Mountain Desire

  Mountain Desire

  Wild Mountain Men - Book 3

  Vanessa Vale

  Mountain Desire

  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.

  All rights reserved.

  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 both authors, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  * * *

  Cover design: Bridger Media

  Cover graphic: Deposit Photos: EpicStockMedia; Hot Damn Stock

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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

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Note From Vanessa

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  Also By Vanessa Vale

  About Vanessa Vale

  1

  SAMANTHA

  * * *

  My workday was finally done. At last. The dictation of my patients’ records was complete. I hung up the phone with the recovery room and was glad to hear the afternoon emergency appendectomy patient was awake and responding well. With an extra four hours tacked on to my shift, I took off my glasses, rubbed my eyes before settling them back in place again.

  I stood from the desk, raised my arms over my head, stretched my back. Filling in for someone in the ER, I covered a shift for a guy who’d gone to Texas for the birth of his first grandchild, plus covered my usual duties in the OR.

  I looked at my watch, did the math. Twenty-three hours and six minutes until I was due back for my next shift. Laundry needed to be done. Apartment cleaned. Finish the latest thriller on my e-reader. Sleep.

  God, I was dull, the excitement of my day a good book and crawling into bed at a ridiculously early hour. Alone. Working seventy-plus hours a week made me crave sleep, not fun. I’d only been in Cutthroat a few months and everyone on staff was friendly, but I was an oddity. It wasn’t often someone graduated from medical school at twenty-two and finished a surgical residency by twenty-five.

  Most nurses were older than me. Some candy stripers, even. My age and the fact that I was legally allowed to wield a scalpel made some patients panic when they found out I was the one operating on them.

  An ER nurse named Helen stopped in front of me. “One more before you go?” I took in the apologetic look on her face for giving me another patient. For a small-town hospital, we’d been crazy busy all day. Full moon, perhaps.

  Inwardly I groaned but only nodded as I grabbed my stethoscope from the desk and slung it over my neck. “Sure, no problem.” What was a little longer? It wasn’t as if my wild after-work plan of reading on my couch was going anywhere.

  “Prostate check.” The corner of her mouth tipped up, but that was the only sign of amusement she gave. We were professionals, no matter the patient’s concern, although sliding my fingers into the rectum of a stranger wasn’t on top of my list of fun things. “Third time this year. You’re new and haven’t met Mr. Marx yet, but he’s Cutthroat’s resident hypochondriac.”

  I knew of them, people who either read too much on the Internet and scared themselves right into the ER or were lonely and wanted some TLC. A prostate check meant the first, hopefully, and not the second. “Gotcha.”

  “Room three.”

  I headed that way, knocked on the door and entered. “Hello, sorry it took some time to get to you. This is the ER, and I had emergency surgery. I’m Dr. Sm—”

  My usual greeting dropped off to nothing at the sight of the patient. He was nothing like the mid-sixties, overly worried man I expected. Tall, dark and handsome were the right adjectives to describe the guy before me, but he was so much more. He was tall; he easily had an extra foot on me. His hair was black, a few weeks past the time for a cut. He was clean-shaven—although it looked like he might need a razor again. His jaw could be used to measure perfect angles. He wore a black Henley and jeans, both snug and fit him to perfection—meaning every one of his muscles was on delicious display. Every one. He reminded me of a short-haired Jason Momoa. And his gaze… penetrating, dark, assessing and focused squarely on me.

  I had no idea where the mental drivel was coming from, but I couldn’t miss the way a tattoo peeked out beneath the sleeve of his shirt at his wrist. Over the antiseptic smell of the ER, I picked up his woodsy, male scent. He screamed bad boy—not hypochondriac—without ever saying a word. And my body responded. Heated.

  Craved.

  I realized I was standing and ogling… and my mouth was open. My cheeks flamed hot at my behavior. I never ogled, but then again I’d never seen such a hot guy before. “Sorry, I’m Dr. Smyth,” I repeated, finally finishing.

  His dark brow winged up as he looked me over. I felt naked, and my nipples decided to pebble, which had never happened before, at least because of a guy. And definitely not because of a patient.

  “Really?”

  I tipped up my chin and replied with my usual. “Yes. Think I’m too young to be a doctor? Don’t be concerned, I’ve done this before.”

  “No, I just expected Sam Smyth to be a guy.”

  I frowned, wondering how he knew my first name, but it was on my badge clipped to my scrub top. I went to the computer, pulled up the patient chart, scanned the details, knew what I needed to do. “Sam’s short for Samantha. Jeans and underwear down, please.”

  His eyes widened. “That’s a new one,” he said.

  I went to the sink, pumped some soap onto my hands and washed them as I looked over my shoulder to him. “Oh?”

  “I’m the one who usually says that.”

  “Are you a doctor?”

  He laughed at that. “No. I’m a guy who likes to take charge.” He cocked his head to the side, studied me, pierced me with that dark gaze. “But I kind of like the idea of you being in control.”

