Roughneck of Hollow Peak (Hollow Peak Mountain Men #10)

Chapter One

Reece

It always starts the same way—absolute chaos.

The sound of screaming metal isn’t actually a scream.

It’s a groan—a deep, guttural vibration that starts in your teeth and settles in your bones.

It’s misting out, high winds almost knocking me over as my boots slide on the metal catwalk of Level Three.

I am the highest point of Deepwater Apex, looking down as the entire world below implodes.

The smell hits me first: pressurized brine and the choking, chemical sweetness of crude oil.

Then comes the heat. It’s a physical wall, a solid force shoving me back against the railing.

Somewhere above the roar of the blowout, Miller is shouting my name, but his voice is thin, like a radio signal losing its frequency.

Static and fading in and out, and I am unable to get the station of his alerts tuned in right.

“Reece! Shut her down. Shut it down before the whole rig goes!”

I reach for the railing, but the steel is white-hot.

I feel the skin of my palms sizzle, but there’s no pain yet—only the terrifying realization that the deck beneath me is no longer there.

I’m falling. The black throat of the Gulf of Mexico opens to swallow me, and the fire follows, a blooming orange flower that wants to wrap me in its petals.

I bolt upright.

It is far too cold for me to still be out on the oil rig.

There is no salty ocean air or heat from the licking flames.

My lungs are a vacuum, straining for air that isn’t filled with smoke.

I am gasping, a raw, ragged sound that echoes off the four walls of my bedroom.

My heart is a frantic bird trapped in a cage, hammering against my ribs so hard it makes my vision pulse.

I’m not on the rig. I repeat it like a mantra, forcing my eyes to track the familiar, mundane shapes of my life in the dim morning light.

I do the same checklist I do anytime I wake up this way.

I note several things around the room to ground me: the cracked plaster in the corner of the ceiling I need to fix.

The overflowing hamper in the opposite corner.

The digital clock on the nightstand: 04:12 AM.

I’m in Hollow Peak. I’m safe. I’m on solid ground.

I reach up to wipe the sweat from my forehead, but my hand shakes so violently I have to pin it against my chest. My palms are cold, but I can still feel the phantom heat of the Apex searing into them.

I flex my fingers, staring at the callouses and the faint, jagged scar across my thumb—souvenirs of a life I have been trying to forget ever happened.

It is silent in the cabin, besides occasional crackles from the fireplace I left burning in the main room.

It’s static, calm. Cold. Cold is good—it is better than the searing heat from the dream.

I throw back the tangled sheets—damp and twisted like seaweed—and swing my legs over the side of the bed.

The floorboards are so cold they further ground me in the here and now.

I stand up, my knees popping with a sound like a distant gunshot. I flinch, then catch myself, letting out a long, shaky breath. My whole body is a roadmap of wounds from a dozen days like the one I can’t forget. Only that day cost me a hell of a lot more than some bad knees and faded scars.

“It’s Saturday. You’re in your cabin, in Hollow Peak. Everything is fine. Get it together,” I whisper in the twilight of the morning.

I make my way to the bathroom, not bothering with a light.

I know this path by heart. I lean over the sink and splash cold water onto my face once, twice, three times.

I let the water run, the steady hum of the pipes acting as an anchor.

The noises of the house further ground me as the dream begins to fade.

When I finally look into the mirror, the man looking back looks like a ghost that hasn't realized he's dead yet. Dark circles smudge shadows beneath my eyes, there is a hardness in my jaw that didn’t used to be there before the Apex went down.

My hands and some of my forearms are littered with scars, but I fared a lot better than others.

I reach for the bottle of pills on the counter, then stop.

The hum of the pipes changes—a subtle shift in pressure.

To anyone else, it’s old plumbing creaking as it does.

To me, it sounds like a valve about to fail.

I forget about the pills as I bend over the sink.

I can’t catch my breath at first. It doesn’t matter how long I have been off the ocean, off the rig, I still get that wobbling, waving sensation from time to time.

“On dry land. On the mountain. It’s Saturday,” I repeat as I draw a painful breath. “You have wood to chop before that storm comes. Provisions to get in town. You cannot stay here another day, hiding from the world.”

