Wifed By The Mountain Man: A Modern Mail-Order Bride Romance

by Frankie Love

  Which is good. Because all I’m looking for is a man who’s going to cherish me, love me, and want to take care of me. And, in exchange, I will be the perfect wife. I can cook and clean, and I’m adequate at sex … I assume.

  Basically, this is the perfect arrangement.

  I breathe, trying to clear all these thoughts from my mind as a pickup truck pulls into the parking lot.

  Okay. This is it. This is the beginning of an entirely new chapter.

  I close my eyes, hoping that this guy is husband material.

  When I open them, a broad-shouldered, six foot three, brown-haired, bearded mountain man is staring me down.

  Oh, damn, this guy is hot.

  “You’re wearing the red scarf,” he says, pointing to the accessory Monique instructed us to wear for identifying purposes. We don’t know our new partners’ names or anything about them. Apparently those details eff up matches faster than anything else. Googling a husband before you meet them can apparently give a bride-to-be misconstrued ideas about the match.

  “Yeah,” I say breathlessly, hating how googly-eyed I know I am being, but … um. Even though he has a shirt on, I can tell that he’s ripped, and that’s impressive in and of itself.

  I stick out my hand to introduce myself, but what I really want is to wrap my arms around his waist and pull him in for an indecent hello.

  Instead I laugh to myself like a weirdo, and say, “I’m Amelia. Your new wife.”

  “My wife ... right,” he says slowly, as if not knowing that’s who I am, or what I’m here for. “Well, okay, let’s get your shit in the truck.”

  “Oh, okay,” I falter. I already feel like I messed something up, but I have no clue what. He didn’t even tell me his name, or seem like he wants a bride. It’s as if the word wife itself caused him to squirm.

  He grabs my suitcases and carries them to the truck, dropping them into the bed and not even looking back to make sure I’m following. What an ass. I mean, yes, his actual ass is hot, hello. But also he is being a literal ass. Who treats a new bride like that?

  Huffing, I watch him get in the driver’s seat, and when I don’t move to get in—because, I mean, call me crazy but I thought my new husband might open the door, you know, might think about me and be a gentleman, but instead his eyebrows are raised and he’s looking at me like I’m a little slow on the uptake—he unrolls the automatic windows and says, “You coming in, honey? Because I got places to go.”

  “I’m not getting in unless I know your name. That feels creepy and weird, and like you might be an axe murderer.”

  He sets his mouth in a firm line, turning on the ignition. “And telling you my name will kill the murder vibe?”

  Is he for reals?

  I don’t answer because what in God’s green earth would I even say to that?

  “It’s Reed.” He doesn’t offer me anything more. It’s really windy out on the airstrip, there’s only fuzzy cell reception—and even if it were better, who would I call? My two besties are probably fucking their hot mountain men husbands as we speak. Well, maybe not Everly, because she’s Everly, but most certainly Delta, because she’s a woman on a mission when it comes to this.

  I open the door, slide in, and buckle up. This is gonna be one hell of a ride. I feel Reed’s eyes on me and I cross my ankles, feeling completely over my head. And absolutely wrong for him.

  I wanted a man who would scoop me up in his arms, and Reed looks like I’m the last thing he expected to marry.

  Chapter Three

  Reed

  This girl doesn’t look like she’s ever been outdoors in her life. She has fake everything—except her smile. Damn, that is genuine as hell; it’s wide and bright, and like she has ... hope.

  Except that smile I saw when I first stepped out of my truck is long gone.

  Now, in the truck, she looks about as comfortable as I was the day the social worker showed up on my doorstep with a seven-month-old. Meaning, not at all.

  And she doesn’t even know I have a kid yet.

  “So ... do you live far from here?” she asks.

  “Not very.” I’ve never done well with small talk, and God knows I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in a few months. My head isn’t clear enough to talk backstory with this woman.

  She tries again. “Have you always lived in Alaska?”

  “Born and raised.”

  She’s watching me closely, her fingernails tapping on the door, her foot shaking incessantly. I turn to meet her gaze, but she quickly turns her head toward the window the moment I do.

  Her long hair swishes, leaving the scent of vanilla shampoo wafting through the cab of my truck. My cock twitches with just the goddamn scent of her, and I realize it’s been a long time since I even thought about being with a woman. There aren’t many prospects out here—and none anywhere near as gorgeous as Amelia.

  I went with Monique’s agency because I was guaranteed a woman who wanted to be a mother ... but right now I’m not interested in her taking care of anything besides my cock.

  I bite my bottom lip, forcing my eyes on the road and not her perfectly shaped legs, a foot away. I wouldn’t mind pulling her into my lap, and giving her a ride she wouldn’t easily forget.

  “What made you want to order a wife?” she asks. “Because, Reed, you seem really ... uninterested.”

  “Shit, woman. Are you one of those high maintenance girls?”

  She just huffs. Crosses her arms. Rolls her eyes.

  I can’t help but smirk. A woman with an attitude turns me on in ways I don’t admit to just anyone.

  “Don’t smirk. That’s rude, Reed.”

  “You gonna get in my truck and start telling me what I can and cannot do?”

  “Well, I mean, you should be nice to me. I can’t marry an asshole.”

  “Oh, honey, I’m one hundred percent asshole.”

  “Are you for reals right now?” She huffs again, exasperated. “Because, honestly, that isn’t funny.”

  “No one’s laughing.” My humor may be deadpan in general, but I can’t help messing with her. She’s all fire and brimstone—and fucking sexy, and fucking pissed.

  “I can’t do this if you’re going to tease me. I need you to respect me, Reed. This is supposed to be a marriage, not an opportunity for you to be a dick.”

