Max
One Year Later…
The snow was coming down in thick, heavy sheets, burying the mountain in a world of white silence. From the window of our house, the rest of Montana didn’t exist. It was just the mountain, the storm, and the woman who had turned my solitary fortress into a home.
I sat at the heavy oak table, a glass of bourbon at my elbow, watching Frankie.
She was in the kitchen, humming some pop song she’d heard on the radio, wearing nothing but one of my old gray t-shirts and a pair of thick wool socks.
The shirt was stretched tight over her lush backside, and every time she reached for something in the upper cabinet, the hem hiked up to show the tantalizing curve of her ass.
Her very naked ass.
And she was now my wife.
The word still hit me with the force of a freight train every time I thought it.
We’d gotten married three months ago in a small ceremony at the lodge — the same lodge where this whole thing had started.
Just family and a handful of friends. My mother had cried.
Frankie had looked beautiful in a simple white dress that hugged every curve.
And I’d stood at that altar knowing I was the luckiest bastard alive.
Leo and Tiffany hadn’t been invited. Last I heard, they were living in Seattle and barely speaking to each other. Turned out marrying someone to prove a point wasn’t a great foundation for happiness.
Who knew?
“Max, stop brooding,” Frankie called out without turning around. “I can practically hear your gears grinding from over here. Are you thinking about the timber contract or are you just hungry?”
“I’m always hungry when I’m looking at you, Frankie.”
She turned around, her mouth already curving into that sassy, beautiful grin. “You’re a menace. I’m trying to make dinner before the power goes out, and you’re over there looking at me like I’m the main course.”
“You are,” I said, standing up. I crossed the kitchen in three long strides, my hands settling on her waist. “Dinner can wait. We’ve got a backup generator.”
She gasped when I spun her around, my hand on her upper back, bending her forward over the counter. She was so soft, so damn curvy, and every inch of her was mine. I’d spent a year marking her, claiming her, and I still felt like I was starving for her every time I walked into the room.
“Max,” she panted, her hands bracing against the counter. “You’re very... commanding today.”
“I’m commanding every day, Frankie,” I rasped, my mouth grazing the sensitive curve of her neck. I bit down, just hard enough to make her let out a sharp, broken moan.
Reaching down and bunched the t-shirt up to her waist, revealing that she wasn’t wearing a single thing underneath. I ran my fingers along her center, finding her already drenched and pulsing for me.
“Look at you,” I growled, my thumb finding her clit. “So ready for your mountain man. You been thinking about my cock all afternoon, Frankie?”
“Yes,” she said her head falling forward. “Ever since you came in from chopping wood... I can’t help it. You look... the way you look at me...”
I made quick work of my fly, my cock throbbing with need. I positioned myself against her soaking heat, the feeling of her making me shudder.
My hand slid up her spine to gather her hair, pulling her head back so I could see her face as I thrust inside her. I wasn’t gentle. I didn’t know how to be when it came to her.
Every thrust was a claim. Every grunt was a promise. I was a man who had finally found his peace, and I’d found it in the arms of a sassy, smart mouthed woman with enough curve to bring me to my knees.
She shattered first, her body tightening around me like a vice, her internal muscles clenching in that frantic rhythm that always destroyed my control. I let out a guttural roar, my body shuddering as I poured myself into her.
I stayed there for a long time, buried deep, my forehead against her back, as the snow continued to pile up outside.
A year ago, I’d been a man who measured his life in board feet and silence. Now, I measured it by the sound of her laugh and the way she looked at me when she thought I wasn’t watching.
“I love you,” I said against her skin.
“I love you too,” she whispered back. “Even when you can’t let me finish making dinner.”
I pulled out slowly, turning her in my arms so I could see her face. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright.
“Come here,” I said, pulling her into my arms. I carried her to the couch in front of the fireplace, settling her in my lap. “I want to tell you something.”
“That sounds ominous.” But she was smiling, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of my neck.
“My mother called today.”
“Oh?” Frankie’s eyes lit up. She adored my mother, and the feeling was mutual. “What did she want?”
“She wanted to know when we’re giving her grandchildren.”
Frankie’s eyes went wide. “Oh.”
“I told her we’d think about it.” I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “But the truth is, I’ve been thinking about it for months. You. Round with my child. Here on this mountain.”
“Max—”
“I want that, Frankie. I want everything with you. Kids. A life. Growing old on this mountain together.” I cupped her face in my hands. “What do you say? You ready to add mountain mama to your list of titles?”
Her eyes filled with tears, but she was smiling. “You’re really asking me if I want to have your babies?”
“I’m asking if you want to build a family with me.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, you possessive, wonderful man. I want all of it. With you.”
I kissed her and felt something settle in my chest. Something that had been restless and searching for as long as I could remember.
I’d spent my life looking for a reason to stay on this mountain, and I’d finally found it. In her.
“I love you, Frankie Wilder,” I said against her lips.
“I love you too, Max Wilder. Forever.”
Forever sounded just about right.