Mountain Delights

  Mountain Delights

  Wild Mountain Men - Book 2

  Vanessa Vale

  Copyright © 2019 by Vanessa Vale

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author's imagination and used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  All rights reserved.

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  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Cover design: Bridger Media

  Cover photos: Hot Damn Stock; Deposit Photos: EpicStockMedia

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  Note From Vanessa

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  Also By Vanessa Vale

  About Vanessa Vale

  1

  HAILEY

  * * *

  I didn’t usually go to a strange guy’s house for sex. Okay, never. Until now. From what I’d been told, Cy Seaborn was a rock star between the sheets, and well-hung. Skilled and well-endowed were important to me, like any woman, I assumed. And a cowboy? Holy hell, I was getting worked up just driving my old Land Cruiser along the rutted drive across his property.

  It had taken twenty minutes from town to get to the Flying Z ranch, another five—so far—up the long driveway. The house finally came into view as I went over a rise. The setting was stunning. Prairie grasses were dry now, waving across the slight roll of the land before the mountains jutted straight upward to their snow-capped peaks. Cutthroat Mountain, the ski resort, was on the back side of one of them. The difference between east and west was remarkable. Here, it was quiet, not a soul around. There, once mud season was over, the slopes would open and people would return to their fancy vacation houses, over-the-top SUVs. Lots of rich vacationers.

  My cell rang from the passenger seat. I knew the special ring tone, ignored it. Mark had been calling me non-stop, and I’d been avoiding him. My coach wanted me back into the gym to train, meeting with the sponsors, doing photo ops to prove I was one hundred percent after my wipe out.

  My knee was better, but my mind wasn’t in the game. It hadn’t been since the accident, and I wasn’t sure if it ever would be again. I’d done a good job not thinking about that. Meeting Lucas, being with him, had certainly helped. A hot guy and lots of sex could do that to a girl. And now there was Cy. The cell went silent and all thoughts about my career did too.

  I smiled. This was it.

  I pulled up and parked, looked out the windshield at the place. Typical two-story farmhouse, its vintage I guessed to be in the thirties or forties. It had white clapboard siding, a sweeping front porch. In the distance, I could see some other buildings which I assumed were the stables and several bunkhouses and small cabins. I wasn’t here for the non-profit that was run from this place, but for the man who owned it.

  Speaking of… a man came out onto the porch, no doubt hearing my arrival. I pegged him at six-two, two hundred pounds, not one ounce of it was flab. His plaid shirt and jeans didn’t hide the muscled physique beneath. If tossing hay bales made a guy look like him, there needed to be a new fitness trend. At least a T-shirt that said Cowboy Strong.

  Overlong dark hair curled over the collar of his plaid shirt, and I itched to run my fingers through it, hopefully when his head was between my legs and he was busy eating me out. I squirmed in my seat, my panties already damp with anticipation. It was the beard though… fuck. Thick and full, trimmed on the sides and longer on the bottom. What would that feel like brushing against my thighs? With the SUV off, the interior was getting cold quickly, but I wasn’t. Far from it. I was burning up just eye fucking him from thirty feet away.

  He didn’t approach, just leaned against a post. Waited, with a rifle in his right hand. Just great.

  He had no idea who I was; Lucas had said he wasn’t going to tell Cy in advance about my arrival. Since Lucas wasn’t here yet—mine was the only vehicle around—I had to wonder if this was a good idea or not.

  The plan was for a threesome… if the third—Lucas—would show the fuck up.

  As for Cy, he didn’t look thrilled to have company. That would change; at least I hoped. He was going to get lucky, and hopefully fuck my brains out. He just didn’t know it yet.

  Taking a deep breath, I climbed from my SUV, careful of my left knee, and slammed the door shut behind me.

  “You can hop right on up in that car of yours and head out,” Cy called. His voice was deep, the timbre smooth like whiskey, and full of threat.

  Stiffening my resolve, and my shoulders, I took a step toward him. Only one because I wasn’t completely stupid since he was armed and all. I didn’t think he’d shoot me…

  “I’m here to—”

  He held up his free hand to stop me. “I know why you’re here. Your kind have been kicking up dust on my drive the past week to get a story. They must be getting desperate if they send the hot chick.”

  Oh. Shit. He thought I was a reporter trying to get a scoop on the whole Dennis Seaborn fiasco. I knew all about it. Who hadn’t, in Cutthroat? The guy had turned himself in for murdering Erin Mills, Lucas’s sister. He’d been questioned six ways to Sunday and his story had held. Until a time-stamped traffic camera photo of Erin alive after when he’d said he’d killed her blew it all to hell. Now, he was out of jail—they couldn’t keep him for a crime he didn’t commit—and everyone in western Montana wondered why he’d stepped forward if he hadn’t done it. Who would do something like that? Take the blame for a murder? A murder.

