Wylder Bluffs Mountain Men The Complete Collection

by Tarin Lex

  I shouldn’t drink before the excursion, but I admit my nerves are a little bit shaken, and anyway, I hold my alcohol well. It’s just a couple glasses of wine. I realize it won’t help make my backpack feel a hair lighter, but I figure if they put a bar here, two doors down from the downtown Stanbery visitor center, and the exact place we’re all supposed to meet up and set out for the adventure together, it’s an open invitation to order a sip. Recommended, even.

  Three days, two nights backpacking through the primitive wilderness area of Wylder Bluffs, Idaho. I made plans with the intention of going it alone, maybe that was stupid of me, but I’d really hoped for total seclusion. Due to the apparent danger—seriously, how dangerous is a walk in the woods?—hikers are prohibited without a guide. Specifically one of the designated guides.

  I’m a bookkeeper…and a bit of a skeptic. I can’t help but assume it’s an effort to make more money, charging me for a guided tour.

  Halfway done with my second glass, I circle my gaze around the bar, again, as I wait for the rest of the group to arrive. There’re all kinds of people here, which surprises me in a town so small there’s only one stoplight. A gaggle of women about my age getting an early start to their girls’ night out. Three other singles dotted around the unassuming yet well-stocked bar; we appear to represent four distinctly different racial groups, which makes me smile. There’s token riffraff in the farthest corner, and two guys shooting pool and shooting the stuff.

  No one but me looks particularly outdoorsy—and I’m stretching that word already. I don’t see any other backpacks, no hiking poles, no Columbia wicking pants with the lower halves that zip off. Am I late? Early? Overdressed? Did I overpack?

  Surely I’ve done something wrong. I’m a Floridian by birth and choice, yet I’ve always felt like a fish out of water. The feeling is stronger than ever now, almost three thousand miles from home. Maybe in life we can only be perfect, or try to be perfect, in one or two ways. Numbers are like my thing. Anything else, not so much…

  I sigh and tilt back the last sips of vino and set down the glass.

  “Easy on those,” comes a sudden baritone voice, so rich and low, so close to my ear. I swallow the last lingering drops off my tongue and turn to look. “I need you strong.” Oh. My. Now there’s a mountain man, if I ever saw one. And before today, I had not. He’s tall, tan, and all-over brawn, and of an accord all its own my girlhood clenches hard at the sight. His fitted black tee does little to conceal a formidable chest and thick, bulging biceps. I school my gaze up to his face—specifically, his lips. That rumbling male voice came from lips that appear deft, wet, and pillow-soft, surrounded by a thick black beard. He needs me…what?

  Hot damn, but he’s sexy!

  “What?” I echo the voice in my head, a whole five or six seconds after any normal person’s verbal response time. But, he’s the one who came out of nowhere. Interrupting my last chance at solitude. Looking like that. Like a goddamn Kodiak bear, only with rippled sinew, an eyebrow piercing, and a tattooed neck.

  “I just assumed…” His perfect mouth forms an O that makes me wanna just straddle his face. I blink at him. “You are Hope Evans, aren’t you?” he asks. His dark eyes, almost black, survey me, and I feel about as small as an atom under that intense and dogged gaze.

  I am quite larger than an atom.

  “How did you know…” My own gaze descends and I smack my palm to my forehead. Flippin’ duh. His black backpack is strapped at the waist, and over his glorious shoulders, and he’s wearing a sweatband over his forehead, where his dark, handsome face holds back fistfuls of even-darker hair. I can’t help but giggle. “You must be part of the backpacking group! Thank goodness. I was starting to think it would just be me.”

  Kodiak Man makes a face I can’t make out, but would totally love to make out with, as the bartender approaches with my final bill and I realize my wallet is buried deep inside my backpack. At least I hope it is… It took me an hour to pack. When I put it on for the first time it was so heavy that I fell backwards and landed like an overturned turtle on the floor of my Airbnb. There’s really no telling where exactly my wallet is.

  Kodiak stifles a grin—fails to stifle—as if he can read my mind, and pulls out his own wallet from the pocket of black hiking shorts.

  He’s also wearing hiking boots, by the way. And hiking socks. And both are also, you guessed it—black.

