Montana Wild Read online

  Mike gave my arm a little squeeze, and then released me. “Don't believe everything you hear.”

  “I also heard you like a little kink.”

  Mike just stared at me, his blue eyes giving nothing away. “The Bozeman grapevine at its finest. Tell you what, babe, if you want to know what I like in the bedroom, why don't you find out for yourself? My game has definitely improved since graduation.”

  I lifted my chin. “So has mine.”

  Mike clenched his jaw once again. Something flared in his eyes. Heat? Anger?

  From the dance floor, Jean-Luc or Marc gave me a little wave and a smile.

  “I'm going to dance with the twins.”

  As I turned to walk away, Mike grabbed my arm again, glared. “If you want a man's hands on you, just say so.”

  “Okay. I want to dance. Do you?”

  “Hell, no. My foot's killing me from that gnome landing on it.”

  “Whatever.”

  Mike stood at the bar and looked grim all the while I danced with the twins. One of the men touched me at all times; my waist, shoulder, hand. They weren't being aggressive or overtly sexual, but the constant touch was...arousing. They made me feel feminine and alluring. Like they couldn't keep their hands off me. Or maybe it was the alcohol that made me think that. When I darted glances at Mike, however, it seemed he picked up on the same vibe. He didn't look remotely happy. In fact, I had no doubt he might be considering multiple ways to break fingers.

  After a quick trip to the ladies’ room, I met Mike in the hallway beside the bar. “Those guys are a little too into you.”

  I looked around Mike's broad shoulder to see the twins dancing with a blonde in a very short jean skirt, lots of leg and cowboy boots. They might have been into me ten minutes ago, but they were clearly fickle.

  “They seem to move on fast, too. Must be a family thing.” I held up my hand. “Oh wait, maybe it's just me.” The last I said with bitterness. Maybe it was me. I hadn't dated in eons; my sex life was non-existent. I was fake engaged. I couldn't seem to get it right. Maybe the reason Mike walked away graduation night wasn't because of some excuse of his. Maybe it was me.

  “Let's dance,” Mike said, his voice dark and deep. Mike pulled me possessively toward the dance floor, not giving me a choice in the matter. I didn't want to dance with him because I didn't like his bossy attitude.

  “I thought your foot hurt.”

  He spun me around and I grabbed his shoulders to keep my balance. He placed his large hands low, very low, on my back. My belly pressed firmly into a very specific hard place. Was it hot in here?

  “I'm a podiatrist. I cured myself.”

  We started moving to the music and a whole lot more of him touched me besides his hands. His muscled thigh wedged between mine and since I came only up to his shoulder, I practically rode it Dirty Dancing style. My girl parts brushed and bumped against him in ways that sent zings through me. Holy hell. No wonder everyone had been in love with Patrick Swayze. If Mike could melt my butter—as Goldie would say—on the dance floor, I wondered what moves he had in the bedroom. No! I couldn't go there. I couldn't have thoughts like that. I was mad at him and wanted to strangle him, not run my hands all over his body.

  For a guy so big, he was an incredibly good dancer. My brain was fighting a losing battle. He moved us both to the deep throbbing of the music, his palms holding me against him, his fingers resting on the upper swell of my ass. I wasn't going anywhere. Knowing that, I gave over and my brain let go. For the moment, I was his and he was making it very well known to anyone watching.

  One song in, I didn't think I was going to make it. My morals were being sorely tried by the liquor and Mike's dominating grip on me. Sweat pricked my skin, I knew my cheeks were flushed and heated. There was no doubt he could feel the hard tips of my nipples pressed against him. I'd become scorchingly aroused and when I felt vibrations right...there—

  “Holy shit,” I panted, my forehead thudding against Mike's hard chest. Was that a vibrator in his pocket? If I could practically have an orgasm on the dance floor, I didn't think I'd survive if he ever got in my pants again.

  I moved against him and it happened again. I felt the sensation zip through me from head to toe. My heart pounded and a soft moan escaped my lips. Mike leaned down, his breath hot on my ear, his lips lingering there. Did he know such a little spot could drive me crazy?

  “Like that?” His voice was low so only I could hear. Dark.