My reflection frowns back before I shake off the final touches of the dream and head for a shower.

Beneath the steam, I try to wash away the bad start to the morning.

The river rock floor is another good grounding device.

As the hot water relaxes my tense body, I envision the water taking the bad memories, the dark dreams, and the guilt down the drain.

I am just starting some coffee after the shower when I hear footsteps on my front porch.

I have not put a grocery order in and I am tucked too far off the main road for someone to find my cabin by accident.

That was done on purpose, of course. After everything I went through, I all but cut the rest of society off.

I curse as I head towards the door, figuring if it’s one of the logging guys here to bother me.

Throwing open the door, I start to rip my towel off my hips, to scare them off. “Hey, motherfucker you came at the.... holy fuck,” I hiss when I see what is waiting on the other side of that door.

There on my front porch, lit by the morning sunrise, is the sweetest ass I have ever seen.

I say that mostly because it is the first thing I see.

Round and wide, it is juicy as hell. My cock jerks beneath my towel, which I quickly cover myself with again.

Not that it’s hiding my ten inch response to that ass.

Turning, my sweet-ass visitor just keeps getting better.

“Someone has a filthy mouth,” the beautiful creature teases, her teeth nipping at her bottom lip.

That mouth is just about as juicy as that ass.

Focused on her lips, I note the little gap in her teeth.

I like it. Bright green eyes stare up at me—oh, wait, no, she sees that I am tenting the towel—and as golden hair flutters in the cool breeze.

“Don’t hold back on my account, big dick,” she teases, eyes flicking back to my now very hard dick.

“Who. Are. You,” I barely manage to get the words out as my gaze eats her up.

Not just her ass is perfection. Wide hips in tiny, tattered jeans, thick thighs I could bury my face in for days, and a waist curvier than the mountain roads fills her out.

My gaze drops down her beautiful face with the full pink lips, a dotting of freckles, down, down, to a swell of perfect tits in a shirt that she has tied on one side.

There is no hiding all those curves, and I am glad she doesn’t try to.

“Well, caveman, I am Rain. Here to brighten your day, if you will let me,” she cocks her head to the side, her green stare eating me up in return.

I must still be dreaming. That has to be it.

There is no way this beautiful creature is on my doorstep right now.

Not looking for me. No one is ever looking for a washed-up roughneck who hides on his mountain like some sort of sad gargoyle.

Most definitely not such a beautiful woman in red bottom heels and drive—I glance behind her—yeah, that’s a Mercedes.

“Do I know you? Or...did...did,” I start to stutter as my throat closes on me. I almost can’t say his name. “Did Jack ask you to come?”

Now her head tilts the other way, and I get a flash of a tattoo that curves along her collar, up part of her throat.

Fuck. I want to lick it. My dick jerks again and I turn, as if I can hide it.

It’s on my second look that I see an entire sleeve of floral tattoos on her left arm, starting at her wrist. I want to kiss each one of them and ask her to kiss the tattoos that do a shit job of covering all my scars.

“Well, no, because I don’t know any Walter.

I do know Theo who told me a little about you.

I am his niece, Rain, actually. I come to visit whenever can.

In fact, I used to spend summers with him before his divorce.

He deserved better, in my opinion. Anyway, I came here for a visit at his lodge.

him. It is so beautiful here and he loves running the lodge.

He is the coolest person I have ever known. You know him, don’t you?”

I can’t help it—I grin at how she is rambling on.

Because those pretty eyes trail over my bare chest, my own spread of tattoos, back to my dick, then back up to my face.

Over and over, she does this scan with those eyes.

There is not even a flush at her skin or a shimmer of shame in her stare.

I dig it. Holding the door open wider, I all but invite her in without words.

There is a flicker of something in her gaze that has my entire body tensing.

I have never felt such a visceral response to a woman.

It’s been a long time since I’ve spoken to a woman, let alone wanted a woman.

Here I stand with a beautiful pin-up come to life, and I am hit with a wave of want unlike I have ever known.