  “Oh, I can pay—”

  “Please,” he says, “allow me.” His wallet is dark leather with brass hardware and lovely stitching. I don’t mean to stare, not so hard, but I can’t help but notice the gorgeous and very young-looking brunette in the photo inside his wallet when he opens it.

  Figures. As if I’m not a good five to ten years too old for him, anyway.

  “If you insist.”

  He nods, assertively, as if I chose the correct answer. He smiles while stroking his unkempt beard. Didn’t even know I was into beards…

  “I’m Hale.”

  Hale. That’s a lot nicer than Kodiak Man, and equally fitting. I shake his proffered hand, paying no mind at all to the electric pulse sent straight to my toes at the contact of his warm, strong hand clasped over mine. Jesus Christ. I’m forty-two, not twenty-four.

  “Thank you, Hale.” I let go when he does.

  “It’s the least I can do.”

  “Oh? What for?”

  “Reserving the hike.” He leans against the bar top, so close to me that I could get tipsy off his scent. All leather, and spice, and soap. He looks at me and I’m suddenly so aware of damp heat dissolving my thong to its barest thread. “I’d hoped to get out there this weekend. But you know the rule, can’t go alone. Not even me.”

  “Wait,” I blurt, as warmth rushes to fill my cheeks and color them, I’m certain, a thousand shades of red. “Are you telling me…you’re…the guide?”

  “That’d be me.” He relaxes more, and grins at me, as if in secret.

  “And I’m your…your only reservation?”

  “Right again,” he whispers, in a ragged tone I can’t help but just fall into. “It’s you and me, beautiful. That all right with you?”

  Even though he’s leaning over the bar top so close to me, I have to flick my gaze an inch or two higher, through my bangs, to catch his eyes. The flirty look is almost on purpose. The wide smile and schoolgirl blush—not intended.

  I’ve lost sight of exactly what my intentions are when I say, “That’s perfect, Hale.”

  Three days, two nights.

  One very bad decision.

  Two

  Hale

  Perfect, indeed. I should check to make sure the office knows it’ll only be the two of us. They don’t like hikers out there alone; a pair isn’t a whole lot better. Three—that’s the magic number. There’s never been a bear attack on a group of three or more hikers. Not in these woods. I’d think heading out there with her was reckless, but I’m as big as any two regular guys, and Hope Evans is not a slight woman. She’s got curves for miles and I’ve got half a mind to explore every inch as we explore the great outdoors together.

  Two nights under the stars. It’s more than I typically need, but I have a feeling I’ll need the extra time with this one. And when it’s over and we come back here on day three, I’ll do what I do.

  The thing I do best—say goodbye.

  There’s a tenable silence as we wait for Lily, the bartender, to come back with my receipt. It’s all that stops me from looking longer at Hope’s hips, and upward, to her bountiful chest, her caramel-toffee-colored waves kissing her soft neck right where I’m tempted to press my lips. When she catches my gaze through her bangs, with eyes like amethyst cut straight from the ancient Brazilian rock, I’d swear I can see curiosity there. A hint of forthcoming chances taken with her wild abandon.

  Purple eyes. Fuck. I shouldn’t imagine those expansive orbs looking up at me as her lips encircle my already-stiffening cock. But imagine, I do.

  I try my best to stifle a gr
in as I lean on the counter to sign the receipt. I tick my chin in thanks to Lily, who raises one knowing eyebrow at me and shakes her head. Hope stands from her barstool to gear up. Compulsively I turn to Hope, reach out and touch her hair, letting it sift between my fingers, slowly, like honey. She shivers. She doesn’t pull away.

  “You’ll be safe out there, with me,” I submit, in a low voice meant for no one else to hear.

  “I know.” She tilts her head demurely and steps out of my ambit, still holding my gaze as she bends sideways to grab her pack.

  Those eyes, that hair. The arc of her waist, her strong-looking thighs… Christ. The things I’d love to do to this woman. What I’m about to do, just as soon as I get her alone. The excursion and my rebellious hands are bound to see those silken curls tugged, tossed, loosed.

  Along with her restraint.

