Bewitched By the Mountain Man (Whispered Echoes Season 2: A Wounded Mountain Man #14)

Chapter 1 Tessa

TESSA

The empty Ben & Jerry's containers have multiplied like rabbits around my bed.

I've lost count, maybe five? Six? The Chunky Monkey tub sits accusingly on my nightstand, a spoon still stuck in the remnants of banana mush.

I pull the duvet higher over my head, cocooning myself in this fortress of misery and ice cream-induced regret.

The apartment door crashes open.

"Absolutely not." Madison's voice cuts through my darkness before she rips the covers off me. Light assaults my eyes. "Nope. We're done with this."

I grab for the duvet, but she's already balling it up and tossing it across the room. "Mad, please. I'm in mourning.”

"You're in a sugar coma." She surveys the carnage around my bed. Tissues, empty containers, my phone face-down because I can't stop myself from checking his Instagram. "And you're mourning a certified asshole who dumped you via text and started dating Vanessa two days later."

The mention of Vanessa, my former friend, makes my stomach clench. "Three days later."

"Oh, excuse me. Three whole days. What a respectful mourning period." Madison perches on the edge of my bed, her expression softening. "Tessa, babe. It's been two weeks. You've consumed enough dairy to supply a small nation. And it's Halloween."

"I'm aware what day it is."

"Good. Then you're aware that you need to get your ass up, shower—seriously, shower—and come out with me tonight."

I burrow deeper into my pillows. "I'm not going to some bar to watch drunk people in sexy nurse costumes."

"Not a bar." Madison's eyes gleam. "A club. A very specific kind of club."

Despite myself, curiosity flickers. "What kind of club?"

"The kind you see in movies. Everyone wears masks. No names, no questions. You can be anyone you want. Do anything you want."

"That sounds... creepy."

"That's the fun part." She grins, then waves her hand dismissively when I open my mouth to protest. "Okay, okay.

It's actually super safe. Strict rules. And you don't have to participate in anything.

You can just watch. Have a drink, watch people be mysterious and sexy.

Get your mind off that lying, cheating…"

"I get it." I sit up, my unwashed hair falling into my face. Because that's the thing about grief. Even when you know someone's an asshole, even when they've betrayed you in the worst way possible, it still hurts. It still feels like someone reached into your chest and carved out a piece of it.

But maybe Madison's right. Maybe sitting in my apartment, stalking my ex on Instagram, isn't the healthiest coping mechanism.

"Do I even have something to wear?" I ask.

Madison's face lights up like I've just agreed to rob a bank with her.

"Oh babe." She's already moving toward my closet. "You have that black dress. The one that made that bartender walk into a wall."

"That dress is basically lingerie."

"Exactly." She emerges with the dress, a scrap of black silk that leaves very little to the imagination. "And I have the perfect mask to go with it."

Two hours later, I'm standing outside a building that looks like it should be condemned. The address Madison gave me led us down progressively sketchier streets until we ended up here, in front of a black metal door with no sign, no bouncer, nothing to indicate there's a club inside.

"Mad, I think we’ve got the wrong address."

The door opens. A woman in an ornate gold mask welcomes us inside without a word.

We descend stairs that seem to go on forever, the bass of music growing stronger with each step. My mask, a delicate silver thing that covers the upper half of my face, already feels strange, like I'm cosplaying someone else.

Maybe that's the point.

The hallway opens into a vast space and my heart skips. The club is massive, with industrial exposed brick and chandeliers that cast light across the bodies. Everyone wears masks. Elaborate ones, simple ones, masks made of leather and lace and metal.

In corners, I spot things that make heat crawl up my neck. Couples entwined in alcoves, barely visible behind sheer curtains. A woman leading a man by a leash. Groups of people disappearing through doorways into what I can only imagine lies beyond.

"Awesome, right?" Madison yells over the music, her own mask, red and decorated with rubies, catching the light.

I nod, unable to form words. This isn't like any club I've been to. This is something else entirely. Something forbidden and thrilling and terrifying all at once.

We push through the crowd toward the bar, and I'm hyperaware of eyes on me. The dress clings to my body, and the mask gives me a strange confidence I haven't felt in forever. Behind this disguise, I'm not Tessa, the recently dumped.

I'm no one.

I'm anyone.

Madison orders a drink that’s pink and smoking, which seems appropriate for this place. We find a spot against the wall where we can watch the dance floor. Bodies move together in ways that would get them arrested in normal clubs.

“I’m going to dance,” Madison says, already moving toward some six-foot-something guy in a horned mask. “Try not to look too surprised when I disappear into one of those rooms with him. You okay?”

"Yeah, I'm just going to…"

But she's already gone, absorbed into the writhing mass of masked dancers. I clutch my drink, suddenly aware of how alone I am. I scan the crowd, trying to keep my eye on her red mask, but everyone looks the same.

"First time?"

I turn to find a man in a black mask leaning against the wall beside me. He's tall, lean, dressed in an expensive-looking suit.

"That obvious?" I manage.

"You've got that deer-in-headlights thing happening." He leans in too close, and I catch the smell of cologne and whiskey. "Let me show you around."

His hand lands on my waist. "No thanks, I'm good."

"You sure? Because you look like you could use someone to show you the ropes." His fingers tighten. "Literally."

