by Mj Fields
Table of Contents
Dedication
The Playlist
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Acknowledgements
About The Author
Other Books by MJ Fields
Copyright © 2017 by MJ Fields
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage or retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic, photocopying, mechanical or otherwise, without express permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, story lines and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, events, locales or any events or occurrences are purely coincidental.
Edited by C&D Editing
Edited by Ellie McLove
Proofread by Kim Ginsberg
Cover Model: Jonny James
Cover Photographer: Wander Aguiar Photography
Cover Design, Interior Design & Formatting by Jersey Girl Design
To the lovers of all things Steel, this is for you!
To all you single ladies who have been lured by ‘F’ boys, you know the type, ‘fucks like a man, acts like a boy’...I give you Gage Falcon.
Forever Steel!
XOXO
MJ
Playlist
“Die A Happy Man” by Thomas Rhett
“Hello World” by Lady Antebellum
“Wide Open Spaces” by The Dixie Chicks
“It’s Different For Girls” by Dierks Bentley and Elle King
“She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy” by Kenny Chesney
“Black” by Dierks Bentley
Chapter One
A Better Man
Gage
I pull into the little dive bar that is twelve miles from my property at Lake Hopatcong and hop out of my 1975 International Scout. An old classic, a man’s truck, a pet project of mine for the past couple years. No, I don’t have time for that shit, but any minute spent alone is a minute wasted unless you have something to keep you busy.
Cars have been my thing since I turned sixteen and was given my father’s, a man I had never known, ride. He died when I was sixteen months old.
Then, because shit happens—divorce—every third Saturday there wasn’t shit keeping me busy, so I bought this damn thing to keep me that way, busy.
I check out my surroundings. There are about twenty cars in the dimly lit, dirt parking lot. Not one meets the description of the woman’s car who is supposed to meet a need tonight.
I walk into the bar and almost laugh. Apparently, everyone drove two cars and every one of the drivers is looking at me. I half-expect them all to call out my name, except they don’t know it, and that’s exactly why I’m here. I know no one. No need to do a meet and greet at a place where you’re recognized or known when you know damn well you and the little lady won’t be hanging out in a bar for that long.
She’s busy, I’m busy, and we both just need a little adult interaction once in a while. Both of us are adults and agreed on this shit in advance.
“Friends with benefits?” she asked when we spoke on the phone.
“Really don’t have time for friends,” I replied honestly. “I’m also not looking for my next forever.”
“I totally understand.” She laughed. “I’m in the same situation. Kids, work, every other weekend, no time. I’d like that...to...you know—”
“Get off,” I finish the sentence for her.
“Yeah,” she whispers in a breathy tone.
“Perfect.”
That was it. No bullshit, no lies, no nothing. Just an agreement between two consenting adults to meet, make sure there is an attraction, have a couple of drinks, then fuck for a solid ten hours. Maybe order some room service between rounds.
I sit at the bar and order a drink from the old man. “Jameson, on the rocks.” Then I sit back in my padded barstool and take a drink, the liquor burning as it goes down my throat. It feels fucking good.
I keep my eyes lowered, not wanting to make any fucking friends here. Hell, I wish I could be sure no one in the place would recognize me if they saw me again, but that shit’s not possible.
I toss down my drink and think to myself, Here’s to hoping this shit works out.
I hold up my empty glass to the new bartender. She nods then grabs the bottle of Jameson while I look down at my phone.
I hit the app with the flame and check my messages. No cancellation, which means we’re on.
I look up and only then do I notice the tiny, hot as hell, little exotic Asian bartender pushing my drink toward me.
Sexy as fuck.
“Thanks, babe.” I nod, then wink and pick it up.
She turns and walks away.
Okay, that’s not fucking right. Women, all women, get fucked up on my look. This one, she’s not giving a damn. I made eye contact, and I fucking winked. A wink typically gets me at the very least a smile.
Something must be wrong.
I look up in the mirror behind the bar just to be sure I don’t have some shit on my face or hair sticking up in the wrong direction.
“Hey,” I call after her.
She turns back and looks at me, annoyed as hell.
I feel the smirk forming in the corner of my mouth. “What’s your name?”
She rolls her eyes at me, holds up her middle finger, turns around, and walks away.
You have got to be fucking kidding me.
I know myself too damn well. She’s a challenge. I always liked a challenge.
Step back, man, I tell myself. Step. Fucking. Back.
But fuck, I would like to make her eyes roll again...with my cock shoved in her pussy.
Get a fucking grip, I scold myself. You’re not a fucking kid anymore.
“Are you Gage?”
