Tamed By the Mountain Men (Mountain Men Reverse Harem #5)

Chapter 1

Sierra

“Oh shit.” The words slip out as the engine gives its first protesting sputter.

I was expecting it. We’ve been crawling up this mountain for five minutes already, and while we’re nearly at the top, the incline only gets steeper before it finally levels out.

I have no idea why they’d build a retreat in the middle of nowhere on top of a treacherous peak. It feels like something only a psychopath would do. One thing’s for sure, they definitely won’t have uninvited guests dropping in unannounced.

Apparently, though, the location hasn’t hurt business.

That’s the first suspicious thing about the New Life Retreat Center—nearly all five-star reviews. That’s incredible for a wellness retreat specializing in so-called Reiki healing and other “woo” treatments.

I’ve been in this profession long enough to know that type of rating is suspicious as hell. Either they’re deleting bad reviews, or they’re brainwashing people up there, and ridiculous as it sounds, I’m leaning toward the latter.

It’s not just the reviews. Most recently, one of my physical therapy clients, Bertha, spent a weekend here and she hasn’t stopped talking about how much it changed her, how “balanced” she feels, and how the retreat “turned her entire life around.” I mean… one weekend? Come on.

Here’s the thing: Bertha isn’t the type to fall for spirituality fads or chakra-alignment nonsense or whatever they’re peddling. She’s a rational, no-nonsense businesswoman who came to me for chronic back pain.

I had her on a course of TENS treatment, gave her stretches to do at home, and taught her effective pain-management techniques. She’d been improving steadily.

Then she went to this mountain retreat for a weekend. When she came back, she canceled her next appointment. Said her back pain was all but cured.

I explained—gently—that her pain wasn’t going to be magically cured by Reiki or anything they were offering over a single weekend, but she was insistent.

What’s more, she booked herself back in—this time for three whole weeks. God knows what they’re charging her, but it has to be expensive. They rate their own accommodations and restaurant as “six stars,” but they don’t list prices, which is suspicious in itself.

That’s what really drew my attention to the place, and one glance at their overly glossy website confirmed everything I suspected.

“The New Life Retreat Center,” it gushes.

“Nestled in the sun-drenched mountains of Colorado’s Rocky Mountain National Park.

An ideal environment to refresh your mind, body, and spirit in peace and harmony with nature.

Swim in the crystal-clear waters of our private lake, hike our beautiful mountain trails, or relax and watch a perfect sunset from the balcony of our pine-lodge restaurant, all while enjoying our world-famous holistic wellbeing treatments.

Come as you are… leave relaxed, refreshed, and rejuvenated. ”

Of course, it’s all pseudoscience and nonsense, so how did they convince a smart woman like Bertha they’d cured her?

The only explanation that makes sense is that she told me she’d recently lost her husband to cancer.

Even intelligent, rational people can fall for things like this when they’re vulnerable.

Bertha’s grief must have made her more susceptible.

She’s grieving, and she’s willing to spend a fortune to feel okay again.

Yes, she can afford it, but that doesn’t excuse what I think they’re doing.

If I’m right—and I think I am—I have to put a stop to it.

Which is why I’m here: to figure out what’s really going on up there, and if necessary, to pull Bertha out before she signs any more checks.

The last thing I need is my car dying on the way, but that’s exactly what’s happening.

After two more coughs, the engine cuts out completely.

The car shudders to a halt, and sudden silence presses in after miles of engine noise.

No people. No traffic. No buildings. No wind. Not even a bird in the clear blue sky.

I turn the key, trying to bring it back to life, but all I get is the whirr of the starter motor.

“Come on, baby,” I murmur. “You can do this. We’ve been together fourteen good years. Don’t die on me now.”

To give her credit, she tries. She really does. But even when the engine coughs back to life, the moment I press the gas pedal, it dies again.

Like she’s just… done.

I sigh, frustration tightening my chest.

What now?

I push open the driver’s door, wincing in the heat after the cool air inside. Might as well check under the hood and see if anything looks obvious. I’m not exactly a car person, but I’ve fixed her enough times to know the basics.

I climb out, stretching and rolling my neck after the long drive, fanning myself in the harsh sunlight. It’s brutally hot, and at this elevation there’s very little between my skin and the sun.

Before I can pop the hood, I hear the rumble of another vehicle climbing the narrow lane behind me. A red truck curves around the bend, and whoever’s inside has a tanned, muscular arm propped out the window, tapping along to music blasting from the radio.

My breath catches as he gets closer.

He’s one good-looking motherfucker.

Even through the windshield, even with the sunglasses, I can tell.

His sun-kissed blond hair is a windswept mess, but the intentional kind, like he just stepped off the cover of a magazine.

His face is chiseled, his lips full and soft-looking, and when he smirks, a dimple appears that should honestly be illegal.

He coasts to a stop beside me, lowers his sunglasses, and reveals bright blue eyes. My heart stutters, then kicks back to life, dropping somewhere into my lower belly.

This guy is hot. Dangerously hot.

“You need help?” he asks, his voice threaded with teasing and something darker that makes every part of me sit up and pay attention.

“Looks like it,” I say, trying very hard not to imagine him naked and sweaty. Sexualizing strangers, even in my head, is wildly inappropriate and very unlike me. “You don’t happen to have any tools on you?”

“A man is nothing without his tools.” He sets the handbrake, switches off the engine, and steps out.

I take a step back. He’s tall. Really tall. Maybe six five or six six. At five nine, I’m a tall woman, and it’s rare for someone to tower over me and make me feel small.

God, if only I’d met him under different circumstances. I would’ve climbed him like a tree and held on for dear life. I shake my head.

What did we say about sexualizing strangers, Sierra?

He smells incredible, something earthy with a hint of spice, as he walks around me and leans in to pop the hood, grimacing at the steam rising from it.