“Yeah, princess, I know Theo a little. He sent you up the mountain to lure me to town?” I wonder, leaning against the door jamb with my hands at my hips.

I shift back on one foot because, Jesus, my hardon is so obvious.

I can’t help it. Her beautiful eyes, that run-on ramble, her pretty smile, it is all doing a number on me.

“No. Well, no he does not even know I came up here. Matter of fact, he strongly suggested I not bother you. I enjoy bothering people, however, so I did not listen. Which is how I ended up at your door.”

Cocking my head, I pose the question of the day. “Oh, princess, you got it all wrong. I’m not a “fixer-upper”—I’m a lost cause, and I know it.”

Something entirely different flashes in her eyes. “I I don’t know you, caveman, but I know no one is a lost cause—especially those who feel like they are. I’m not here to change who you are; I’m just here to change how you see yourself. We all need to practice a little more self-love.”

Smirking, I let my eyes trail over her. Slow. Salacious. I reach down to grasp my swollen shaft through the towel. “I am sure as hell thinking about some self-love at the moment, princess,” I tell her with a wink.

Watching a flush overtake her face, making her freckles pop a little more is the cutest thing I have ever seen.

Until her eyes narrow. Darken. Churn with heat.

I am intrigued by the lack of fear I sense.

I scare most folks. Not sure if it’s because I am almost seven foot, built like the mountain we’re standing on, or the scars running down my face and throat.

If anything, her gaze traces those scars, ones I can never overlook in a mirror, with softness.

That look makes my heart kick against my chest like a drum.

What is going on behind that look? Why does she move closer, not run the opposite direction?

Hell, is she reaching out to touch me? My cock jerks in eagerness, making heat shoot up my spine so fast I almost pass out.

“Oh, big guy,” she whispers as she does indeed reach out, tracing each of the jagged scars with a gentle touch.

“Takes a helluva lot more than a little dirty talk or a few battle wounds to scare me off. I came to see you on purpose. With a purpose, Reece,” she whispers my name so soft, I can barely swallow past the emotion in my throat.

The rest of my body wakes up to her touch, to the softness of her words, of that goddamn stare of hers.

“What purpose is that, princess?”

“Why, to bring you back to the land of the living, handsome.”

Her touch slides down until she is cradling that side of my face in her palm.

I can’t help it. I lean into that touch.

God, when was the last time a woman touched me?

Not a nurse or the bartender at The Timbrline Tavern.

A woman who wanted to touch me, who did so not out of mere intrigue about the scars on my face or the matching ones on my soul.

“Why would you want to do that?”

“We all deserve a life bigger than the one you’re hiding from.”

Earlier she called me caveman. Standing there on my porch with her touching me, looking beautiful as she says these kind things, it makes me want to behave like a caveman.

I want to throw her over my shoulder, steal her off to my bed, and rut her until she screams my name and promises to give me forever.

It is such a visceral attack of need, I step back from her.

My stubborn princess won’t have it. No, she takes a step with me, moving until I can feel the warmth of her on my skin.

My cock presses against her stomach. I want to hoist her up and slam her down on the aching length.

Bury myself so deep, I wouldn’t have to worry about her giving me forever.

I would give her my kids and tie her to me for good.

“Reece, you called me a princess. I suppose in another life I was. I know all about hiding from the world. It is much easier than facing it. You’re not a weak man, honey.

Those eyes tell me that,” she tilts her chin as her gaze locks on mine.

“I might be a princess, but I am a determined one. I will be bringing you dinner tomorrow night. I expect to be invited to join you.”

“Why? Why me? You owe me nothing.”

“Oh, honey...someone owes you something,” she husks, tracing my scars again before her gaze drops to my mouth. Fuck, I want to kiss her. I want to taste her mouth, her skin, and the honeypot between her thighs. “I will be glad to take on that debt. Tomorrow night, cavemen.”

Before I can blink, she is off my porch, behind the wheel of that shining Mercedes and backing from my gravel drive. I watch her go like an idiot. I move too slow to stop her, standing there with my dick in my hands—literally and figuratively—as she drives off my corner of the mountain.

Those pretty eyes and that soft touch will be fuel for the self-love I am about to take care of.