  I nodded my head shamelessly. He shifted me back a few inches, reached into his jeans pocket.

  He pulled out his cell and smirked.

  Oh, God. I was officially a hussy.

  He read a text, his grin dissolved. “Shit, we have to go get someone at the airport.”

  “Now?”

  “Have other plans, babe?”

  He winked.

  I rolled my eyes. Damn him and his sex toy phone. The plan was to be angry and avoid him at all costs. Now, all I wanted to do was climb him like the nympho I appeared to be and use him for my pleasure. Maybe I could use him and lose him. It would serve him right. I had a feeling though, that once wasn't going to be enough. “Now?” I repeated.

  Mike looked at the watch on his wrist. One of the only men I knew who used a watch and had a phone. “Soon.”

  “Who?”

  “My mom doesn't say.”

  “How do we know who we're waiting for?” I asked.

  We were back to the familiar baggage claim area of the Anchorage airport. My ardor had cooled substantially once I was separated from Mike's thigh and cell phone. The same canned voice from the night before prompted me to hold on to my luggage, the same stuffed bear gave me the beady eye. I was just as tired as the night before, but this time, I was well on my way to drunk on top of it. It was still light out after midnight and my body was completely confused.

  “Do we even know where the person is coming from?”

  Mike looked up at the Arrivals monitor hanging from the ceiling nearby. “Either Dutch Harbor, Nome, Denver or LA.”

  “I have no idea where Dutch Harbor is and I doubt either of us—or your mom—knows anyone in Nome. I guess we can narrow it down to the lower forty-eight.” I glanced at the digital time display on the Arrival monitor, inpatient to pick up the mystery person so I could fall asleep, or pass out, whichever happened first. Through my sloshy brain, I had a moment of clarity. “Oh, my God. I just figured it out.”

  A family pushing two luggage carts and two screaming kids rolled by. Mike eyed me, his hands tucked into his jeans pockets. Waiting. “What?”

  “Why Zach put his gnome in my suitcase.”

  “And?”

  “Nome, Alaska. I bet he thought George was from there and wanted him to go home to see his family or something.”

  Mike's mouth tipped up at the corner. “The boy can't spell, but he's certainly imaginative.”

  I wasn't the best speller in the world so I wasn't going to hold it against a little kid. I thought it was great. “He's seven.”

  “Are we watching, then, for gnomes coming in from Nome? Think they're claiming baggage?”

  “They'd fit in the clown car better than we do.” The whole thing was funny. In a seven-year-old sort of way. No grown up would have been creative thinking enough to even consider a gnome from Nome. I needed to text Jane about George, but glancing again at the clock, decided it was too late for tonight. Especially since Montana was two hours ahead.

  We stood idly by for five minutes watching arriving passengers before I gave up and slumped down in the nearest seat. Weary travelers, either from the late hour or from the screaming children who disembarked with them, made their way to the luggage carousels. There seemed to be something about late nights at the airport and screaming children.

  No familiar faces.

  “I'm going to find the restroom,” I told Mike as I peeled myself out of my seat.

  “Yoo hoo!”

  Oh. My. God.

  I didn't have
to turn around to know who we'd come to pick up. I'd recognize that high-pitched sound anywhere. From the slight cringe on Mike's face, he knew as well. Slowly, I pasted on a smile and faced the latest Ostranski family reunion guest.

  “Well, as I live and breathe. Violet, I met the nicest person next to me on the plane and I was telling her all about your book! I read her part of it from my little e-reader thingie and she said she'd need new panties before she got off the plane. Michael, I think you've actually grown taller since I've seen you last. Congratulations on your engagement!”

  How did Goldie seem so bright and perky when everyone around us looked wilted and worn out? If I didn't know the woman well, I'd almost think she took uppers all the time.

  I had slowly made my way to Mike's side during Goldie's outburst, not sure if I was trying to hide behind his massive size or use him as a deflector shield. He leaned down close and whispered. “Book? New panties?”

  I had no idea Hell was located in the Arctic Circle.

  Chapter 11

  “This is the smallest car I've ever seen,” Goldie said once settled in the front seat of the clown car. I was wedged into the back, déjà vu of the night before. “Michael, did it shrink in the rain?”