I turn away from what my dick seems to want to be in and look left at the blonde sliding onto the barstool next to me. I look her up and down before answering. She has great tits, long legs, her face is good, all matching her profile picture.
I nod. “You’re...”
Shit, shit, shit. What’s her name?
I could pull a real dick move and look at the app, or I could ask. I mean, she’s down for doing the hookup thing, so why would that offend her? But I don’t. I pull out the charm.
“A very good-looking woman.”
She blushes, smiling shyly. “Thanks.”
I hear a loud slap against the bar and look away from whoever the hell her name is to the exotic, little piss pot.
“What can I get you to drink?” she asks in an almost annoyed tone that makes me snicker immediately. Her reply is the eye roll...again.
“What wines do you have?” my date asks the reason I’m getting hard. The challenge.
“Merlot, L
ambrusco, White Zin,” she answers, trying to be hospitable while holding back hostile.
“That’s it?” my date’s tone is unmistakably repulsed.
“Yes,” the sexy little bartender answers, obviously forcing herself to be nice.
I have no idea why she’s being that way, but she is. I also have no fucking clue why she’s pissed off, but it’s kind of hot.
“Zin, I suppose.” My date shrugs then looks at me. “So, what do you do again?”
“Construction.” I give her the answer I give them all. I don’t tell them I own a company; it’s not necessary. I don’t want to give them any false hope that they will be the next Mrs. Gage Falcon. There won’t be another.
“Do you want to know what I do?” she asks.
Not really, I think as I force my focus on her. Instead, I say, “Sure,”
“I’m an accountant. I’m really good with numbers. I love them. In fact, they are everything.” She beams.
Another smack on the bar makes me look away from her and at the little hottie.
“Who’s paying?” she asks, looking at me and then...Fuck, I need to figure out her name.
“I am,” I answer, sliding a pile of money across the bar.
“By the hour,” the bartender says under her breath as she walks away.
What the fuck is wrong with this chick?
I quickly look at...the date to make sure she didn’t hear that shit.
Fuck it. I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone, hit the app, and look at my date’s name. Tonya.
I look over at her and she smiles. “Do you have a call?”
“Yeah, but it can wait, Tonya.”
I swear I hear the bartender laugh.
I look over to see her shaking her head, looking down as she turns on the faucet under the bar, about two stools away from us.
What the fuck is with her? No way I fucked her. Hell, she looks just a few steps past legal.
I look back at Tonya, who looks at me then the bartender then back at me.
“Am I missing something?” she asks.
“No, of course not,” I say, catching exactly what she’s implying.
“Are you sure?”
“He’s sure,” the bartender says, walking past us to the couple a few seats down.
“Look,” Tonya says, shaking her head. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
She starts to put her coat on, one I didn’t even notice she had taken off because I was too busy checking out the bartender when she walked in.
I push back my stool and stand. “Let me help—”
“No, I’ve got it. Thanks, anyway,” she stammers.
“Did I miss something?” I ask, knowing damn well I didn’t. But it’s not what she thinks. Well...No, it’s not.
“I don’t know what it is you’re into. I was good with enjoying some adult time, but I’m not into being a third.” She motions between the bartender and me.
“Oh no, you definitely got it wrong, Tammy—”
“Tonya,” she corrects.
“Fuck, right, I apologize.”
I look toward the laughter.
“You two sure are something, you know.” Tonya shakes her head and walks away.
I point at the bartender. “What’s your problem?”
“Mine?” she says, still chuckling as she points to herself.
I point toward the door. “You did that shit on purpose.”
She walks over, laughing, and grips the edge of the bar. “Now, why would I do that?”
“No clue, but tell me; what’s your deal?”
She stands up taller. “Putting men like you in their place.”
If I wasn’t pissed that tonight’s ass just walked out the door, I would laugh at the chick who stands at maybe five-foot without heels, and who clearly feels like she’s some sort of badass when she stands on something to make her taller.
I lean in closer, and she holds her badass steady, not moving an inch as I lean closer. With my face an inch from hers, I look over the bar. Then, leaning back, I bite the side of my cheek to stop a grin.
“Oh, here we go with the short jokes,” she sputters. “Let me save you the time.”
“I wasn’t gonna make jokes...shorty.” I pause to watch her face contort into obvious annoyance. “I was trying to answer a question I had running wild through my mind.”
“Short trip, men like you only have one thing on your mind,” she smarts back.
I shake my head and sigh.
“Don’t deny it. Your hooker just left because she wasn’t into a threesome.”
“Let me clear things up for you. I don’t pay for sex. I don’t enjoy threesomes. And women like you and her,” I toss her sexist shit back at her, “come off as wanting no strings, but you all do. You think your pussy has some magical power that gets you the man and everything he’s worked for.” I can’t help myself. “Like catching a leprechaun for his pot of gold.”