  I confess, I love sex. Oral sex, missionary, backdoor. I fuckin’ love it—the scent of a woman all over my face and cock, the feel of a curvy woman’s body quavering with desire, the look on a woman’s face as she comes for me, satisfied in ways she wanted and ways she hadn’t known she wanted.

  But let me make one thing clear. I’m a bad man, not a dishonorable one. My kinks are many and varied and only indulged with explicit consent. I’d love to break all my records with Hope. But Hope will have to want it, too.

  I hope she does.

  All these lurid thoughts corkscrew downward and my cock lurches beneath my shorts. Torn between pressing a hand to it to settle a measure of throbbing need, or let the woman observe the bulge if she wants, I decide on the latter. Hope does look, for but a blink, then tears her gaze away.

  She roots around in her neon-pink North Face pack, not sure what for, then zips it closed and heaves it over her shoulder, turning for apparent thrust and then stumbling sideways into my arms. Her sizable pack knocks me backward and of no intent of my own, Scout’s Honor, my shaft grazes along her hip as I pivot her upward onto her feet.

  She catches a breath. I reach down to adjust my cock, and her eyes go wide as Andromeda.

  “That was…um…thank you,” she breathes, shifting her gaze. I hear Lily giggle behind me.

  “Ready, beautiful?”

  Hope swallows, her gaze descends. She hikes the pack higher over her shoulders and secures the clasp around her waist. Purple orbs stray and linger a few inches lower than the clasp around mine. She flicks her gaze up to my face, smiles, and says, “I am.”

  #

  For forty-five minutes Hope tortures me with the sway of her hips and bright smile. Her sweet voice only I get to hear.

  “My god! It’s amazing out here. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful!”

  “I’m inclined to agree,” I confess. Hope is a beautiful sight to behold, especially among the endless tall, fragrant cedars. “But we’re just getting started. You really haven’t seen anything yet.”

  She takes a full breath and beams.

  I indulge in the sights and the cool fresh air. Never gets old. The sounds are a symphony of spring: the mountain bluebirds and sparrows sing; waterfalls roar with life, sending buckets from the lakes above into winding brooks; our own steps play percussion over the wood-planked trail and several bridges. Up ahead the paved trail will end, taking on a primitive, rugged form.

  That’s when Hope stops for a breath. I have to remind her to sip on water.

  She chugs from the bottle in big gulps. “Does it get much harder than this?”

  The inquiry concerns me. “Sip,” I tell her, pressing a hand over hers to lower the bottle. “Not so fast.” I want her to stay hydrated, but we need to conserve. This isn’t a great spot to sanitize and refill water.

  Then I realize her breaths are coming heavy, more so as we stand in place. Her shoulders are bowed down from the weight of her pack. “We haven’t gained elevation yet, beautiful. Are you sure you’re up for this?”

  “How much…are we go…ing to gain?”

  “Not much tonight, about two hundred feet. Tomorrow’s more grueling, but a gorgeous hike. I promise, you’ve never seen anything like it. Most people haven’t.”

  Her face registers nil excitement at that. “Define…grueling…” she pants.

  “Almost four thousand feet.”

  Her skin pales.

  “Tell me you’re not afraid of heights.”

  “I… I’m not afraid of heights.”

  Lie. I give her back her water bottle. “Sip… slowly.” She takes a sip with eyes wide open. “Have you done this before?”

  “Oh, all the time. I drink water every day.”

  “Very funny.”

  “I thought so.” She grins but I’m not really amused. “I go for walks… but no, I’ve never hiked liked this. To be honest I’ve never even left Florida. But, I don’t want you to go easy on me. I’m up for the challenge. It’s why I’m here.”

  Fuckin’-A. She does look like she works out, but we’re talking serious altitude here. If the ascent doesn’t tire her first, the thin air might. I’ll have to keep a close eye on her.

  Not a problem.

  “You’re safe with me,” I promise, sincerely. She squares her shoulders with more resolve, but they still appear sloped down by a pack that looks about to combust.

  I step closer and Hope cuts her breath when I reach behind her to feel its weight, resisting any temptation to touch elsewhere. From what I can tell her backpack weighs approximately one thousand pounds.

