun last night when you were sitting on my cock.”

“Oh, yeah?” She stands, her blissed out yoga state long gone as she starts pointing fingers and yelling. “Well, you’re a lot more fun when you don’t talk.”

I stand, facing her, turned on by her anger, her shouting and her demands. My cock is getting harder the more riled up she gets. She’s less than foot away, and I’m about ready to pull her in for a kiss.

Damn, she’s trouble.

“You don’t want ultimatums?” I ask, crossing my arms. “Then maybe you should follow my rules and I won’t have to get heavy-handed.”

“Oh, my God,” she moans. “Are you kidding me with that? Your
rules
? You actually think I’m going to stop doing yoga out here because you say so?”

“We’re getting married today, Delta, which means I’m your husband—which means yes. If I don’t want you out here, then yeah, you won’t.”

“This is not 1954, just so you know. And I can’t do this already crazy mail order bride thing with you, if you can’t respect me as a woman of the twenty-first century.” She starts walking past me, and I catch her hand, making her stop.

“Where do you think you’re going?” I ask her, my hand wrapping around her wrist, holding her still. She looks down, as if looking for proof that one second we’re yelling and the next sparks of energy fly between us.

She hesitates, bites her lip, and damn, it’s clear she’s conflicted between what her mind and her body are saying.

Talk about opposing views. She wants my cock, but hates what I stand for.

My eyes burn into hers, and I use my other hand, taking hers and pressing it to my hardening cock.

With clear words I ask, “Where exactly are you going, Delta?” I move her hand up and down my shaft through my jeans. Her fingers squeeze my cock longingly. “Tell me where you think you’re going and what you think you’re going to do?”

“Where do you want me to go, Boone?” Her eyes are locked on my package, just where I like them.

“I want you to go to the boat that’s tied up right there.”

“Yeah? And what are we going to do there?”

“I’m gonna teach you how to listen.”

Her chest heaves with desire. I see her nipples harden in that tiny Lycra top, longing to be touched. I can imagine her pussy lips begging to be spread.

Oh, I’ll spread them all right.

I spank her ass, turning her to the boat on the side of dock. I climb on first, then she follows. It’s a small motorboat, one we use to run up and down the lake.

I turn the key and start the engine; we’re purring away in moments. I’m going to take her to the middle of the lake before I fuck her. She was loud last night with tame sex. This time things are going to get dirty, and she’s gonna crank up the volume when she learns who’s in charge of these mountains.

B
oone drives the boat
, and he’s in complete control as he steers. It’s pretty hot, him speeding away from the lodge like this. Granted, I’m pissed at him. Logically, I want to smack him across the face for thinking he can tell me what to do, what sort of woman I can be ... but all my free will disappears the moment he starts talking dirty, starts ordering me around.

And then the only thing I want to slap is his fine ass.

Moving behind him, I run my hands over his shoulders, my fingers massaging his muscles as I try to focus on something besides reaching a hand down my own pants and getting started ... because, holy hell, he gets me horny.

“That feels amazing,” he groans as I dig into his rigid muscles.

“Been a long time since you’ve had a body massage?” I ask.

“Never had one in my life,” he admits, turning his head over his shoulder as he says it.

“I’ll give you one later, back in our room. I have massage oils.”

“Oh yeah?” he asks, “I figured you were hightailing it out of here.”

“You want me to leave?” I ask, fishing for more. Which, okay, is maybe a passive-aggressive move, but hello? What exactly am I supposed to do at this point besides try ... anything.

“I never said that.”

I keep rubbing his shoulders, kneading them as best as I can. Even if he is a complete ass, he’s also an amazing lover, and I want to reciprocate in the ways I’m able.

“So when is this pastor coming out to marry us?” I ask, wanting to get a feel for my time here.

I’m not even a little sure as to what I’m going to do. Maybe I should just be straight-up with Boone about my reservations. Maybe I should say,
You know what, I came out here for an adventure, not for the husband part.

The last thing I want to do is basically destroy everything his family has built by being a flighty fool of a mail order bride. Boone may have a carnivorous caveman mentality, but he’s also a business owner, and the success of this lodge matters to a lot of people who work here.

“Pastor Vince will be here this afternoon, around four.” Boone has careened the boat through the water, and we’re now in the center of the lake.

“And tomorrow the lodge opens? Guests will be arriving?” This part of living here entices me—the idea of putting my degree to work, having a job I’m fairly sure I would be great at. Sure, I guess working at a resort in, say, the South of France sounds more exciting than the middle of nowhere Alaska.

But maybe beggers can’t be choosers.