“Ha, ha, ha,” she chides. “I’d prefer to pay my own way than deal with a man like you. And I prefer batteries over brawn.”
“Shorty, you couldn’t handle a man like me.”
“Oh really?” She crosses her arms over her chest, pushing her tits closer together. Nice little titties, too. “So, what the hell are you doing sniffing around like a dog looking for a place to hide his bone?”
“Sweetheart, there is no way in hell you could handle my bone.”
“Then what the fuck are you doing sniffing?”
“Wasn’t sniffing. Just trying to answer that question I had.” I toss a few bills on the bar and turn to walk away.
“And what question is that?” she asks at my back.
I turn around and smirk. “I was wondering how much of my cock would come out of that smart little mouth of yours when I bury it in you.”
I watch her reaction, feeling satisfied when her jaw drops and she is unable to give me a smartass comment. Then I turn around and walk out the door...half-mast.
I look up at the neon sign and read the name of the joint, Carlin’s Cocktails. More like cock-fucking-tease.
Zandor fucking Steel, you son of a bitch, giving me shitty dating advice.
Payback’s a bitch, Steel, payback’s a bitch.
Twenty minutes later, I am pulling onto the dirt road surrounded by trees and tall grass leading to my place. A quarter of a mile in, I see the black metal sign with copper-colored lettering, Falcon’s Landing. Didn’t want the sign on the roadside; wanted it as private as it could be. So it is...for now.
Falcon’s Landing is one hundred and twelve acres of peace and fucking quiet. Land that once was empty, now has ten small, two-bedroom vacation cabins, and my home away from home.
We moved back to the States from Portugal when I was fourteen and my brothers were twelve and ten. That was when my parents bought five acres of lakefront property. We used to come here to hunt, fish, camp, and get away from the hustle and bustle of everyday life. When they retired and my divorce was settled, I bought everything that bordered their land.
It was at the same time my brothers—half-brothers—Garrett, Grayson, and I were handed down the construction company, which neither of them wanted. They hated it. I didn’t like it much either, but we—I—owed it to our parents to keep the business that they had built and loved almost as much as they did the three of us running. It afforded all of us the lifestyles we had grown accustomed to. It also made my dream, this place, Falcon’s Landing, a reality. It became bigger than I planned, yet there is still a lot of work to do, a lot of time and money to keep this place running, and it wasn’t going to finish building itself.
There was no guarantee after I finished it that I would be able to keep it. Dreams are beautiful and in vibrant living color, until reality shits all over them. Then it’s on you to wade through the shit and see if you can find your way back to what brought you here in the first place.
Garrett and Grayson have turned their backs on the company, went their own way, and neither
in the direction of Falcon Construction.
My stepfather is a good man, yet they don’t always see him that way. He missed ball games, concerts—shit like that. He wasn’t always home from work for dinner, but he busted his ass for his family. And what he didn’t or couldn’t do, Mom did. Mom stepped up, helping to keep the business alive and running smoothly.
My mother Gail and stepfather Armando Falcon, married when I was just three. Two years later, we moved from the US to Portugal where his parents lived. While there, my parents ran his family’s construction company, DeFalcon.
Armando senior, my step-grandfather, had passed away and his mother hadn’t any idea how to take care of the business, which was a multimillion-dollar operation. After she passed away, and after some serious issues with the locals, Armando sold DeFalcon Inc. and we—all five of us—moved back to the US, where my mom’s parents lived, the Jersey Shore.
As strained as shit has been for the past couple years, I respect the hell out of them. Armando and Mom grew Falcon Construction just as they did DeFalcon—they dropped the “De.”
Drop the D, I think to myself as I see my seven thousand square foot, lodge-style log home coming into sight. I would have been dropping the D right now if not for that bar wench cock-blocking me.
Christ, she was fucking hot in the most infuriating way.
My dick stiffens when I think about how I could have tossed her around and handled her fine fucking ass while pounding the fuck out of her. I would have fucking laid it out in front of her, guaranteed to make her shake in her heels. My cock was probably the same size, if not bigger than her forearm.
I would have eaten that little pussy until it was sloppy, cum running down her legs while she was lost in orgasm number three or four. Then I would have rammed it into her until I battered, maybe even bruised her just enough, that the next time she tried to get between me and no strings pussy, she would back the hell off. No, fuck that. She would fucking want it that good again, and not because I’m like one of “those men.” I’m not like other men.
I’m a fucking better man.
Chapter Two
Carlin’s Cocktails
Phoenix