  “Christ, woman. What do you have in that thing? Boulders?”

  “No boulders,” she says, hitching it higher over her shoulders. “Just the essentials. Change of clothes, toiletries, a map.” She shrugs the best she can with an elephant tied to her back. “Couple of books.”

  “A couple of books?” Fuck. No wonder she’s struggling. “There’s a spot just ahead with a give-what-you-can, take-what-you-need supply box. We’ll stop there for a snack.”

  Hope frowns. “But what if I need everyth—”

  “I don’t mean to sound patronizing, Hope, but I’ve done this close to a hundred times. I will know what you need, and what you do not.”

  She crosses her arms, grimacing harder. “I really don’t care to be bossed around, Hale. Least of all by a much-younger man.”

  I smirk at that. I know she’s forty, it was on her reservation. Along with her height, weight, and a couple more of her little fibs.

  “I’m thirty-five, only five years younger than you, beautiful.”

  “Seven years.” A crimson blush stains her cheeks. “I’m not forty like I said. I’m forty-two.”

  “Does it fuckin’ matter?” I practically growl then lose an ounce more of my restraint as I step closer, and set my big hands over both of her cheeks. They’re rose-tinted but cool to the touch. “I want you, Hope.” Her saucered gaze darkens with my abrupt confession. “I want you hydrated. I want you safe. I want you, fine woman. I want you to be mine.”

  Hope stills beneath my touch, and swallows, hard. I watch her eyes darken more. She doesn’t make any complicit noise, nor does she reject my impulse.

  I step back, gather my trekking poles, and lower my tone. “The sunset tends to creep up on you here, so we’ll need to make camp before it starts getting dark. Let’s get moving.”

  Three

  Hope

  The sign says to “leave no trace” but I do believe I’ve left remnants of my dignity here. If I keep giving him flirty eyes I’m going to get myself in trouble. The worst part is I can’t even convince myself that’s a bad idea.

  Hale is trouble. And I want him, bad.

  He made me deposit almost half my stuff in the leave-or-take box. Stuff I may never see again, like the copious extra clothing I packed, the map that was really a novel-sized travel guide, and smutty romances I’d rather he hadn’t seen.

  The feral mountain man even went through my makeup and toiletry bags. The nerve! But it does feel a lot lighter, of which I’m grateful. It’s only stuff; my back is a lot more important, and my
back likes the weight of my pack much better now.

  I’m also grateful Hale let me keep my “lipstick”—a dark-purple bullet-shaped incognito vibrator. I don’t wear lipstick, I have the poker face of a pantomime, and I’m not convinced he isn’t totally aware it’s a sex toy. He seemed to read me loud and clear when I told him I needed to keep it with me.

  Just Great.

  He flirts with me too, but I’m not daft. I saw the woman’s picture in his wallet. His affections are mine for the moment, but his heart is already spoken for—by a much younger woman. I can’t help but wonder if the girl is even of legal age. He wouldn’t, would he?

  Two miles and two hundred feet of elevation gain later, we make it to our campsite. I have to pee so bad, but I’m not ready to pop a squat in the woods with him around. With anyone around.

  Looks like we’re going to get more personal eventually. Hale insisted I keep only one set of clothes for sleeping and one set for hiking—the ones I’m wearing now—and he left my entire bag of toiletries except for a toothbrush.

  That’s right—my entire bag of toiletries. Including my deodorant, night cream, and my razor.

  It’s his grave. I may be ill prepared for this whole trek, but I’m certain three days sans shaving is going to turn this Florida girl into a mountain woman, after all.

  The absent humidity is certainly better for my hair, which would be a frizzy mess right now if I were in Jupiter—Florida, that is. And I haven’t seen a single creepy-crawly since we set out, no flying pests assaulting my exposed skin. I could actually get used to this.

  I drop my pack and drop to my knees, and then I lie back, all the way supine right on the ground, relishing the fact I won’t get attacked by fire ants here.

  There’s no ceremony to Hale’s own bathroom break, he just takes it out and takes a whiz not twenty feet away from me, and when he’s done I realize the full impact of apparent penis envy. I squash the feeling immediately. I really need to be less aware of his penis, in general.