  Dennis Seaborn was Cy’s father. Estranged, from what Lucas had told me. Lucas and I had met two weeks before his sister had been killed, and I was all too aware of how it affected him. I knew all about his friendship with Cy, their working relationship. Sure, Lucas hated Dennis Seaborn for impeding his sister’s case, but he didn’t blame Cy.

  Perhaps he was the only one who felt that way based on the way he was acting.

  I looked to Cy, his gaze filled with hatred and anger. Not what I wanted to see there. Lust, desire and need would have been better. From the pictures of Dennis, he and Cy looked a lot alike. They had the same dark hair—although Dennis’ was more gray than black now—and eyes. Blood was blood and with them, it showed. And reporters were always out for blood.

  “There’s been some mistake,” I said, holding up my hands, walking closer. We all had problems, and I wanted to forget mine between two hard-bodied cowboys. But I froze when he lifted the gun a bit. “Whoa, you don’t need to shoot me.”

  “Then do as I say.” The rifle wasn’t pointed at me, although I had no idea if the safety was on or how good a shot he was.

  “I’m not a reporter.”

  “Realtor?”

  Were people expecting him to sell his ranch and get the hell out of Dodge because of what his father had done? From what I knew, the ranch was huge, extending not only across the prairie I could see, but
up into the mountains beyond. Lucas ran his non-profit from the property, he and Cy organizing and taking veterans with PTSD on backcountry trips.

  “Definitely not.”

  “What are you then?”

  I glanced down at my worn leather boots, then lifted my gaze to meet his, took another few steps toward him. He didn’t raise his weapon, so I felt pretty confident he wasn’t going to shoot a woman.

  “I’m a professional skier. Maybe.” I gave a negligent shrug and murmured the last, more for me than for him. “Look, I’m—”

  “Whatever you’re selling, I don’t want any.” Clearly, he hadn’t listened to a word I said. “Get the hell off my land.” He turned on his heel to head back inside.

  “Wait!” I called. This was sooo not going as I’d imagined. I’d get out of the SUV, smile at him, bat my eyelashes and tell him his friend Lucas Mills and I were together—and fucking—and we wanted to pull him in on a little fun. A lot of fun.

  One of my fantasies was two dicks. A threesome with a whole bunch of orgasms to go around. And Lucas had said that Cy was pretty dominant in the bedroom, which was exactly what I’d been hoping for. Lucas was total alpha male, but he didn’t push me, and I needed to be pushed. I wasn’t on the slopes and missed that, god, focus I got with that kind of intensity.

  I didn’t do anything halfway. I didn’t win ski championships by lacking confidence. Not in my career and not in my sex life. I knew what I wanted and went for it. And I wanted Lucas… and Cy.

  Lucas and I hadn’t talked long term. We’d been having fun. With his PTSD, which had woken him up from a nightmare more than once, it seemed he hadn’t wanted to commit. Or at least say the words. We’d both been content with just fun. But we had agreed something had been missing. And that something was a someone.

  But Cy didn’t want to hear it. Lucas should be here to back me up—he was as game to double team me—and I’d get a double shot of hot cowboy. Okay, so Lucas wasn’t here yet. I looked over my shoulder down the drive. Yeah, no Lucas. But I could still charm the pants off Cy in the meantime, couldn’t I?

  Well… I had on a sexy red panty and bra set, but unless he had x-ray vision, he wouldn’t know since I was practically covered head to toe in jeans, a black turtleneck and a light puffy jacket. I barely had any skin showing, let alone cleavage or midriff. October in Montana wasn’t the time to do a strip tease outside. With a strong wind coming down off the mountains, it had to be in the low forties, even with the sun shining. It wasn’t just the hottie in front of me that had my nipples hard.

  “Lucas sent me,” I called, hoping that would cool his jets.

  That had him turning back. From this distance, I could see his eyes were as dark as his hair. Piercing. Penetrating. As for penetrating, I looked him over, took in the thick outline of his dick in his well-worn jeans. That was what I wanted. He could eye fuck me, but a dick fuck would be a whole lot better.

  “Why the hell would he do that?”

  I swallowed. Hard. This was what I wanted. Two men to make me forget, to make me happy. I’d shared the fantasy with Lucas, and he was more than willing to fulfill it. If he’d just show the hell up. It was literally time to put up or shut up. I could go down a steep, snowy mountain on two pieces of elastomer ninety-five millimeters wide at over eighty miles an hour without flinching. Telling Cyrus Seaborn I wanted to take his dick for a ride shouldn’t be all that hard.

  “So you’ll fuck me.”

  2

  CY

  * * *

  “What did you say?”

  I thought she said she wanted me to fuck her. I didn’t have a problem with that. In fact, my dick was thrilled with the idea.