Still, I may have a degree in hospitality, but that doesn’t mean I’ve ever actually
run
a hotel. It’s more than a little intimidating.

“Yeah,” Boone says, “but most everything is squared away. Mostly you’ll need to check people in and make sure they have what they need.”

“Right.” I shake my head, the pressure in my fingertips increasing as I work out my own tension through his body. “Even though I have about zero idea of how to help them get what they need.”

“Day one, I’ll be right up front to help you,” he says, unconcerned. “My first tour won’t be until the next day. But, honestly, the best way to learn something is by throwing yourself in the deep end.”

I purse my lips, disagreeing with his logic. “Says a person who knows how to swim.”

He grabs my hand from his shoulder, and pulls me around, where I land in his lap.

“Listen, we may have our differences—but, girl, I won’t let you fucking drown.”

I want to believe him. Believe that it could work.
Will
work. Still, I hesitate, “I just ... the wedding is happening so soon.”

“Good,” he says, turning off the engine, and pulling me over his lap so I’m straddling him. “I want to marry you. Make you my wife. Do things right. Fuck, that’s the only reason you’re here. To be my bride.”

“I don’t know if I’m ready to commit,” I admit, surprising myself.

“Why, you want to go back to some scraggly-ass cock that you had before you met me? Because we both know I ruined your pussy for any other man. Your pussy belongs to me, and you know that my cock is what you need.”

I swallow as heat rises from my core. His commanding words remind me that I am not straddling some basic guy in Portland. I am straddling an untamed man in the wilderness.

“Girl,” he says, using his fingers to lift my chin to meet his eyes. All of a sudden an intense surge of electricity begins to flow from his body to mine. “What else do you want? Because I’ll give it to you. I’m a man who knows how to take care of his woman.”

I want to tell him that sure, he knows how to work my body into a frenzy, and that sure, I want an adventure. But marriage is starting to feel fucking real, more real than I can handle. A pastor will be here to marry us this afternoon. I’m not ready to forfeit my entire life at twenty-two for no reason. My back isn’t against a wall. This was something that started as a joke and became something real.

Can I really marry him knowing a divorce is imminent? That makes me feel like a monster. Like I’m playing him for a fool.

And damn, even with my flawed logic and sketchy past, I know that Boone deserves more than that. More than
me
.

“I think I might disappoint you.”

“Fuck that,” he says, wrapping his arms around my waist, inching me closer to him. His cock is under me, hard and needy. “Have you ever been around a married couple? Shit, disappointment is a fucking guarantee. That’s life, Delta.”

“I
haven’t
been around many married people. I told you my mom died when I was young. And I never knew my dad. My grandpa raised me on his own.”

“Still, I don’t believe you came all the way out here just to run away.”

“It’s a lot of pressure. Making a decision by this afternoon.”

He looks at me hard, eyes narrowed, and the mood has shifted again. His commanding presence has turned from sex appeal to detached, and he leans away from me. “I thought you’d made the decision on this arrangement before you came.”

“I did, but Monique wasn’t exactly forthright. And I just….”

“Just what?” He raises his eyebrows, and I feel small in his lap, knowing he doesn’t like the way I’m pulling back.

I just never expected him to be so ... real. This mail order bride thing sounded so ridiculous and over the top in my head, when I left Oregon with my friends. But being here, my body so close to his, our lips parted—us wanting one another, but first needing to clear the air ... I realize that there’s nothing silly about this at all.

This moment is about choice and commitment and our fucking lives. This isn’t a joke.

“I just don’t want to do anything you or I will regret,” I tell him honestly. Because it feels wrong to lie to him, to pretend I’m something I’m not. I don’t operate that way. Sure, I like a good time, but not at the expense of another person.

He draws in a breath, nodding slowly, hearing my words. I’m scared he’s going to toss me out of his lap, drive this boat back to the dock, and get my ass on a plane.

But Boone is nothing that I expect.

“Listen, I can’t guarantee anything,” he says, watching me with an intensity I match. “But I know you won’t regret being with me. You won’t regret spreading those legs.” His hands run over my bare stomach, causing my belly to flip-flop in pleasure. “You won’t regret getting on your knees and you won’t regret sucking my cock.” He pulls off my Lycra top, revealing my breasts in the early morning air. “And your pussy won’t regret the way it feels when you sit on my face, won’t regret having my tongue sucking your bare cunt until it drips.” He runs his hand over my hard nipples, bringing his mouth to my breast and sucking hard, his tongue swirling against my skin deliciously. My pussy clenches in desire ... knowing he’s right: there’s no way I could possibly regret this moment.

“Then take me, Boone,” I tell him. “Show me what you and I could be.”