  I blinked, snapping out of it, and grabbed a paper towel, watched as he crossed his arms over his broad chest. The corner of his mouth tipped up, no doubt finding humor in how flustered he made me. I didn’t feel in charge at all.

  “All right then, pants and underwear down, please.”

  “I’m not wearing underwear,” he countered.

  I paused mid-dry, processing that, even looked to his crotch and knew whatever was hiding beneath the denim was right there.

  I cleared my throat and tried to keep my thoughts professional, although I was very interested in seeing what he had beneath. And that ass, wow. I would lose my medical license if anyone knew my thoughts. “Just jeans down then. I’ll make this quick.”

  “With you?” He looked me over again. “Yeah, it’ll be too fucking quick. The first time.”

  The first time. He wasn’t talking about me screening his prostate.

  His hands went to the buckle of his belt, and I stared, watched as he undid it, tugged at the button, then slid down the zipper. It was as if it were in slow motion, his rugged hands pushing his jeans down his hips, and he sprang free…

>   Holy shit.

  I’d seen a penis before. I was a doctor. I’d even seen an aroused one, but none had made my panties go damp and my mouth dry like this one. It was hard, long, thick. And hard. Very hard. It aimed toward me from a base of dark curls. It was a dark ruddy red with a broad crown, a little slit at the top.

  “My name’s Mac, by the way,” he said, his deep voice breaking through my… staring. “I figure we should know each other’s names before things get any more personal.”

  My gaze snapped to his, saw his grin. He wasn’t the slightest bit embarrassed. Then again, he had nothing to be embarrassed about. I had to wonder how he walked with that thing between his legs. My inner walls clenched and I wondered what it would feel like to be filled with that monster.

  I wanted to reach out and touch it, to see if the taut skin was as smooth as I suspected, if it was hot beneath my fingers. If I stroked it, would he come?

  “Mac,” I repeated, returning to the ogling.

  This guy was wicked. A total bad boy. He had no qualms about showing off his manhood, his blatant interest in me. I could jump him and take him for a ride. He was definitely offering.

  “My eyes are up here,” he said.

  “Oh shit,” I whispered, spinning on my heel to give him—and his penis—my back. There was no other way not to look. I grabbed gloves from the box on the wall, putting them on, trying to hide how awkward he made me feel. And hot.

  What doctor said oh shit in front of a patient?

  “You’ve got my pants down. Since you’re in charge—this time—what exactly are you going to do with me?” he asked. “Whatever fun we’re going to have, you look like you’ll be gentle, but don’t worry, I like it a little rough.”

  Holy shit. Okay, this wasn’t going as I expected. Focus. FOCUS. Prostate exam. God, I wondered if his ass was as glorious as his—

  “Doc?”

  I cleared my throat. “I’m going to check your prostate. Your chart says you’ve had it screened before. Don’t worry, I have small fingers.” I wiggled them so he could see. “Men say they like me better than Dr. Neerah.”

  He raised his hands in front of him. “Whoa, Doc. I have no doubt I’d like you better than Dr. Neerah or anyone else.”

  I opened a drawer, pulled out a small cloth. “Here. With you… aroused as you are, it’s possible to ejaculate from direct prostate stimulation during a screening. Tug down your jeans some more and lean over the exam table.”

  “You’re serious,” he said, not moving.

  I frowned. “Of course. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about if it happens, Mr. Marx. I’m a doctor.”

  “You’re right, there’s no doubt I’d shoot my load when you get your hands on me, but I think there’s been some mistake.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’m not Mr. Marx. Like I said, I’m Mac. I own the auto repair shop in town. The front desk person sent me in here to wait for you, but not for you to work your pretty little fingers up my ass.”

  “Then why did you pull your pants down?” I countered, pushing my glasses back up my nose.

  “When a beautiful woman wants my pants down, I’m not going to argue.”

  I flushed at that, felt something akin to praised vanity that he called me beautiful. Which was a total lie. And his penis was still out there.

  “What happened to Mr. Marx?” I asked, not sure what to do with his comment.

  His broad shoulders went up in a casual shrug as he tucked himself back into his jeans, pulled them up. “Nervous short guy, comb-over? He told the nurse he was headed to the bathroom. I think he bolted. Not sure why now that I see you or what you were going to do.”

  I should have felt totally offended, but I wasn’t. Somehow this guy’s words didn’t make me feel cheap. He made me feel… attractive, which was completely ridiculous. I had on scrubs, no makeup, my glasses and I’d yanked my hair back into a sloppy tail over twelve hours ago. I smelled like strong surgical soap, had non-latex gloves on and held a tube of lubricating jelly.

  All of that reminded me that to a man like him, I wasn’t a woman, I was a conquest. There were more attractive women working at the hospital, women who were more worldly, less nerdy by far. Like Dr. Knowles, the asshole surgical lead, who had his sights set on me. And this guy, Mac? He did, too, it seemed.

