Mountain Wood (Mountain Men Thirst Trap #1)

Chapter 1

Dean

“Come on, baby. Open for me.” Tugging the stubborn, half-split log, I growl with the effort it takes to pry it in half. “There we go… that’s it… a little more. You can do it.” The wood finally cracks all the way down and two pieces of oak fall to the ground by my boots. Breathing hard from exertion, I lean down to smile at the camera and wink. “That’s my good girl.”

Stopping the recording, I stuff my cell in my back pocket and contemplate taking off my shirt. Even though it’s chilly this morning, I’ve already worked up a sweat.

My property boasts six cabins on five hundred acres of woods and a stream that’s close enough to the larger mountains to attract some skiers once snow hits but most of my business comes during the warmer months with wildlife enthusiasts. I’ve been renovating each cabin in hopes of saving my inheritance—this mountain—which means I need enough wood to heat them while I make repairs through winter, so they’ll be ready by spring.

A cool gust of wind blows, relieving the heat on the back of my neck. Sucking in a lungful of crisp air rejuvenates me, and I pick my axe back up. One might argue I have enough cords stacked for the season already, but they’d be wrong. You can never have enough firewood.

Besides, manual labor is the only way to get out my pent-up energy. I haven’t been with a woman in over two years, and my hand is a sad replacement. One I only use when I can’t stand the tension anymore.

So yeah, chopping twenty cords of wood is a lot, but it’s barely put a dent in how hard I want to fuck.

You know what? Screw it. Yanking my phone back out, I set it up on the woodpile and aim it at the chopping block again.

“Ready to get dirty with me, baby?” I lick my lips suggestively and stroke the handle of my axe. “Winter’s coming… and if you’re a good girl, so will you.”

I balance another log on the block, and flex my forearms for good measure. I’ll entice two audiences with this—the lumbsnackers and the thriller chicks because hello, axe. Funneling all my sexual frustration, I raise the axe over my head and swing down, grunting from the force of impact. “Fuuuck, that feels so good.”

Wiggling the blade free, I bring it up and swing down again, splitting this piece in two much faster than the last one. After unbuttoning my shirt and peeling it off, I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand. I’m breathing hard, and my abs are flexing nicely, but I pretend to not notice and grab another hefty log.

“One more for me,” I tease. Then I slam my axe into it, grunting and growling .

Don’t judge me. I’ve got bills and if I don’t fill my cabins with paying guests, I’ll lose my land. These thirst traps earn me income that keeps me afloat.

Once I’ve got enough footage to work with, I cut the video again, but this time, I’m too hot to put back on my shirt. Sweat trickles down my back and the breeze no longer cools me off.

My dog Oscar runs over with her ball. Her tail wagging goes into turbo speed as she drops it at my feet.

“Who’s a good girl?”

Not her, honestly. She’s part labrador, but I have no clue what the other parts of her are. I suspect there’s a little Tasmanian devil in her too. Or a chaos demon. Scratching her ears, I rile her up before grabbing the ball.

“Go get it!”

I chuck that sucker as far as I can and watch her goofy ass take off after it. Her paws kick up mud as she races after her toy and something flickers in my peripheral, almost blinding me for a second. Shielding my eyes from the glare, I squint and see a luxury car slowly pulling up to the cabin circle.

Oh hell no.

My stomach twists with fury. That cocksucker from New York is back again. I’ve told him three times I’m not interested in selling my property and since he can’t seem to take no for an answer, I’m going to have to drive my meaning home another way.

Twirling my axe, I storm right over to his car, ready for a fight. Or a lawsuit. I don’t even care anymore. “I told you to stay off my property, motherfucker. ”

The door swings open, and I’m blasted with show tune music, perfume, and a woman dressed to the nines hiding behind a huge pair of black sunglasses.

The axe slips from my hand instantly, clanking on the ground.

Do they think sending a dark-haired bombshell to negotiate will sway me into giving up the only thing I have left in my life? I might be a sex-deprived mountain man, but I’m not stupid.

She turns down her obnoxious music and flashes me a killer smile.

Fuuuuck. What was it I just said about not being stupid? Every cell in my body drops their jaw when she smiles at me. I think my heart just fainted.

Keep it together, Dean. Stay chill.

My dick is anything but chill. This woman is built like a dream, and I haven’t even seen her eyes yet.

“Hi,” she says, and I stare at her mouth.

Her beautiful, pouty, fuckable mouth.

Wow, am I this desperate that a mere city mouse can roll in here and temporarily stupefy me?

I need to focus. Be firm and to the point. Get her out of here as quickly as possible.

“Morning, Sweetheart. Look, if you’re here with another offer, it’s best you turn around right now and take yourself back to the city. My answer is still no, and it’s going to stay that way.”