I'm about to shove him away when another hand, much larger, closes around my wrist.

"She's with me."

The voice is deep, commanding, and it lands somewhere deep in my chest. The man beside me immediately steps back, hands raised.

"Sorry man, I didn't know."

But my apparent savior is already pulling me away, cutting through the crowd with an ease that suggests he does this often. I stumble after him, my heels catching on the floor. When I finally look up at him, the breath lodges in my throat.

He's massive. At least six-four, built like a brick wall, with broad shoulders that strain against a black shirt. Dark hair falls messily over his forehead, but it's his eyes that stop me. Even through the slits in his mask, I can see them. Icy blue… and fixed on me.

"Thank you," I call over the music. "For the save."

He doesn't respond, just keeps moving. A drunk couple stumbling toward one of those mysterious doorways crashes into us, and suddenly his hand is in mine, completely engulfing my smaller fingers.

"Come with me," he commands.

Common sense screams at me to pull away, to find Madison, and to get the hell out of this insane club. But another part of me is louder. A reckless part that’s tired of playing it safe.

“I should find my friend,” I say.

“Not now,” he says, eyes scanning the crowd as a glass shatters nearby. “It’s about to get ugly, and I’m not letting you get caught in it.”

We navigate through a corridor I didn't notice before, past those sheer curtains where I definitely don't look at what's happening behind them. He pushes open a heavy door, and we slip inside.

The room is intimate and dark. Candles flicker on surfaces, casting dancing shadows across walls. There's a bed… of course there's a bed, massive and covered in black silk. But it's what's on the walls that makes my heart race.

Leather cuffs. Chains. A riding crop. Other things I don't have names for that make my face burn despite the dim lighting.

I back toward the door. "You don't actually think I'm going to do anything with you, right?"

He turns to face me, and even with the mask, I can read amusement in his expression. "You can do whatever you want. That's the point of this place."

"So if I want to walk out that door?"

"Then walk." He leans against the wall, arms crossed, completely at ease. "But there was a fight breaking out where we were. Probably still going. You're safer in here until the dust settles."

I hover near the door, torn between escape and the strange curiosity unfurling in my chest. This man, this stranger who's offered me safety without asking for anything in return, intrigues me despite every self-preservation instinct I have.

"So..." I venture, taking a tiny step into the room. "Do you come here often?"

The second the words leave my mouth, I want to die. What a stupid, cliché question.

But he huffs what might be a laugh. "I do. It's a good place to get away. Be someone I'm not."

That I understand. "And who is that?"

A pause. The candlelight flickers across his masked face, and I wish desperately I could see his full expression.

"Someone in control."

My eyes drift back to the wall of implements, and something twists in my gut. "So you're into... this stuff?"

"That's child's play," he says dismissively. "I come here for other reasons."

Now I'm really curious. "What reasons?"

He pushes off the wall, and suddenly he's closer, filling the space between us. "Why are you here?"

The question catches me off guard. "My friend dragged me here. After my boyfriend dumped me."

"Ahh." There's something in that single syllable. "Recent?"

"Two weeks ago. He's already dating one of my friends. Ex-friend now, I guess."

"His loss."

The words are simple, but something about the way he says them, so matter-of-fact and certain, makes me believe he means it.

"You don't know me," I point out.

"No." He tilts his head, studying me. "But I know a beautiful woman who doesn't realize her worth when I see one."

My lips part, but no words come out. When was the last time someone called me beautiful? When was the last time I felt beautiful? Certainly not while crying into a tub of ice cream.

"That's just the mask talking," I say, trying for levity. "Could be anyone under here."

"Could be." He takes another step closer. "But I don't think so."

"Why not?"

"Because you're still here. You could have walked out that door at any time in the last five minutes. But you didn't."

He's right. I'm still here, in this room with its implications of control and surrender, with a stranger who makes my pulse race in ways that have nothing to do with fear.

"Maybe I'm just being polite," I counter.

"Maybe." His hand comes up slowly, giving me time to move away if I want. But I don't. His fingers graze my chin, tilting my face up to his. "Or maybe you're tired of being the good girl."

I flinch, not from the words, but from how right they are. I've always been good. Done what I was supposed to. And where has it gotten me?

Even the way he says it, good girl, makes my stomach flutter. Like maybe I’m not one. Not anymore.

"I don't even know your name," I whisper.

"That's the point." His thumb traces my bottom lip, and I shiver. "Here, we're nobody. No history, no expectations."

"This is crazy."

"Yes."

"I don't do things like this."

"I can tell."

"But I want to."

The words are out, and my pulse stumbles. When did I become this person? This woman in a too-short dress in a sex club, contemplating hooking up with a stranger in a mask?

His hand slides into my hair, and he waits. The choice is mine.

I don’t kiss strangers. I definitely don’t kiss them in masked sex clubs. But I close the distance anyway.

His mouth finds mine as if he’s been waiting for it all night. His hands grip my waist, dragging me against him, and I go. No hesitation. No shame. No second guessing.

My fingers thread through his hair, and I use it to pull him closer. His kiss deepens as he growls against my lips. He’s swallowing me, devouring me, and I want every second of it.

When he finally pulls away, his mouth grazes my ear.

“We could go back out there. Or you could stay here with me, and I’ll show you what it means not to be a good girl.”