Mountain Desire

by Vanessa Vale

  What conscious guy would argue with a stunner like her? If she wanted my pants down, my pants went down. Period.

  I turned off the tow truck’s engine and hopped out to see the damage, if the tire could be plugged and re-inflated. Hardin followed. I squatted down beside the tire to take a closer look.

  “What the fuck? That tire’s slashed,” he commented. We owned the shop together, both of us mechanics. While we tackled all kinds of cars and trucks, we also repaired snowmobiles, ATVs, tractors, even snowblowers.

  Who’d want to slash the doc’s tire? She wasn’t old enough to have enemies. I went from eager to fucking pissed in two-point-five seconds. Who fucked with a woman like this? It was an asshole thing to do. It might have been over fifteen years since my mom died. I hadn’t been there for her, my own fucking fault, but I’d take care of Sam. Cancer and a slashed tire weren’t remotely close to the same thing.

  Most tow drivers would fix her flat and walk away. Never see her again. It was business. One more tire in a long line of tires. That sure as fuck wasn’t happening with us. We’d see her again, and not because some asshole had fucked up her car. We’d see her again because not seeing her wasn’t an option. Hardin would agree as soon as he laid eyes on her.

  “Who the fuck would want to do that?”

  “I have no fucking idea,” I murmured. “I don’t like this.”

  He made a sound of agreement, a cross between a grunt and a growl. A slashed tire was petty. A dick move. Besides being an asshole, the guy didn’t have the balls to be up front about his problem. While I didn’t want a guy getting up in Sam’s grill, this passive-aggressive shit only riled me up.

  Hardin agreed. She’d get our protection.

  The sound of crunching snow signaled the doc’s approach. I looked up at her and… fuck. Yeah, the sucker punch I’d felt when I saw her inside had been real, not the burger I’d had for lunch haunting me. I wanted this woman with a fierceness I’d never felt before. With the slashed tire on top of it all, I was fierce.

  “Holy shit,” Hardin whispered.

  Yeah, I’d been right that the doc would do it for him.

  There wasn’t much of her we could see between her thick puffy coat, fleece scarf, hat and mittens. Her blonde ponytail stuck out below her thick hat. Strands had come loose and framed her heart-shaped face. Her cheeks were as pink as her full lips, her eyes—hidden behind those fucking glasses—were as blue as the cold sky.

  I pegged her at maybe midtwenties, pretty damned young for a doc and pretty damned young for me. Hardin, too. Her coat stopped just above her knees, and she wore blue scrub pants and sneakers. She was a few inches over five feet, and her shape was well hidden. I remembered seeing the swell of breasts beneath her scrubs, but the drab hospital clothing wasn’t flattering and hid too much. I itched to push her up against her car, unzip her coat and roam over every inch of her, but I also wanted to zip the coat up even higher and hustle her into the warmth of the tow truck’s cab.

  She was… adorable, which was the dumbest fucking word for me to even think. I wasn’t a seven-year old girl looking at puppy pictures. Yet she’d gotten my pants down and my dick all hard.

  She wasn’t like any woman I’d ever been with. Hell, unlike any I’d ever met, and the thought of her riding my dick in only her glasses made my jeans fucking tight. Hardin was the one who liked to read books without pictures, and I knew the whole naughty librarian thing did it for him. But a dirty doctor who screamed prickly naivete? He was a goner.

  Fuck, my mind was in the gutter for this one, had been since she walked in that exam room and I practically swallowed my tongue when I saw her. It was insane, but she was the one. I knew it. Felt it. Why? Fuck, I had no idea. But I wanted to know why she was so young and a doctor. Why she was prickly about it. Why she remembered exactly where her car was.

  “Hello,” she said, her voice soft but as direct as her gaze.

  I stood and she had to tilt her chin back to look at me. Her eyes flared wide for a second, unsure after the fun we’d had in the ER, and she licked her lips. Of course I watched her little pink tongue flick out, and I didn’t need my prostate tickled to come.

  I wondered if she was afraid of me. Some women were. I had pulled my pants down, a whole fuck-ton too forward, but how the hell was I to know she thought I was a patient?

