WALKER: The men of Whiskey Mountain

by Love, Frankie

  WALKER

  The men of Whiskey Mountain

  Frankie Love

  Copyright © 2019 by Frankie Love

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

  Contents

  About:

  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

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  Preview

  About the Author

  About:

  I came to Whiskey Mountain to outrun my past, but now it’s knocking on my cabin door.

  One look, one kiss, one night -- and I know Waverly is mine.

  But this innocent woman is linked to my family in a way that will break her.

  I can’t let her go. Not yet.

  And the trouble I’m dodging is hell-bent on finding us both.

  When it does, Waverly will know the truth.

  I’m the brother of the drug lord who killed her sister.

  My family is coming… and it’s up to me to save the woman I love.

  Dear Reader,

  This is the novel you’ve been waiting for:

  A virgin named Waverly waiting for her hero to take her.

  A rugged man named Walker who’s dirty, dangerous, and willing to do the deed.

  In classic Frankie Love fashion, the Whiskey Mountains were made for miracles and this filthy-sweet romance was made for you.

  Xo, Frankie

  1

  Walker

  The moment I see her in the bar I know.

  Know how the night will end.

  It’s only a matter of time.

  I catch her eye and, in that flash, she knows it too. Some things in life are inevitable. Like the two of us fucking somewhere quiet, dark. Finding warmth in this godforsaken wilderness wherever we can find it.

  But even if we were on a tropical fucking beach, it would go down like this.

  Her. Me. Tonight.

  I take my three fingers of whiskey and walk over to her. She’s sitting at the end of the bar, torn up in a way I can understand. Her eyes are heavy and she’s nursing a Moscow mule in a copper cup, hardly taking a sip.

  She needs company.

  She smiles as I saunter over, knowing where this is going. She kicks out the stool next to her and I take a seat. Like we’ve done this before.

  “I’m Walker,” I tell her. “Jeremy Walker. And who are you?”

  She smirks. A hard ass with a soft center. How’d I figure that? Well, she’s been playing with gold the chain on her neck, one half a heart dangling from it. Mean girls don’t wear friendship necklaces, that’s for damn sure. For another, when she lifted her hands to tie up her long hair, I saw a hint of her underwear. Bad girls don’t wear white lace panties, I can you tell you that for certain.

  “I’m Waverly,” she says.

  Sitting this close means I can smell the lavender and mint shampoo she uses, and somehow, even in this town sitting on the edge of civilization, she smells fresh. She smells like home.

  Not that I know a thing about that. But if I did — if I was the kind of man who knew what it meant to be back by dinner, it would smell like her.

  “And you’re a long way from where you started,” I say, taking a drink. It doesn’t burn going down. I’ve done this far too many times for it to sting.

  “How’d you know that?” she asks, her eyelashes fluttering. My cock aches, picturing her on her knees, taking me in her pretty pink mouth while looking up into my eyes. Dark lashes, dark deeds. She’s the girl I need tonight.

  Every night.

  A goddamn fantasy showing up in this dive bar, in the middle of Alaska, so far from civilization that it’s easy to get lost. But I won’t lose her. No way in hell will she get spun up and turned around. I’m the man to point her in the right direction.

  “I can tell by your clothes. Anyone who spent much time in Alaska wouldn’t be wearing a jean jacket and boots with heels, for starters.”

  “And for seconds?” she asks, licking those perfect lips.

  “For seconds,” I say, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, letting the sparks fly as they will, letting them land. We both feel it. That undeniable draw. “You’re too clean for the wilderness. Scrubbed with innocence; eyes that are sweeter than you want to let on.”

  She shakes her head slowly. “You know nothing about me, Walker.”

  “Then tell me.”

  She smiles then, bringing light into this dark bar; my heart tenses, because shit, I was just looking for a lay, but she’s just handed me love at first fucking sight.

  “You’re trouble,” she says, avoiding my request. To know her. All of her. Every damn thing about her. The whole story start to finish. “Well, let’s just say the innocence you think you see when you look at me, it’s not there.”

  “No?” I take a harder look at her. Wheat blonde hair and eyes as blue as a high mountain lake.

  “No.” She drops her gaze then, picks up her cup and tosses it back. Sets the mug down, the ice clinks. Empty.

  “Well then, we’re more alike than I thought, Wavy.”

  She studies me then, and I hold her gaze. Willing her to look away. She doesn’t.

  “You’re from here then?” she asks me as I finish the whiskey.

  “No. Moved up here to the Whiskey Mountains a year ago. Found some land, a cabin and figured it was a good place to disappear.”

  “You’re running from something?”

  I nod. “From everything.”