  Goldie was the only one to laugh at her joke. Mike was crunched behind the wheel and I, the same, in the back. I had to admit tonight it was a little claustrophobic.

  She wore jeans, wedge-heeled espadrilles, a black T-shirt that had been attacked by small rhinestones. Her hair was poufed everywhere except for a flat spot at the back. An airplane headrest was the only weapon I knew to be successful against helmet head. I wasn't planning on telling her about this style defect and I knew Mike wouldn't touch it with a ten-foot pole.

  “Why didn't you tell me you were coming up here?” I asked.

  Goldie turned her head toward me. “What, and spoil all the fun?”

  Some fun. Even with my liquor induced stupor, I realized something important. “I called you earlier and you were helping a customer.”

  She shook her head. “I was at the Denver airport.”

  “But you were talking about silicone...something.” I wasn't exactly sure what. “And crotchless panties.”

  Mike gave me a questioning look through the rear-view mirror as if he'd never heard of crotchless panties before. The fact that I'd said 'crotchless panties' in a sentence meant I'd been around Goldie too much.

  “That was a man who had a question about the difference between a dildo and a vibrator.”

  “Miss Goldie, how did the man even know you owned an adult store? Do you have a T-shirt or something?” Mike wondered, his eyes on the road.

  Goldie shook her head. “I just like to talk to people and one thing leads to another. You know how that goes.”

  Um, actually no.

  “What about Dr. West?” I asked, referring to her husband, a Bozeman obstetrician.

  “He's on call this weekend. Besides, he's not the one related.”

  “I didn't know you were related,” I said, yawning. It was hard to stay awake, although Goldie's non-stop chatter was doing a decent job keeping me conscious.

  “Claudine's brother Bob's first wife's sister is my mother's second cousin. I'm surprised you didn't know that Michael.”

  I followed as far as Uncle Bob, and then she lost me.

  “No, I didn't know that,” Mike replied, his eyes focused on the road. “What's this book you were talking about?”

  Oh, crap. I'd rather talk about crotchless panties.

  “You haven't heard?” Goldie asked, sounding surprised.

  Mike shook his head.

  “Violet's written a book. An erotic romance and it's smokin' hot.”

  Mike gave me a look in the mirror that screamed Really?

  “It was nothing.” I shrugged my shoulders trying to play it cool, when in fact I was completely freaking out. The book was supposed to be a secret, something that wasn't going to be shared with anyone. Goldie, sure, but she ran an adult store and could appreciate a good sexual fantasy more than anyone else. And up until about thirty seconds ago, I thought she was very good at keeping secrets.

  But to tell Mike, ugh, Mike of all people! I was mortified. What was he going to think of me, think of what kind of weird, kinky person I was when he read it? It was one thing to practically get off from his vibrating cell phone while humping his leg, it was another to share with him my writing. No, he was never going to read it. I'd feed Goldie's e-reader to Bullwinkle first.

  The last time I wrote a piece of fiction was back in college for a creative writing final. I'd been proud of my work, erotic and racy, and I'd poured my whole heart into it. I'd shared it with my boyfriend at the time, Todd. He'd broken up with me directly after reading it, stunned I could come up with such 'trash,' as he'd called it. If that wasn't enough, he'd told all of his frat buddies. The guys were either stunned I wasn't a 'lady' to take home to their Southern mammas or they figured since I wrote about sex I wanted it with anyone. Fortunately, it had been the end of my sophomore year and I was able to escape by going home for the summer.

  I had been devastated by Todd's cruel words and my friends' reactions to it enough to know I couldn't go through that kind of blanket rejection ever again. Fortunately, if there was one good thing from the experience, is that I'd been far from home in Louisiana. Not Montana where my family and real friends lived. After summer break, where I'd taught fly fishing to tourists, I returned for my junior year and immediately switched majors to elementary education. It had been a cruel time and I'd learned my lesson. The hard way.

  My hard and fast life rule, only broken for Goldie, was, ‘No more stories.’ Besides, men didn't like women who wrote erotica. At least not for more than one night.

  “Goldie, Mike's not interested in something like that.” I meant my book. “It's for women and nothing he would like.” I cleaned out my fingernails, refusing to look up and see Mike's reaction.