  I was big, tattooed, rough around the edges, probably seven or eight years older. My nose was crooked, my knuckles gnarled from fights and work. My nails, no matter how much I scrubbed, were stained. I wasn’t the clean-cut type—I’d lost that the second I was sent to juvie—but that didn’t mean I would hurt her. No fucking way.

  And I wasn’t even considering Hardin in those thoughts. The two of us together in a dark alley would make most men shit themselves.

  “Doc,” I said by way of greeting.

  “Sam’s fine,” she said, waving her mitten-covered hand.

  “Hey… this is Hardin. He came along for the ride. He might be big, but he’s a softy.”

  She looked his way, took in all six-foot-five inches. His beard. Heft. Then she glanced back toward the building, her back ramrod straight. She seemed… scared.

  “Hey, Sam,” Hardin said. “I heard what happened with Mac, and the story’s made my day. He’s a good guy though. He won’t hurt you. He’s the last man on earth who’d hurt a woman.”

  On my mother’s grave.

  “Neither of us will,” he continued. “Okay?”

  He’d picked up on her nerves, too. I leaned forward a little so our heights were closer, so I could look right into those pale eyes. “Okay?” I repeated.

  Sucking in a breath, she nodded.

  “Yeah, not okay,” I commented, noticing she didn’t look the least bit settled. Gently I placed my hands on her shoulders, felt the heft of her coat, but then her beneath. Sturdy. Tense. “I apologize for what happened inside. It was a dick move.”

  For a second she did nothing, then laughed. “Yes, it was.”

  Beneath my palms, I felt her relax just a little. Good, she was able to joke about it. I was the one who’d had his dick out.

  “I admit, it was… unusual, what happened,” she continued. “A misunderstanding for both of us, but nothing to be stressed about.”

  I cocked my head to the side, saw the tense lines around her mouth. “Then why are you stressed? It’s been all of ten minutes since I had my pants down.”

  I wanted to know, to fix whatever shit she had.

  She looked at me with those pale eyes. I could see her mind working and wondered if she ever shut it down.

  “I ran into an annoying coworker. Had words. That’s all.”

  I felt her body tense up as she said that. Heard the snap in her tone. We’d just met, but she was pretty damned easy to read. She wasn’t mad. She was strong, as if her spine were made of steel and she was fortifying it.

  That was good and all, her being strong, but some weights were too heavy for anyone to handle alone.

  “Do I need to beat the shit out of him?” I asked, giving her shoulders a gentle squeeze. “Or I can get Hardin to do it. He can make a guy piss himself with just a glare.”

  Her gaze had drifted to my chest, but at my question she looked up at me again, flicked her gaze toward Hardin.

  “You’d do that? You don’t even know me.”

  Fuck. She slayed me. Done. Dead. She was actually surprised I’d help her ass. Hadn’t anyone stood up for her before?

  I didn’t answer, just tugged her into my chest, wrapped my arms around her. Over her head, I stared at Hardin. His jaw clenched and he nodded. Thank fuck, he was right there with me. He was the touchy-feely one, but I fucking had to hold her.

  I hugged her close, but she stood rigid. Her arms were at her sides. She didn’t lean in, didn’t relax.

  “What did this guy do, Sam?” I murmured, leaning down so I could breathe in her scent. Harsh soap, fruity shampoo and something soft and feminine.

  “How do you know it�
�s a guy?” she asked. She turned her face into my chest, nuzzled a little. Fuck, that felt good.

  “I know.” I did. Women got pissed at each other. Snarled and hissed before an all-out cat fight. This wasn’t that.

  “Why are you hugging me?” she asked, perhaps just realizing I was doing so. “I’m not much of a hugger. It’s highly unusual.”

  “I think you’re going to learn pretty quick, sweetheart, we’re not like anyone else,” Hardin said.

  She turned her head to look up at him. I liked seeing her in my arms, the confusion, the… fuck, innocence in her gaze. She was standoffish, but not with us. It seemed to be her nature.

  “Look, if someone’s messing with you, we need to know.”

  “Why?”

  “Because an annoying coworker is the least of your problems.” I thumbed over my shoulder. “Someone slashed your tire.”