  But Dr. Knowles made me want to shower. Mac made me want to shower… with him. And that snapped me out of it because the gorgeous hunk in front of me would not be interested in that or anything else having to do with me, the dorky, virgin doctor.

  He’d been aroused. For me. By me.

  “Why exactly are you waiting for me?” I asked, confused about so much. “And in an exam room?”

  “I have no idea why I’m in here.” He lifted his hand, indicating the sterile space. “Hospital security called me an hour ago. I guess they circle the lot. They found your car has a flat tire. They wanted me to connect with you, get it fixed.”

  “I have a flat tire,” I said dumbly. I knew the security guys. They’d walked me out when I got off shift in the middle of the night. The fact that they remembered what kind of car I drove and that they noticed I had a flat was another reminder of why I’d moved to Cutthroat.

  “You’re here to fix it,” I finally figured out.

  “That’s right. Now would you mind putting that lube down?”

  I closed my eyes, took a deep breath. “Fuck me,” I whispered. The morgue was one floor down, so if I died from embarrassment, my body wouldn’t have too far to go.

  Mac stepped up to me, grabbed the lube from my hands. My eyes flew open, and I looked up at his grinning face. “That can be arranged.”

  2

  MAC

  * * *

  “Where the fuck have you been?” Hardin asked when I climbed back into the tow truck. His glare would scare most people, but not me. Same went for his size. He was built like a fucking lumberjack, had the beard to match.

  I’d been gone long enough the heat had seeped from the cab and our breaths came out in white puffs, not that he felt the cold. It was only November and was probably going to be a rough winter.

  I laughed, turned the truck on, shifted as I tried to will my dick down. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “Try me. I’ve been sitting here bored out of my fucking mind.”

  He wasn’t into electronics, barely used his cell phone and only for calls. I doubted he even knew what an app was or, if he did, fiercely refused to give a shit.

  “I see you left your book in your purse at home,” I snapped. When he glared some more, I added, “Fine.” Turning in my seat, I slung my arm over the steering wheel and told him everything.

  His eyebrows were up beneath his watch cap by the time I was done.

  “You went in to tell a guy you were fixing his flat. Instead you get a woman who wants to tickle your prostate. You get all the fun,” he muttered.

  I shifted, put the truck into gear. “Oh, you’ll get some of this fun. This one… hell, she’s the one. No question.”

  “The one.” He laughed. When I didn’t join him, he went on. “Really? The one? You think because you got your dick out, she’ll be interested in both of us.”

  I shook my head. I’d felt the same way until twenty minutes ago. I’d hoped, but never really expected, a woman to want a serious relationship with two guys. A wild night to check off the bucket list, sure, but not forever. Cy Seaborn and Lucas Mills were in a relationship with Hailey Taylor, the ski racer. It wasn’t rumor. They’d confirmed it for me when I towed her car a little while back. I was happy for them and a whole fuck-ton jealous. Not because I wanted Hailey, but because I wanted the kind of connection they shared.

  I felt in my gut that the doc was the one, even after the ridiculous way we’d met. I wasn’t going to argue with Hardin. He’d find out for himself soon enough. “You’ll see. Third row, five cars back on the left, white Honda SUV,” I mumbled to myself.

  “What?” he asked, looking
out the window.

  “That’s where she said her car was.”

  “Who the fuck knows exactly where they park?”

  I laughed, pointed at her car when we stopped in front of it, exactly where she’d said.

  “The lady doc,” I replied. “She’s a by-the-book woman. Precise. Smart, beautiful, organized. Detailed. Gorgeous in a subtle way. And fucking young.”

  When the hospital security office called and said one of their docs had a flat tire, a Sam Smyth, I hadn’t expected Sam Smyth. I was all for women doctors, but I’d been set up for failure with this one. My dick sure had liked the surprise just fine. So did the rest of me. I saw past the messy hair, the scrubs. She didn’t have on a lick of makeup, so she had that girl-next-door look. There was no way she was trying to get me hard. She had zero artifice. I doubted she even knew how to flirt. But that uptight personality, and fuck, those glasses. Those were what had turned my dick into a lead pipe in my pants… to start. Then, when she’d said she wanted my pants down, I didn’t question. My dick had screamed OUT! even though I’d had no idea why a little thing like her was ordering my pants down when I was there to fix a flat.

  “Completely opposite of you,” Hardin countered.

  “No question. She’s meeting me—us—here. She had to track down a wayward patient.”

  Before I left, Dr. Smyth… Sam… gave me the exact location of her car—even the license plate number—and said she’d meet me in the lot but had to track down the missing Mr. Marx first. I assumed it wasn’t good for a patient to go missing. I realized I wasn’t too thrilled to have the hot doc getting the old geezer off with a little ass play. Fuck, I knew it was her job and all, but still. I wanted those hands on me.