  No one said anything. Although the silence was unsettling, it was better than being grilled about erotic romance. After a few minutes, Goldie piped up. She couldn't stay quiet. Ever. “Claudine told me all about our day tomorrow. I can't wait.”

  The woman had been in the state twenty minutes and knew more than me.

  “The train ride is going to be amazing. I hope it's not too early for you,” Mike told Goldie.

  Train ride. Early. Hunh.

  “Oh, no. I slept most of the flight from Denver. I'll be ready at five-thirty just as Claudine planned.”

  What? Five thirty? In the morning?

  “Hold up. Five-thirty?” I looked at the tiny blue numbers on the dash. It was after midnight and the sky was still bright. I wasn't going to make it.

  “Sightseeing train down to Seward,” Mike told me. “Leaves at seven.”

  Planes, trains and automobiles. With Goldie and Mrs. O. I would never complain about tutoring boogie-faced kids ever again.

  Two nights in a row, I fell asleep while Mike had his turn in the bathroom. The only way he'd get lucky with me was if he was into unresponsiveness.

  What felt like moments after my head hit the pillow, a blaring alarm clock jolted me awake. I sat up, not sure where I was, then slumped back down with a groan, my head splitting. My mouth felt like a mushroom farm had moved in and my stomach flipped like clothes in a dryer.

  Mike slammed his hand down on the bedside clock. I winced at the loud noise.

  “Come on, babe. Sights to see.”

  I threw the blanket over my head in response. The bed was warm, the blankets soft, and the darkness beneath bliss. I had no idea how I was going to handle consciousness, sunlight, a moving train and the combination of Goldie and Mrs. O.

  Hearing the shower kick on, I curled back into oblivion.

  “Your turn.” Mike pulled the covers back. “Holy hell. You need these worse than I thought. Here.”

  Sprawled facedown, I opened one eye. The room was dim, but daylight peeked around the metal blinds. If I hadn't flo
wn into darkness, I'd think the sun never went down.

  Mike held several pills and a glass of water. He wore jeans, unbuttoned and nothing else. A smattering of dark red hair spread across his chest, a thin line of it tapering down over his flat belly to disappear behind the zipper of his jeans. God, he was sex on a stick. Even hungover and miserable I was able to think steamy thoughts.

  I wasn't dead.

  “Doctor's orders.” Sitting up carefully, I complied. “You'll feel better after a shower.”

  “Promise?” I asked as I continued to ogle his hotness.

  Mike just smiled and went over to his suitcase and rummaged through, pulling out a shirt.

  Pounding the water, I slogged to the bathroom and saw myself in the mirror. I stifled a scream. My dark hair had been styled by a scarecrow, my makeup by a raccoon. I could've jumped Mike's bones in his jean-clad body and he most likely wouldn't have responded. I was a man's worst nightmare come to life. Would he ever think I was borderline attractive, let alone sexy, ever again?

  I moved to the shower and stood beneath the hot spray. And stood. Waiting for the fog to clear, for my hangover nausea to fade. How had I gotten myself into this mess? I'd partially agreed to Mike's ruse just to get out of Bozeman and away from Goldie. But that was just to be a girlfriend. Plans had changed, and the engagement ratcheted up the chaos. Now, I had the insanity of being the fiancée, Mike's family, plus Goldie. And here in Alaska, there was no escape. No hourly punch card where I could clock out and walk away. With the ridiculous hours we were keeping, it seemed like a twenty-four-seven kind of job.

  Mike knocked on the door, shouted. “Come on, Vi, we've got a train to catch.”

  I groaned and reached for the shampoo.

  “Explain what we're doing again,” I said.

  Mike and I drove back into town alone since we were running behind. This time to the train station. The others had left before us. I had on my sunglasses to block out the brightness of the sun, high in the sky even at six in the morning. The rain had blown away along with the heavy clouds, and for the first time, I could see the tall mountains that flanked Anchorage. They were vivid green with craggy peaks at the top, some still snowcapped. The mountains were taller than I was used to in Bozeman and it was more green and lush. The amount of rain that had fallen since my arrival could easily have been the same as the annual quota for Montana.