  She stepped back and I let her go. She looked down at the tire, her long hair slid over her shoulder.

  It was obvious someone had slit it. I’d seen it before, in a bar lot. But a hospital? It wasn’t as if it could have been done somewhere else and she drove here with it. No other cars had been messed with. Why her car? What had she done to someone? I doubted she even killed a spider. Probably studied it under a microscope, then set it free.

  I didn’t like this. No one fucked with her. Not my doc.

  Her mouth fell open, and she stared at me as if I’d just spoken Swahili. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “The side wall’s slit,” Hardin explained, clearly trying not to clench his jaw at the intentional act.

  Someone was screwing with her. Her.

  “So the guy who’s got you all wound tight,” I said. “Think he did this?”

  She studied the tire as she responded. “Doubtful. We were in surgery together until an hour ago. While it is physically possible for him to come out here and do it, realistically it would be beneath him. You said the security guys found the tire on their rounds; therefore they could have found him causing the damage. Besides, he wields a scalpel, not a knife.” She frowned, then pushed her glasses up. “No, it wasn’t him.”

  “A scalpel could have done that,” Hardin commented, tipping his head toward the tire.

  Some dickhead was clearly bothering her, but didn’t slice her tire. What she said made sense. Most people shared their problems, got help from friends. For her I doubted that was the case. She was asked a question, and she replied with fact. Assessing and analyzing was her thing. Feelings and emotions seemed to be a struggle.

  We’d find out about the asshole, abso-fucking-lutely. But if he didn’t do it, then who the fuck did?

  “Can you replace it?” she asked.

  “Got a spare in the back?” I asked, thinking about how I’d grip those long tresses as I fucked her from behind. How Hardin would get her in the shower and wash them. He’d pamper the shit out of her. And she needed it.

  I studied her. She wasn’t wound up. She was way too chill for that. Controlled, definitely. And wouldn’t it be fun to get her to give that up, just for me? Just for me and Hardin, because what she didn’t know was that she had two guys looking out for her. No fucking way could either of us leave her to deal with a tire slasher on her own.

  She shrugged, but the gesture was barely noticeable beneath her coat. “I’m actually not sure.”

  That was a surprise. I angled my head toward her car. “May I?”

  She fished her keys from her pocket, clicked the fob. The vehicle beeped. I went to the back, opened the cargo door and lifted the cover for where the spare was supposed to be. “No spare.”

  What would she have done on her own? Smart as she was, she’d have probably either gone to the security guys and they’d have called me, or she’d have gotten in touch with me directly. Either way we’d be right here, right now. I’d have missed seeing her face when she saw my dick for the first time, wouldn’t have caught on that I’d flustered and gotten her hot for it all at the same time.

  “As in it’s missing or there never was one?” she asked.

  I wasn’t sure what the difference was in this moment, but I said, “Never was one.”

  “Why?” she wondered.

  I frowned, slammed the door closed. “Why? You want to know why?” No one had really asked me that before.

  “I always want to know why,” she countered.

  Hardin smirked.

  I ran a hand over my head. Her curiosity in the face of a slashed tire and freezing temperatures and whatever fuck-a-doc douche canoe had said to her, surprised—and amused—me.

  “Well, to cut down on weight sometimes, for example with an electric car or fuel efficiency,” I told her. “Or because the car company’s cheap.”

  When I turned back around to face her, she was staring up at the sky and mumbling, as if asking God for a tire to drop from the heavens for her.

  My lips twitched, and I glanced at Hardin. She was wound pretty tight, although I’d be pissed too if someone sliced my tire. I was catching on that this seemed to be her all the time. Yeah, she needed someone in her life to slow her roll a bit. Slay some fucking dragons, because a doctor like her seemed to somehow have a shit-ton of them. She was too young and probably spent way too many hours inside a hospital to stir up enemies.

  “Do you have to be back in the ER or are you done for the day?” Hardin asked.

  “Done. Very done.”

  “Good,” I replied. “We can tow you into the shop and swap it out.”

  I wasn’t keen on fixing it and forgetting it. Or her. Someone had slashed her fucking tire. I wasn’t planning on letting her out of our sights anytime soon. She just didn’t know it yet.

