Kissing the Wrong Mountain Man (Mountainmances #1)

Chapter 1

1

Schapelle

In my twenty-nine years, I've made plenty of questionable life choices.

But this?

This one might take the cake.

Nerves skitter in my belly as I step into the banquet hall at Cedar Crest Haven Lodge, my friend's engagement party in full swing.

It's a beautiful space, restored to its full glory after the earthquake. Guests mingle by massive windows that offer a breathtaking view of the California mountains bathed in the apricot glow of dusk, while others cluster around high tables and burgundy Chesterfield sofas. A jazz singer, accompanied by a small band, croons in the corner.

Gripping my purse, I glance around the room, searching for two people.

No, not my recently engaged friends, Sabra and Reece, although I am eager to offer them my heartfelt congratulations. Theirs is a fairytale, friends-to-lovers story I will definitely be using for inspo in one of my future books.

My two targets are both men.

The first is Owen. My ex. Two months ago, I told him I was pregnant. He flatly said he didn't want the baby, ended things, and my string of bad relationships, and even worse decisions when it comes to men, got that much longer.

I spot him talking to some mutual friends. It's funny. I spend so much time writing about falling in love and being in love that it's surreal to be on the falling out of love side of the equation.

But I am.

Oh, I am so done with him.

My pregnancy surprised both of us. I was on the pill, and after eighteen months of dating, we hadn't even talked about moving in together, much less starting a family.

But it's the way he reacted that sealed the deal for me.

You want to shirk away from your responsibilities and not be a father? Fine. That's on you. But don't tell me I'm ruining my life, will end up alone because no man would possibly want me, and then bombard me with texts saying I should ' get rid of it .'

Screw you, Owen.

Even though I'm not showing yet, I slide my hand protectively over my belly and silently tell my precious baby, This may not be the way I planned it, but I will love you and protect you and give you the best life I can. It's you and me against the world, bubba.

I snag a glass of juice from a passing waiter and flick my eyes over to the long, polished bar that stretches along one wall, buzzing with people laughing and chatting.

I squint, searching for my second target. His name is Magnus, and he's a good friend of Sabra's. When she told him about my situation, he was furious on my behalf. So furious, he was the one who came up with the idea to be my fake boyfriend for the night to get back at Owen.

I was skeptical at first and asked Sabra what was in it for him. She told me he was a huge fan who'd read all my books, gay, and about to audition for the lead in a romcom, so he was looking to get in some 'straight practice,' as she put it.

I know, I know. It's crazy.

And immature.

And impulsive, since I only agreed to it this morning and don't even know what the guy looks like, other than he'll be the tallest person in the room.

But what better way to get wild and out there ideas for my writing than to launch myself headfirst into the next adventure? An author's most valuable asset is their individuality. Five million copies sold proves it's a solid strategy.

"The second you see him, you'll know," Sabra assured me. "He's a mountain of a mountain man, even if he'll be wearing a suit for the occasion and not his usual flannel. He'll tower over everyone else. Neatly-trimmed beard. Brown hair. Very attractive. He could be on the cover of one of your novels."

So here I am. About to pretend I'm dating a gay guy to get back at my ex. My one final silly, and slightly petty, move before I settle down for a life of responsible motherhood.

Then, as if on cue, he comes into sight, and time seems to slow down.

Sabra was right, Magnus easily looms over the crowd, his height making him impossible to miss. He's standing at the end of the bar by himself. His broad shoulders and solid body seem almost too large for the suit he's wearing, the navy-blue fabric hugging his physique in all the right places.

Neatly-trimmed beard, check.

Brown hair, check.

Very attractive, check, check, check.

"Why are the good ones always either taken or gay?" I mutter to myself as I put my glass down and make my way over to him.

The nerves jangling in my belly travel up to my chest, and I take a few discreet deep breaths. I'm a confident, intelligent, successful woman, but walking up to a man I've never met and greeting him like he's my boyfriend is a first.

Sabra's words from our phone call this morning echo in my head.

You can literally walk right up to him and hug him or even plant one on his lips. He is fine with it. Really.

Kissing a stranger? No way. Completely out of the question.

But I do need to make it look realistic, like we are actually a couple, so okay, maybe a hug. I hug readers at book signings all the time. This is just like that. Except this is one seriously gorgeous reader.