  This mystery woman was stunning. Not the typical city slicker looking for a story, she looked Montana born and bred. She was tall, probably five-ten. Sturdy like she didn’t eat salads for every meal. Her blonde hair was long down her back, straight but thick, and strands caught the wind to blow across her face. She tucked them back without any kind of finesse. It was hard to tell the extent of her curves in her outfit—while her jeans were snug and showed off toned legs that went on for days, her black turtleneck and gray jacket hid a lot, like whether her tits were a handful or full peaks like the Tetons in Wyoming were named for—but I itched to strip her bare and learn every sexy inch of her.

  She wasn’t beautiful in the traditional sense. She wore no makeup and her approach was no-nonsense. Downright bold as fuck. Hell, at The Gallows on Main Street, I’d been approached by women interested in a little fun on more than one occasion, but I’d never had one come to my front door.

  “I said I want to fuck you.” Her voice was louder. Even.

  Yeah, I’d heard her right. Why would she want to fuck me? With her looks and straightforward demeanor, she didn’t need an asshole like me, nor did she need to drive fifteen miles out of town to do it. Not with a guy who didn’t want to deal with people since his dad’s… fiasco, who was turning into a fucking hermit. Hell, who had a dad like his.

  Oh shit. She said Lucas sent her.

  Was she some kind of gift to get me out of my funk? Of course, she was. What better way to make me forget all the fuckery that had happened than to sink into some hot pussy? And with her? Hell, yes. I could keep myself occupied for hours. Days, even. There were so many ways I could take her I wouldn’t be satisfied for a long, long time.

  I had no problem with this woman leading me around by the balls for a while, and with that bold stance of hers, she’d do it with a reddened ass. She might be in control now, but not for long.

  I’d known Lucas for years, and I wouldn’t put it past him to try to get me back out there. My father—if he could be called that—had fucked me over once when he abandoned me and my mom when I was nine. I hadn’t seen his face since. Until last month, when he’d fucked me over again. He’d turned himself in, admitted to murder. Within days, it was discovered he’d lied. He’d been released, then went into hiding. I’d heard from news reports he’d hunkered down in his shitty little house an hour south of town and hadn’t come out.

  His photo was everywhere—TV news, newspapers, online tabloids—and because reporters were ruthless fucks and people today craved juicy gossip, I’d been dragged into the mess. I was The Son. The only living relative of Dennis Seaborn, the guy who’d lied about murdering Cutthroat’s own, Erin Mills.

  They’d tried to get me to talk. I had zero to say on the matter. I hadn’t seen my father in almost twenty years, hadn’t spoken to him once.

  I wanted nothing to do with my father. Never would.

  I had no idea why he’d done it. Why the fuck would he admit to a crime he hadn’t committed? It made no sense to me or to anyone else, including the police.

  But the reporters were like raptors over small prey, sinking their claws in and going for the kill. I was the perfect fodder. They knew I worked with Lucas, Erin’s brother. They knew we’d been best friends for years. I’d given them the perfect story on a silver platter.

  Cyrus Seaborn: Best friend’s sister murdered, father falsely admits killing her.

  I didn’t tell those fuckers anything, only aimed my rifle their way until they left.

  I’d been there for Lucas through the shitstorm, the funeral, dealing with his parents, working through his loss. Still. And he’d been there with me through the fiasco with my father, even though Lucas had every right to hate me for what the bastard had done. Just like everyone else in town.

  And since dear old dad hadn’t bashed Erin’s head in after all, it was important to find out who had, not just for Lucas, but for myself, too. The police had no new leads. Lucas had been keeping me updated since they weren’t interested in hearing from anyone from the Seaborn family. I didn’t blame them. They had a hard enough job finding the killer without someone misdirecting them. My father had wasted their time when they could have focused on finding the real killer.

  All that shit was why I had no intention of heading into Cutthroat until the interest
in Dennis Seaborn died down. I’d made it three weeks, so far.

  That was a long time without seeing a woman. It had been much longer since I’d fucked one, but Lucas seemed concerned I was spending too much time alone, my hand as my only source of companionship. He knew what depression was like since he suffered from PTSD, helped other vets through it.

  So, he’d what, hired a hooker? That was a new kind of therapy, for sure.

  She didn’t look like one, although I wasn’t expecting her to pull up in fuck-me heels, a tight latex skirt and red corset either.

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought you said,” I replied, scratching my beard.

  Dust rose in the distance indicating a car coming down the drive. I looked that way, and she followed my gaze.

  “Hopefully, that’s Lucas,” she stated, her shoulders relaxing slightly.

  I didn’t say anything else until he pulled up and parked. Lucas had all the answers.

  He climbed out of his truck, went over to her and kissed her. Didn’t even give me a chin lift as a hello. He only had eyes for her.

  What. The. Fuck?

  He gave her a smile, then slung an arm around her shoulders. Then, only then did look to me.

  “I see you’ve met,” he said.

  “I’m not hard up enough to need a hooker, you fucker,” I told him.

  His eyes winged up, then narrowed, jaw clenched. “We might be best friends, but I won’t hesitate to beat the shit out of you for calling my woman a fucking hooker.”