  I could see her mind working over the options, which weren’t very many. We were the only tow in town, and there wasn’t a big-box store in Cutthroat that sold tires. I wouldn’t call our little operation a monopoly, but if she wanted her tire fixed, we were the only men for the job. Or any other job she might need filled.

  It was time to stop thinking and start moving.

  “Look, sweetheart, you can say yes and get your cute ass in the truck to keep warm while I hook your car up, or Hardin can toss you over his shoulder, put your cute ass in the truck to keep warm, then I’ll still hook your car up. Which is it?”

  Her eyes widened and she licked her lips. I’d bet my right nut that my taking control had turned her on. When she spun about and went over to the truck without an argument or a why, I knew my nuts were safe. Hardin opened the door, grabbed her by the waist and lifted her up into the cab. Yeah, she needed a guiding hand, and we were going to give it to her. And more.

  3

  SAM

  * * *

  The day had turned weird, really weird. Really fast.

  I was at ease having my hands inside a cracked chest or open abdomen. In the operating room I was in my comfort zone. I knew what to do, the next steps. I could see it in my mind. Consider every possibility.

  Now? I wasn’t at home in my sweats with my book as mentally planned. As was my normal routine. My comfort zone. Instead I was at the Gallows, the popular bar on Main Street, with Mac, the bad-boy hottie who’d showed me his dick, and Hardin, his huge, linebacker-sized friend. His hot friend.

  Hardin had deep auburn hair, a color most women would kill for. Once he removed his hat, I could see it was cut much shorter than Mac’s, neat and tidy, along with a trimmed beard. I didn’t see a single tattoo, but there was a lot of body that was hidden beneath a blue plaid flannel and jeans. If he carried an ax, he’d be a full-fledged lumberjack. I felt small and weak beside him. I might be able to resect an aorta, but I was sure he could lift a car.

  Yet he didn’t seem scary. He was quiet, gave off a sense of calm that was oddly reassuring, even when I’d been pressed between the two of them in the cab of the tow truck, had thought of Mac’s threat to spank my ass if I were a bad girl.

  I was never bad.

  The testosterone pumping off the two of them must
have fried my brain because here I was. I was so far out of my element. I’d turned down coworkers’ offers for a drink after work. Every time they asked. Why had I agreed to get some food with Mac and Hardin? My ovaries must have made me say yes.

  To two men. And that was the second thing that made this day weird.

  Oh yeah, the third? I saw a guy’s penis—Mac’s penis—and it hadn’t belonged to a patient. And that had clearly made me lose my mind. That penis was attached to the hottest guy ever and that made it the hottest penis in existence. It wasn’t just a penis, it was a dick. Penis was a clinical term. Medical. The thing Mac had let spring from his jeans was blatantly sexual. Virile.

  The way Mac was looking at me, like he wanted to drag me back to his cave by my ratty ponytail, had my pussy clenching, made me eager for him to pull his pants down again.

  Hardin sat beside him and eyed me, too. As if he hadn’t seen a woman before, or he’d been at sea for six months and I was the first woman he’d spotted in port.

  Again, two men. TWO. As in more than one.

  If I felt awkward and out of place in a bar, I had no idea how I’d behave if I were in Mac’s bed. He was years older than me. Experienced. Looking at him, he must have conquered every female in Cutthroat County. I had zero experience with a guy. Oh, I knew all about the penis in a medical sense, the two chambers, the corpora cavernosa that was surrounded by the tunica albuginea. But a hard dick, in a vagina… in my vagina or hand or mouth…

  I squirmed in the booth because it wasn’t just Mac’s dick. There was Hardin’s dick, too. I hadn’t seen it, but I wondered if it was proportionately sized, because if it was, it was going to be a baby arm. A baseball bat. A club. How did he walk?

  “You didn’t have to take me to dinner,” I said, trying to steer my thoughts away from their anatomy. What did one say in a situation like this, especially after the mix-up in the ER? So tell me about your dick. Do you get hard for all the girls or just me? How did you fit it back in your jeans? Is it still hard?