Ordered By The Mountain Man(18)

“Oh, I don’t drink caffeine.” She smiles warmly. “Thanks for thinking of me, though.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you don’t drink booze, either.”

“I drink plenty of booze, don’t worry.” She laughs, patting the dock for me to sit facing her. “It’s just that caffeine always gives me a headache. I can make myself some green tea later. I’m sure Trey can help me around the kitchen.”

For some reason the words green tea makes me cringe. Green tea isn’t the sort of beverage people talk about out here. She can do what she likes—within reason, and with some clear boundaries. And it’s not because I’m an asshole. I just don’t want her life to be unduly difficult. This is not Portland.

I sit down on the wooden dock, my knees bent in front of me, and run my hand over my beard, remembering dinner last night.

“So ... I see you were up early to do yoga,” I say. “Is that gonna be a regular thing with you?”

She shrugs, then places her hands on my ankles, pulling at me gently. “You have a tone, Boone.”

“A tone?” I scoff.

“Yeah,” she laughs. “Look, I know we’re slightly different ... but we’re gonna need to find a workaround.”

We watch one another in silence, and I don’t answer. What the fuck does she want me to say, exactly?

“Look.” She starts again. “I love yoga, and so—to answer your question—yes, it is a regular thing for me. Is that all right with you?”

“That’s cool and all,” I tell her, meaning it. “You look hot as fuck out here, and I’m looking forward to getting you in a downward dog, or whatever shit this is, later. But I just need to explain that this routine is not gonna fly when the guests start to arrive.”

Delta pulls back. “What do you mean?”

“I mean guests come here for a real Alaskan experience. Not some Sanskrit retreat.”

She rolls her eyes. “You sound so stupid right now.”

“Do I? Well this business has been lucrative for thirty years because we give guests what they want. If they want a yoga retreat, they go to fucking India.”

“Are you literally telling me that when guests arrive I can’t do headstands?”

“I am.”

“That’s more insane than the meat orgy I witnessed last night.”

“Let’s not get ugly about this.”

She snorts. “Boone, you just told me I couldn’t stretch in public. That is one thousand kinds of bananas.”

“I’ll tell you what is fucking bananas: the idea of my wife coming out to a fishing dock at six A.M., when our tours start, wearing these skin-tight pants and a cropped top, showing off her perfect tits and damn perfect ass for sixty-year-old horndogs while we’re loading our gear up on the boats.”

“You’re so ridiculous, Boone. You want to get married? Then maybe cut it out with the ultimatums.

“Damn, woman, you were a lot more fucking fun last night when you were sitting on my cock.”

“Oh, yeah?” She stands, her blissed out yoga state long gone as she starts pointing fingers and yelling. “Well, you’re a lot more fun when you don’t talk.”

I stand, facing her, turned on by her anger, her shouting and her demands. My cock is getting harder the more riled up she gets. She’s less than foot away, and I’m about ready to pull her in for a kiss.

Damn, she’s trouble.

“You don’t want ultimatums?” I ask, crossing my arms. “Then maybe you should follow my rules and I won’t have to get heavy-handed.”

“Oh, my God,” she moans. “Are you kidding me with that? Your rules? You actually think I’m going to stop doing yoga out here because you say so?”

“We’re getting married today, Delta, which means I’m your husband—which means yes. If I don’t want you out here, then yeah, you won’t.”

“This is not 1954, just so you know. And I can’t do this already crazy mail order bride thing with you, if you can’t respect me as a woman of the twenty-first century.” She starts walking past me, and I catch her hand, making her stop.

“Where do you think you’re going?” I ask her, my hand wrapping around her wrist, holding her still. She looks down, as if looking for proof that one second we’re yelling and the next sparks of energy fly between us.

She hesitates, bites her lip, and damn, it’s clear she’s conflicted between what her mind and her body are saying.

Talk about opposing views. She wants my cock, but hates what I stand for.

My eyes burn into hers, and I use my other hand, taking hers and pressing it to my hardening cock.