Ordered By The Mountain Man(12)
Slipping on faux-leather sandals, I step from the bathroom and see Boone in a pair a dark blue jeans and a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up. My eyes are pulled to his forearms. Strength seems to exude from his every pore.
“Am I overdressed? For dinner?”
“You look gorgeous,” he says, as his eyes rake over me.
“Thanks,” I tell him, my eyes locked on his. For a second, time seems to stop, as once again we are pulled into this gravitational force that makes us forget where we are and who we are. All I see is his body pressed against mine.
He turns toward the heavy drapes behind us and begins pulling them open.
I walk toward him, to take in the view. “Holy shit,” I say, as the property comes into my line of sight. “Boone, this is remarkable.”
“Right?” He crosses his arms, surveying the land.
A majestic, clear blue lake glitters, and there is a large dock with several fishing boats moored. Along the shore, there’s a rack of kayaks and a row of canoes. Adirondack chairs are scattered across the grassy bank. Around the lake a well-marked trail winds through the trees, and on the horizon is a range of snow-capped mountains that glisten as the sun hits them.
“This is insane. You live here?”
“I own this place.”
“Wow.” I look at him. He isn’t one of those asshole guys who is proving the size of his cock by how large his house is, or how expensive his car is. Boone has nothing to prove. I’ve seen his cock. And, besides that, he comes off as humble and reserved, not all prideful or showy. “So you run it and do the outdoor stuff on the side?”
Not looking at me, he keeps his eyes on the lake. “I’m the fishing and hunting guide. But running the lodge isn’t my thing. I’m not the right person to be the face of the family business.”
“Oh. So is Mason the one who runs the day-to-day business?”
Boone snorts sharply. “Mason doesn’t do a damn thing besides try to sleep with anything that breathes. My mom used to run the place, her and my dad together. They passed away this past winter. Bad accident in the snow. Car overturned. Mason was driving the car that night and he’s the only one who survived.”
“I’m sorry; that must be so hard for him,” I tell him. “My best friend Everly’s parents died in a similar way, and it wrecked her world. She wasn’t the driver, though.”
He doesn’t acknowledge the sentiment, just gives a short shrug. “Mason doesn’t deal with his grief very well. And I get it, but fuck, he’s really putting me through the wringer in the meantime. Mom and Dad ran this lodge for thirty years. They made something special out here. We closed it down in February and are just getting ready to reopen in a few days. And Mason was telling the truth earlier: he’s here to help me get it running. He’s way more skilled than me when it comes to customer service, but he refuses to take responsibility. Says he ruins everything.”
I nod, trying to follow along. Clearly this business is a profitable one, serving a niche of vacationers. And they’re doing a top notch job, as far as I can tell. Still, am I here for customer service?
“So,” Boone continues, “the families that come here come expecting something—and that’s why I ordered you.”
“Me?” I shake my head confused.
“I never saw your photo, but I told Monique what I wanted in a wife, and it seems like she delivered.”
“I’m trying to understand. So I’m going to be working here?”
“Damn straight. People come here expecting a pleasant woman, the wife of the owner, running this place. But I must say—I wasn’t expecting someone so hot, to be honest.”
“Are you saying I’m too pretty to be your wife?”
“No, it’s just I expected someone more … I don’t know. Wholesome.”
My eyebrows raise in annoyance. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“That’s true,” he says, smirking. “Fuck, you have amazing tits and long, perfect legs, but I didn’t expect you’d also be as sweet as peach pie.”
“I’m more lemon meringue—a little tart,” I tell him, licking my lips to suppress my smile. Boone is fucking hot as hell, the way his eyes shine when he teases.
“Touché.” Boone runs his hand over his beard. “Anyways, that’s why the entire business model works. Most hunting lodges in Alaska cater to men, and men alone. My mom thought some women wouldn’t take kindly to their husbands traipsing around the wilderness without being close by. She was right. This lodge is booked straight for the entire summer season.”