I get closer, and my heart starts hammering like rain on a tin roof. I chide myself for being ridiculous. The man is gay. This is a stunt. None of this is real. Pregnancy hormones must be messing with me.

I look to my right and lock eyes with Owen. His lips curl into a sneer when he sees me, and he says something to one of our friends. I know it's about me because when she turns around to look at me, she gives a weak we just got busted talking about you wave.

My nerves vanish, replaced by blood-boiling anger. I'd heard Owen was badmouthing me to our friends, going around saying I got pregnant deliberately to force him into marrying me. Well, I'll show him.

I'll show them all.

I march right up to Magnus. He's leaning against the bar but straightens when he sees me coming in hot, and oh boy, if I thought he was attractive from across the room, up close, the man is nothing short of stunning.

The crisp, white shirt he's wearing brings out his olive complexion, and even his neatly trimmed beard can't hide the fact his face bone structure is practically architectural. His eyes are a rich shade of warm chocolatey brown with long lashes. As a romance author, let me tell you, I'm an absolute goner for a man with long lashes.

"Hi," I say, staring up into those big, brown eyes.

"Hello." His voice is a deep, rich baritone, and it sends a shiver through me.

He's gay, he's gay, he's gay.

I quickly flick my gaze over to Owen, and yep, he's watching. I turn back to Magnus. "Thank you for doing this."

Before he can respond, I lift on my toes, tug on his shirt, and bring my lips to his. A weightless, bubbly sensation rushes through my veins, spreading throughout my entire body all the way from my head down to my tippy toes, which I'm currently on.

I could stop here.

I should stop here.

If my point was to greet Magnus the way a girlfriend would greet her boyfriend, done. Mission achieved. Time to retreat.

But he smells so good, his lips feel so soft, and let's face it, when am I going to get the chance to kiss a hunk of a man like this again?

So I deepen the kiss, just a fraction.

I have no intention of mauling the guy or making a scene—public PDAs are kinda ew—but a few seconds of innocent tongue action isn't going to hurt anyone. Especially when his tongue is doing things to me. This man can kiss.

He's gay, he's gay, he's gay.

And with that sobering thought, I break apart.

I suppose I should check back in with Owen, revel in my triumph, but there's something about Magnus's eyes that holds me captive, making it impossible to look away.

"Thanks, I really appreciate that," I finally say. "I hope the kiss wasn't too much. I just saw my ex sneering at me as I walked over to you, and Sabra said you'd be cool with a kiss even though you're gay, so?—"

"Excuse me?" His deep voice cuts through the air. "I'm not gay."

"Oh, I'm sorry." Shoot. I have a few friends in the rainbow family, so I should know better. "Do you prefer the term queer ?"

A confused smile plays on his lips. "I'm not gay, and I'm not queer," he explains slowly, like I'm really messing this up.

"Uh, okay." I scramble to think of something else. "Bi? Pan?"

He lets out a rusty chuckle. "I'm like a ruler."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm straight."

"You can't be straight."

One of his thick eyebrows arches. "I…can't?"

"No." I shake my head. "Sabra told me you're…" Ugh, what word should I use? "…into men."

"Sabra? You mean, Reece's fiancée?"

"Uh, yeah. Reece's fiancée. And also your best friend since elementary school."

Those thick eyebrows dip into a deep frown. "She's not my best—I'm friends with Reece. Sabra's great, but I've only met her a few times."

"Huh?" I'm so confused. "What is going on here?"

"You tell me. I leave my cabin to attend a social event for the first time in years, and a beautiful woman appears out of nowhere and kisses me."

Did—did he just call me beautiful?

Not important. Wrong thing to be focusing on. I have to get to the bottom of this. Who did I just kiss?

"So, you're not Magnus?"

"No."

"And you're not gay?"

"Also no."

"So why did you let me kiss you?"

"Uh, hello. Because you're beautiful." His eyes lock onto mine, softened by a playful sparkle. "Apparently so beautiful even gay guys will kiss you."

I collapse onto the nearest stool, baffled. "Who—who are you then?"

Not-Magnus snags the stool next to mine and answers with a smile, "I'm Brock Palladino. And it's a pleasure to meet you…"