Mountain Daddy’s Girl (Daddy’s Girl #13)

Chapter 1

LILA

“Maybe going faster would be better,” Rosa mutters as a bolt of lightning splits the sky and the Montana storm batters the car, making me feel like I’m inside a toy. “Outrun the storm?”

I’m tempted to pick up my camera and grab some snapshots of the devastation. The heating has tanked and a chill fills the car, a tingle dancing between my shoulder blades.

Rosa scowls across at me. “Really Lila, are you serious … smiling?”

I wipe the look off my face. “Nope.”

She nudges me playfully. “Liar.”

“Great,” Abby mutters.

“What?” I ask.

“Lights in the rear-view.. Being pulled over is just what we need.”

She stops the car at the side of the road … which overlooks a valley.

The cop climbs from the car, a large, tall man in a raincoat.

When he gets closer, I see that his face is covered in a thick silver beard.

His eyes are harsh as he pokes his head into the car and glares at Rosa.

“Just what the hell do you city girls think you’re doing out in a storm like this? You got a goddamn death wish?”

“Who said we’re city girls?” Abby snaps back.

I don’t think now is the time for sassiness, but that’s Rosa being Rosa.

“Just follow me,” the cop says.

“You think we’re gonna just follow a stranger?”

“I’m Deputy Clint Harlan. Text your folks my name if you’re paranoid.

I’m taking you someplace you can’t get yourself killed.

We got an MMA training camp close by with some spare lodging.

You can stay there until the weather clears.

Road outta town is flooded anyhow. You’re stuck. So, die in the storm or follow.”

“I think we should follow him,” I say. “This storm isn’t getting any better.”

“I agree, but I wasn’t going to make it easy on the jerk.” Abby sighs and follows the flashing lights of the cop car through the growing darkness.

It takes fifteen minutes winding cautiously through thick woodland before we reach the camp. A silent, dark scattering of wooden cabins, their foundations reinforced with concrete. The deputy is scowling the entire time he shows around some simple, clean, and most importantly, dry rooms.

He looks at Abby in particular. “Showers are down there.” He nods at the hallway. “And kitchen is that way.” He points. “Have yourself a fine ol’ stay.”

Rosa stretches her arms over her head. “I’m beat.”

“Me too,” Abby mutters. “Let’s hope this storm clears tomorrow. For all we know that deputy could be some psycho. Maybe he’s not even a cop. Maybe the uniform is fake. This isn’t the sort of thing sensible people do.”

I can’t disagree … but what choice do we have?

The storm roars and screams like an angry god trying to make a point.

Well, point made.

We go to our rooms. After changing into some fresh clothes, I stand at the window, looking across the concrete plaza at the biggest cabin on the lot. Yellow lights beam defiantly into the darkness, like a big metaphorical middle finger to the bad weather.

I know I should stay put, but the entire point of this trip is to take unique and interesting photographs. Curiosity killed the cat, sure, but it might also let me finish college with a big proud bang.

Pulling on my raincoat and putting my camera in its waterproof bag, I quietly leave my room, tiptoe down the hallway, and leave our cabin. The wind tries to knock me off my feet as I walk toward the light.

Smack, smack, smack, I hear the moment I walk into the big cabin. Then a man’s voice, grizzled and tough, a voice that makes my heart pound and causes tension to shiver through me like a promise.

“You can’t quit,” the man snarls. “You can’t ever quit. Teeth knocked out, bones broken, it don’t matter a goddamn bit. You quit; you die. Understand?”

I walk past a mounted bear’s head, mouth open in a silent primal scream, into a large gym lit by harsh overhead lights. In the middle of the gym there’s a cage. A giant man stands in the middle, his brown beard glistening with subtle streaks of silver, sweat dripping down his heaving muscular body.

It’s a body that looks hot to the touch, like I’d burn my palm if I pressed it against his chest. His chest is huge, round, carved like rock, like he’s a part of this rugged landscape. He wears nothing but a pair of shorts, tight, outlining what I assume is his cup …

But what if it’s not? What if it’s his huge manhood?

I bite my lip. Feel my cheeks warm.

Calm down, Lila. You’re here for a job.

