Matched to the Mountain Man (Mountain Man Mail Order Bride)

Jamie

W hen Ella doesn't reply right away, I start to think maybe I went a little too far with my last message.

Truthfully, it was pretty forward. But what the hell? If I'm going to do this—and apparently I am—I might as well be myself and see where this goes. Better I know right away if she isn't serious about this match.

Sending endless messages back and forth is not my style.

Hell, if it weren't for my work and needing to be on call, I wouldn't carry a cell phone at all. I am not the guy who likes to text or scroll or whatever else it is that people do on their phones.

I have to laugh at myself since it was less than forty-eight hours ago that I didn't even know Ella or this site existed, and now I'm invested in seeing where this relationship can go.

It takes a few minutes, but her message finally comes through.

Ella:

I think I'll take you up on that, . After all, I can't be your wife from the city.

Wife.

Right.

My wife.

That is the entire premise of the website we're currently communicating on. Ella signed up because she wanted to be matched to a mountain man as his wife.

I signed up because...well, I didn't sign up. But she doesn't know that.

Telling her now would be mean.

And the last thing I want to do is hurt her. I hardly know her, but I can't help but feel a deep protectiveness of her.

Besides...it's not that I don't want a wife.

And Ella...I barely know the woman, but what I do know, I like. And I haven't been able to stop staring at her picture.

When I close my eyes, I can picture exactly what it would be like to have her sweet, curvy body pressed up against mine keeping me warm at night. Those sweet pink lips parted in desire, looking up at me with those big eyes, as I put a baby in her belly, making her cry out with one earth-shattering orgasm after another.

Oh yes, having Ella as a wife would be just fine with me.

I may not have initiated this whole thing, but Ella never needs to know that. It's better if she doesn't. Not only would she be hurt, but she'd probably try to find someone else. The mere thought of my girl signing onto the website and exchanging flirty banter with anyone but me has my inner caveman roaring.

That is never going to happen.

She's mine.

There's only one thing to do.

My fingers fly over the keyboard, and I hit the send button before I can second-guess myself.

:

I'll book you the next available ticket.