  She exhales, reaching for her backpack underneath her bar stool. It’s a big one, a hiking pack. And it’s filled. “I know the feeling,” she says.

  “You ready to go?” I ask her.

  Her eyebrow lifts. “Where do you think you’re taking me?”

  Now it’s my turn to smirk. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to drag you into my plane and fly off. You have a say in this. But I was planning to get a room at the motel across the street. I fly out tomorrow.”

  “You’re a pilot?”

  “A bush pilot. Yeah. I fly supplies to remote areas. I’m here to refuel and to load the plane up.”

  “I’m only here for the night, too,” she says.

  “Where you headed?”

  She reaches for her wallet, but I push her hand away and drop cash on the bar for both our drinks. “Thanks.” Swallowing she stands from the stool. “If I told you where I was headed it would kind of ruin the entire point of disappearing.”

  “Probably breaking your rules talking to me at all.”

  She smiles that bright white smile again and my black heart tenses. “True. I’ve known you what, ten minutes and already you’re making me compromise my position.”

  I shake my head. “Don’t change on my account.”

  Standing, she’s smaller
than I expected as she looks up at me. I tower over her, but she doesn’t seem scared. “I don’t know, Walker. I think maybe I’m long overdue for a change.”

  “What kind of change did you have in mind?”

  She looks over her shoulder. Vacancy lights flash across the street.

  “Anything different from what I’ve known. Which freaks me out right now because I feel like I’ve known you all my life and that doesn’t seem like something I need to change,” she says softly, her words catching me off guard in the best fucking way.

  I take her pack and sling it over my shoulder. “Does that scare you?”

  “No.” She shakes her head. Sure, it doesn’t. And many ways I still believe she is innocent and purer than she lets on. That single moment of surety tells me that Waverly is more than a girl with a pretty face and wounded eyes.

  No woman is that confident about leaving a bar, in the dead of night with a stranger unless she’s full of secrets.

  Then again, it’s like we’ve known each other for a long ass while.

  “Should I be scared?” she asks as my palm presses to the small of her back, leading her out into the cold October air.

  “No,” I tell her, wanting to believe my own words. But the truth is, no one runs away unless they’re trying to leave something, or someone, behind. “Tonight, you’re safe with me.”

  2

  Waverly

  Jeremy Walker is not like other men I’ve ever been around. Yes, lots of men are handsome, confident, and know how to flirt, but Walker is so much more than that.

  His beard, for one, sets him apart. Thick and sexy; I want to run my hand over it, want it to scratch my neck, tickle my everything else.

  And the direct way he claims me makes my belly flipflop with desire.

  I’ve never been with a man before, but when Jeremy Walker leads me out of the bar toward the motel, I don’t hesitate.

  After all, I came to Alaska to get lost, didn’t I?

  Tonight, I can finally shed the skin of the girl I’ve always been and become the woman I long to be.

  No one would think much of me from looking at me or hearing where I was before I caught a Greyhound and headed north. They would make all sorts of assumptions.

  But they’d be wrong.

  In the motel room, Walker switches on a light, and I take in the bare-bones room. King-sized bed, side tables, a lamp, and most importantly a bathroom. I haven’t bathed in days. And yes, I came here to let Jeremy Walker claim me — but first I’ll need a shower.

  He must see me eyeing it because he steps close, hooking my chin with his fingers. “You need to clean up?”

  I lick my lips, enthralled by his sea-green eyes. “What, you think I’m dirty?”

  My words sound so much more erotic than I have any place letting on. I’m a virgin who’s barely been kissed. Walker clearly knows his way around a woman. No man could be as confident as he is if they weren’t.

  “That the kind of girl you are?” he asks. “Filthy?”

  I close my eyes. Remembering to play the part, the one Jemma told me to play. “If you don’t give him what he wants, he’ll take it. Be in control, Wavy. Don’t let him see your fear.”

  My sister’s words flash in my mind, breaking my focus, breaking me. I can’t believe she’s gone.

  And I did nothing to save her.

  I don’t deserve to be happy, to be loved, or to be held by a man who knows what it means to be gentle, soft, sweet.

  I deserve to be punished.

  But when Walker looks at me, he isn’t making me pay for the wrongs I’ve done. One look in his eyes and I swear everything is right.

  “What kind of girl do you want me to be?” I whisper. But as the words fall from my lips, I realize they don’t have the desired effect.

  Walker steps back dropping his hands. “Shit, you think I want you to play a part?”

  I blink. I don’t want to be alone tonight. Alaska was where I ran because it’s where Jemma dreamed of going.

  But now that I’m here, I realize I’m more alone than I’ve ever felt before.