“Yeah, you’re lucky you stopped when you did. The engine’s overheated. If you’d pushed any farther, you might’ve blown it completely.”

I sigh. “I was afraid of that. It’s all these mountains. She’s not used to them.”

“Yeah. You need to let it sit for a while. How about I take you where you’re headed, and we can come back later with some water and coolant?”

I hesitate. I’m usually not the type to get into a car with strangers, but I might not have a choice here.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Luke. Why?”

I pull out my phone and speed-dial my best friend, Piper.

“Hey,” she answers on the third ring.

“Hey, Pipes. I’m in the mountains and my car broke down. I ran into this guy named Luke. Tall, blond, attractive. Think Heath Ledger in Brokeback Mountain, minus the cowboy hat. Anyway, if anything happens to me or I go missing, he did it.”

Piper is used to this routine, so she doesn’t miss a beat.

“Got it,” she says, then hangs up.

I slip my phone back into my pocket and find Luke watching me with those bright blue eyes. He bursts out laughing.

“Did you really just do that?”

I smile sweetly. “You can’t be too careful.”

“Sure, but I probably wouldn’t have done it while I was standing right in front of me. I mean, now I could just dye my hair, change my name, and no one would be the wiser.”

“Yeah, right. The hair isn’t going to change anything. All she has to hear is tall, handsome, Heath Ledger, and she’ll know it’s you.”

He raises an eyebrow and steps closer, lowering his voice to a near whisper. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were flirting with me.”

My eyes drop to his lips, tracing the soft curve of his lower one.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, trying and failing to hide the desire tightening through my body.

His gaze flicks to my mouth, darkening, and I lick my lips without thinking.

The tension sharpens, something low and charged humming between us.

God. I shouldn’t be doing this. I’m not here to flirt. I’m here to infiltrate a probable cult and expose it. This is supposed to be a business trip, not a pleasure detour.

Then again… there’s nothing wrong with a little side distraction, a bit of harmless pleasure mixed in with the mission, especially with a man I fully intend never to see again.

He smirks. “Where are you headed?”

“New Life Wellness Retreat. Heard of it?”

“Yeah.” His eyebrow lifts. “Didn’t take you for one of the crazies.”

I laugh. “I’m not. One of my clients is there, and I need to check on her. I’m trying to figure out what kind of mind-control mess they’ve got going on up there.”

“You think the visitors at the retreat are being mind-controlled?”

“Only way I can explain it.” I shrug. “Can you get me there?”

“Of course. Grab your bags.” He steps back and opens the passenger door of his truck for me.

“Are you sure?” I ask as he closes the door and gets into the driver’s seat. “I hope it’s not out of your way.”

“Nah. I’m headed there too.”

“What? Why?”

“Because, darling, I’m one of those mind-controlled crazy people you’ve been talking about.”

“Oh.” I clap a hand over my mouth. “I’m so sorry—”

“Forget about it.” He waves a hand. “I know exactly who and what I am.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t mean… oh God, that was really insensitive of me.”

“I’m the one who started with the ‘crazies’ talk,” he says with a smirk. “Besides, I’ve never been the sensitive type. You’re fine.”

“Oh.” He really doesn’t seem offended, so I relax. As he pulls out, I feel comfortable enough to tease. “Well, it’s good you’re not offended. I was going to try to make it up to you.”

He raises an eyebrow, flicking me a glance. “Make it up to me how?”

I shrug, letting a hint of flirtation slip into my voice. “However you want.”

His eyelids lower, desire sharpening his features. “Well, in that case, forget everything I said. I’m real sensitive. Highly offended. You absolutely have a duty to make it right. Starting as soon as you like.”

I laugh, and he smiles again. “You’ve got a pretty laugh.”

“And you’re a shameless flirt.”

“Hey, you started it.”

“I never said I wasn’t a flirt too.” I tilt my head, enjoying this far more than I should as a breeze slips through the open window and plays with my hair. “Tell me—what’s your experience been at the retreat so far?”

“Great at first,” he says. “Lately, though? Very annoying.”

“Oh.” That catches my attention immediately. I lean in. “Annoying how?”

“It’s like when I used to be a chef,” he begins.

“It was my dream when I was a kid. I loved food, and I loved feeding people.” He leans toward me conspiratorially, though his eyes stay on the road.

“Between you and me, I was a chunky kid growing up. Always eating. Right up until ninth grade, when I discovered girls and got myself a gym membership. Even after that, I still loved food. Cooking felt… profound. A way of bringing people together. Making it for myself, having it made for me, making it for others—I loved all of it, so I went all in. Trained at the Culinary Institute of America. Got my diploma. Became the real deal.”

I stay quiet, letting him talk.

“But once it became my job, it changed.” He exhales.

“It became obligation instead of joy. A daily grind. Everything so formal, so process-oriented. It became more about portion control and profit margins, and less about creativity and inspiration. The magic faded. I wasn’t the kid inventing new dishes to impress my friends anymore.

I was the guy grabbing a burger on the way home because I couldn’t stand the thought of cooking anything after a full day in the kitchen. ”

I understand that more than he knows.

“Anyway,” he continues, “that’s kind of what’s happening now. At first, it was fun being brainwashed, like you said. Lighthearted. Transformative, even. But now that I have to do the brainwashing… it’s a lot harder. Feels like something’s missing again.”

My brow furrows. “I don’t understand.”

He gives me a slow, wicked smirk. “That’s because I forgot to mention one key detail about who I am.” He taps the wheel lightly. “You’re talking to the Brainwasher-in-Chief.”

It takes a second for the words to land. Then my jaw drops. “Wait—wait, you’re—”

“Yup. Luke Simmons. Founder and part-owner of the New Life Retreat Center, at your service.”