He stands over somebody who’s pressed against the cage, their hands raised over their head. I gasp as he sends a savage strike at the man on the floor.

“Are you going to get up?” he growls. “I know you want to quit. I can fucking smell how badly you want to quit. In the cage, you’ve got to be a predator to stand a chance. An injured lion doesn’t quit, kid. An injured lion is more dangerous.”

The man on the floor tries to stand. The other man—sweat glimmering over his sculpted form, his eyes hard and intense—steps back and aims a savage kick at the man’s belly the moment he’s on his feet.

The other fighter is around the same size, but a little younger, short black hair.

He might as well not be there.

I can’t stop looking at the grizzled man, the brutal expression on his ultra serious face. The younger man throws himself at Mr. Grizzly, and they dance around the cage.

Just before the round timer goes off, Mr. Grizzly spins with the agility of a big cat, moving so fluidly my disobedient thoughts go straight to the gutter … no, the bedroom.

I see sheets draped over his body, outlining the hard contours of his thick form, shifting around as he lays atop me, his beard tickling my face and …

Seriously, Lila. Stop it.

I’m never normally like this. But there’s something about him.

Suddenly, Mr. Grizzly walks to the edge of the cage and leans against the crisscrossing wires.

“You gettin’ a good look there, miss?”

Crap. Caught red-handed.

Unless he’s a mind reader, I should be able to play this off as innocent curiosity.

I walk out of the semidarkness I’ve been … not skulking, but hiding in.

“Uh, sorry,” I say.

He laughs, grabs the edge of the cage, then throws himself over as if he doesn’t weigh upward of two hundred and twenty pounds. At least. He lands with surprising softness and swaggers over to me.

The closer he gets, the more certain I become that I can feel the volcanic heat of his body. Steam rises from him. His eyes are a dark and broody blue, almost black. He puts his hand on the wall next to me, his abs right there, within touching distance.

Do not touch this stranger. Do not think about touching this stranger.

“No need for apologies. I’m guessing Clint found some cute, misguided city girl who’d got herself lost in the rain, eh?”

“I’m not some misguided girl because I happened to get caught in a storm in the Montana mountains. I’m sure you’ll find that’s a common occurrence.”

“Easy, tiger. I meant that with affection. Honestly. I didn’t mean to touch a nerve … especially not with a woman as captivating as you.”

But could you touch something else? And, captivating? I like the sound of that.

He’s right. I should calm down. I’m not mad at him or anything, just shocked at the effect he’s having on me.

My nipples are getting warm and prickly, pushing with insistence against my bra. My lips—not my mouth, my lip-lips—are throbbing as if needy for attention. My clit aches like it wants his touch, this stranger. Get a grip, Lila.

“I’m Boone McGraw,” he says. “Not famous, but not not famous either. Maybe you’ve heard of me?”

“I don’t watch much bloodsport.”

“U-huh, you do look like the delicate flower type.” He leans closer, his hot breath shivering over my face, my neck.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that; I mean that.

Makes a nice change around here.” He points to the cage.

“That there is Evan. One of the best fighters in the whole U S of A.”

I think about what I just saw. Boone handling the younger wolf like it was a game.

Boone smirks, still way closer than a stranger should be. I can’t pretend I don’t like it. But, I try to play it cool.

“This is the part where you tell me your name.”

“Lila,” I say. “Mayfield. I’m here to get some photos for my final college project.”

“Hear that, Evan?” he says, taking a step back. “The cute city girl is having a lucky day. We’d just love to be your subjects. We’ve got another round in us.”

“Actually … that could work. I wanted unique and interesting photos.”

“Oh, you think I’m interesting, Lila? I’ve got to say; the feeling is mutual.”

My cheeks burn so intensely, I’m sure they must be turning red.

“Would you really not mind?” I ask, looking at the floor.

His gaze is relentless.

“Our pleasure.”

He turns, jumps back into the cage as though it’s the easiest thing in the world.

As I take my camera from the bag, I squeeze my legs together in an attempt to quieten down the aching desire. It only makes it worse. I’m wet, I realize.

And not from the rain.

Just talking to and staring at Boone has me wetter than the weather.