  “I just want… want …”

  “What do you want, Wavy?” he asks, taking a hard look at me. Like he can see every inch.

  “I want to shower,” I say, avoiding the truth, the complications, not wanting to lie. Wanting Walker to give me what I need: strong arms holding me tight.

  He juts out his chin, not demanding more of me. And this gesture alone melts my heart. Because before I ran to Alaska, I was so close to giving my virginity to a man in exchange for room and board. So close to giving the pieces of myself that I’d saved to someone who saw me as an object.

  But before that man got what he wanted; Jemma was dead. He killed her.

  And so, I ran.

  I pick up my pack from the floor and carry it to the bathroom, pushing open the door, pausing before I step inside.

  “Thank you,” I say, my heart pounding.

  “For what?” he asks.

  “For letting me come with you tonight. I don’t want to be alone.”

  “That makes two of us then.”

  His eyes pierce mine and a part of me wants to run into his arms, to sink down against his cock and beg him to fuck me until I forget.

  The other part wants him to press his lips to mine and kiss me slowly and softly, to run his fingers over my bare skin until it prickles with pleasure.

  All of me wants him to fill me up before dawn.

  I close the bathroom door behind me, strip off my clothes, turn on the water, as hot as it will go. Stepping under the spray, I let out one single sob. For Jemma.

  Then I wash, head to toe, scrub my hands and cheeks and let the water burn my skin till it’s bright pink. I use a razor and clean myself up, washing my hair five times as if I’m in a confessional and priest has just told me how many Hail Marys to repeat.

  I may not have been the reason she died — but I should have been the one to save her long before we got on that boat. We never should have left the dock. I should have convinced her to come back with me, to look for another job, to go to college — anything but signing on as an escort on a yacht sailing for Mexico.

  But I was scared to lose her, scared I’d never see her again.

  This way we’d be together.

  Instead, it all went wrong.

  So very wrong.

  My first day on the job and I watched my sister die.

  I rinse my hair, exhaling and letting the painful memories spin down the drain. Tonight, isn’t about the past. It’s about my present.

  And my present is exactly what I need.

  I don’t want to show up at the commune as the girl I was.

  Walker is here, willing, wanting. Same as me.

  Wrapping a towel around my body and pulling a comb through my wet hair, I step back into the motel room, just as Walker is stepping out of his clothes.

  Facing me, I see it all.

  Head-to-toe muscles. Brawn. Power. Strength. Everything I need in a lover when I lose my virginity.

  I don’t want to take control. I want to float away, forget, be dominated.

  He steps toward me, his thick cock between his legs, hard and ready. My pussy tightens, both intoxicated at his presence and overwhelmed with desire.

  “You’re all wet,” he says with his eyebrow raised, his mouth smirking, and his cock twitching.

  “Yes, I am. I’m all wet.” I drop the towel, harnessing all my femininity, letting him know exactly where I stand.

  “Is that an invitation?”

  I nod. “Don’t make me wait, Jeremy Walker.”

  3

  Walker

  When she walks out of the bathroom, I know she’s scared. I can see it in her eyes. The fear swallowing her whole. Not deer in the headlights fear. Not the kind of fear when you're scared for your life. The kind you get when you're just past the breaking point. The kind of fear that swallows you up after you've been places you never should have gone. The kind of
fear that could make you think you're not worthy of the shit you deserve.

  I don't want Wavy to think that. Not now, not ever.

  And I'm not sure if being with me is going to help her get past the pain that she's carrying.

  But then she drops the towel. Steps towards me with such raw and naked desire I'd be a fool to turn my back. She says she wants it, needs it. And when she licks her lips… when she looks me up and down, I know it's not an act.

  Maybe she wants to forget. Hell, if that's what she's after, I can give her what she desires. I can give her a hell of a lot more than that too. And maybe tonight, that's what my girl needs.

  I call her my girl because I claimed her when I met her in the bar. I call her my girl because what else would you call the girl you fall in love with the moment you lock eyes with her? She's not there yet, I can see that as plain as day. She's still trying to put on an act, using words like she's filthy and dirty when I know she is scrubbed clean. Rosy cheeks and wet hair and tits that are the perfect kind of perky. The perfect kind of everything. I step toward her, naked and hard and ready.

  I swear to God she’s wearing a mask, a brave face. I know, because most of the time I’m wearing one too. I’ve been to hell and back, so I understand. Deep down, it’s clear she's seen shit. Really seen shit. From the way I see it, I'm having a hard time believing she's ever been with a man at all. She gives me a confident smile that tells me she wants this, doesn't want to be alone. She wants to be held, caressed, told she's fucking beautiful. So, that is exactly what I do.