Oscar barks in the distance.

Some watch dog she is.

“First off, my name’s not Sweetheart. It’s Grace.” The goddess unfolds from the car that I bet just came off the showroom floor. “And I’m not offering you a damn thing.”

Her outfit looks like she pulled the tags off this morning. I’ve seen her type come through here before. The guests who’ve never touched grass a day in their life will stay up here for a weekend in the mountains for fresh air and photo ops in the fall with their pumpkin spice aesthetic, or their summer watermelon vibes, or their look-how-cozy-we-are-in-our-matching-parkas for early winter with identical boots and hats.

But it’s not her clothing that’s got me tongue-tied, or the pricy wheels she’s rolled up here in. It’s that bratty little attitude of hers, her snappy mouth, and the way she’s got her hands on a set of full hips, as if expecting me to apologize or something.

Then it dawns on me.

Holy shit, the guest checking in later today is booked as G Finch.

Grace. Finch.

Fuck me running.

“You’re my guest,” I say, hoping she’ll deny it. When she doesn’t, shame hits me and a gust of wind blows, reminding me that I’m shirtless and sweaty and as unprofessional as a pig on Wall Street.

Time to regain a little dignity. “I’m Dean.”

She looks down at my offered hand and it takes her several seconds before she shakes it. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

Grace’s hand is soft and warm, and I’m painfully aware of how filthy and rough mine are. We stare awkwardly at each other for a few heartbeats before she pulls her hand away .

“So…” She lifts her sunglasses up and rests them on her head. “Which cabin is mine?”

“Any one you want,” my dumbass responds. I think I’m having a stroke. My heart’s banging way too hard in my chest and when her gaze drags down my body, I swear she stalls at my crotch. Clearing my throat, I take a step back and finally get my ass into gear. “Just let me grab a shirt and I’ll help you carry your bags in.”

“It’s okay. I’ve got it.”

“No, really, I can—”

“I said I’ve got it.”

We’ve started off on the wrong foot and it’s getting worse.

“Cabin five has a bigger kitchen, but cabin six has the bigger bedroom.” The rest are in various stages of renovations and unusable.

“Which one has a fireplace?”

“They all do.”

“I’ll take cabin six.”

“No problem.”

Oscar finally returns, her ball nowhere in sight, and she’s covered in mud. Damnit, girl, I just gave you a bath yesterday! She trots straight over to Grace, and I know what’s about to happen, but there’s no time to stop it. “Oscar, no!”

“Ah!” Grace twists and throws her arms up to cover her face as Oscar shakes herself off.

Grace’s pristine outfit is now splattered with muck.

Guilt has my heart thundering. “I’m so sorry.” Grabbing Oscar by her collar, I try to pull her back a little. “I’ll cover your laundry bill. ”

“It’s fine.” Grace flicks off a wad of mud from her sleeve. “I didn’t really like this outfit, anyway.”

Her response surprises me. She sounds like she’s telling the truth. And the fact that she’s now closer to me, scratching my dog’s ears and letting Oscar lean against her legs, ruining her outfit even more, throws me off.

This woman is too perfect to be here.

Her perfume smells amazing. It’s light and citrusy. My dick hardens the longer she lingers to pet my dog. Panicking, I back up and dash to retrieve my shirt from the wood pile.

Get it together, Dean. She’s a guest.

A very gorgeous guest.

A very good-smelling, gorgeous, not-at-all-your-type guest.

I return a few seconds later with my shirt in hand and dick softening because I’ve resorted to thinking about the sexual harassment lawsuit she could slap me with if I try to make a move on her. Besides, she’s here alone. She’s probably nervous enough without a stranger like me walking around half-dressed, with a massive hard-on trapped in my jeans.

“Here, let me just…” My hand trembles as I swipe a smattering of mud from her cheek with my flannel. “She really got you good.”

Grace only stares at me and then ducks out of my reach, nearly tripping on Oscar to get away from me. Yeah. Okay. I get it. My boundaries need some work.

Shit, I hope I didn’t just overstep. It was instinct to clean her off.

Touch her.

I’m so fucked .

“Cabin six is over there,” I say, quickly tugging my shirt back on.

“Don’t I need a key?”

“It’s under the flowerpot. When you check out, just put it back under there too.” I don’t have a reception lodge with employees anymore.

“Oh. Okay.” Grace makes her way to the cabin. Damn, her ass is spectacular. She turns around and I quickly pretend that I was not staring at her by dropping my gaze to Oscar. “I’ll, um, get my bags later. Thanks.”

“Okay.”

Oscar pushes against me, her tail wagging like she’s the best good girl, and I scratch her head while we watch Grace go inside.

“Great,” I grumble. “She’s going to end up giving us a terrible review.”