  “Wow.” I shake my head slowly, not having anticipated a woman like this. Hell, I figured Monique would do her best, but Amelia is all kinds of hot and bothered. “I didn’t expect to get a woman so demanding. I was hoping for someone more malleable.”

  “Then you have the wrong girl.” Her voice seems to soften, and I don’t want to look at her because I know she’s the sort of woman who’s gonna be on the brink of tears minutes after she’s barking up my tree. “Because I’m not a doormat,” she continues, clearly trying hard to keep her voice even. “And I want a husband, not a jerk. I’ve had enough of those for a lifetime.”

  “You want me to turn back around, honey?”

  She huffs, turning on the bench seat to face me. I try to keep my eyes on the road, but damn, with her body twisted toward me all I can think about is the other ways I’d like her body to bend.

  But I need her to stay. I have no fucking intention of taking her back to the airstrip. Hope needs a mother, and I have someone capable of that job, right here in the truck. I can’t lose her after she came so far, plus I need to go on my fishing trips next week and there’s no way I can manage that if I have my daughter.

  Also, all I can think about at this particular moment is how gorgeous Amelia is, attitude or not.

  “I don’t want you to go. I ordered you for a reason.”

  “Can we start over then?”

  “Girl, we’ve only been driving for fifteen minutes.” I shake my head. “You already need a redo?”

  “It just seems like things are already all screwy. Like, you think I’m a bitch and I think you’re an ass.”

  “I am an ass.”

  She sighs
. “Okay, whatever. Stick with that, Reed. See how well this all goes.” She turns back to the window, clearly annoyed.

  I grab her hand, and the moment our skin touches I feel something pass between us. Damn, this woman is trouble.

  I squeeze, she squeezes back.

  “I want to be a wife,” she tells me softly, her face still turned toward the window. “I want to be your wife. I don’t want to go back to Portland.”

  The word wife sends chills down my back, because the truth is, when I signed up for this gig, I was looking for a mother for Hope, not a wife. And I may be a self-proclaimed asshole, but I know I need to be nicer if I want this to go well.

  This isn’t just a job; this is forever. And I need to get along with the woman who’s going to raise my daughter.

  “How do you want to start over, Amelia?”

  “You should have opened the door for me back at the airstrip. And maybe asked me about my life. And not been so....”

  “Difficult?”

  “Yes.”

  I exhale, trying really fucking hard here, to make her happy. I pull the truck off the road, where there’s a big empty strip of gravel.

  “Get out,” I say.

  “What?”

  “You heard me, Amelia. Get out of the truck.”

  “You want me to leave? Like, on the road in the middle of nowhere? Oh my God, Reed!” She pushes open the door, turning to me with fiery eyes. “You are such a prick.”

  I watch her get out of the truck, with difficulty—those heels she’s wearing are motherfucking ridiculous. She catches herself though, arms out for balance, and I just watch as she slams the door shut, staggering away from the car.

  Well, fuck.

  I get out, head to her side so I can try to calm this woman down. Is this how it’s always gonna be living with a woman—this woman? Because damn, what did I do to deserve this one?

  Leaning against the cab, I cross my arms, watching her walk across the gravel going nowhere.

  “I wanted you to get out so I could try again. Open the door just like you asked.”

  She stops and turns to me. Seeing her silhouetted—with the mountains behind her, the blue Alaskan sky above, the bright sun hitting her skin so she glows—it’s impossible not to see her as a fucking angel. She’s got this tiny waist and these big tits … but more than that, she has soft features, wide eyes, and pouty lips, and is just about the perfect size for me to pick her up and put her anywhere I’d like.

  And I know where I’d like her right now.

  “I feel like you’re teasing me,” she says, not budging.

  “I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a tease. That’s something you should know about me, honey: I say it like it is.”

  “You don’t want me to leave?” She crosses her arms, studying me, not giving me any grace for our rocky start.

  I run my hand over my beard, shaking my head. Amelia looks like she fell from heaven, though I’m damn certain she hasn’t earned any wings. Not with her attitude—a little fierce, a little bold. But also a little scared.

  “Right about now,” I tell her, stepping away from the truck, and toward her, “I’d like you sitting my cock. So no, I don’t want you to go.”

  She opens her mouth, snaps it shut. Raises an eyebrow. She steps toward me and speaks. “That is so inappropriate.”

  “And you’re all about propriety in those fuck-me-now heels and that push-up bra?”

  She smirks. Her eyes blink slowly, and her chin lowers. When she looks back up, I know what she’s thinking.

  She wants to sit on me as badly as I want her to.

  “I know a way we can get things off to a little better start,” I tell her.

  “You want to get things off?”

  We’re a foot apart and the air is hot, and her chest heaves as she breathes. I’d watch her tits rise and fall all day, but I don’t have forever. I need to get back to my place before too long.

  “You’re funnier than I thought, Amelia.”

  “No one thinks I’m funny.”

  “What do they think?”

  “They underestimate me.”

  “I’m not underestimating you right now.” And I’m not. I can tell by her sassy and sweet attitude that she is one hell of a package. “But we haven’t given this thing a real test drive.”

  She bites her bottom lip, suppressing a smile—a smile I want to see, because when I saw it before I knew it was one of a kind.

  “What kind of ride would you like, Reed?” she asks coyly, as if she knows her play on words will get to me.

  “Damn, woman, I think you know what kind of ride I want.”

  I pull her to me, closing the space between us, and kiss those pouty lips. Hard.

  Chapter Four

  Amelia

  Oh.... Oh, boy. His mouth is on mine, and it’s a kiss that could be in a movie. The scene where time seems to stop, and the girl gets the guy, and they melt into one another.

  The kiss I’ve been waiting for my entire life.

  His lips are soft, but the kiss is hard. Our lips part; his tongue slides in and chills run up my spine at the sensation of him devouring me this way. He knows exactly what he’s doing; his large hands are on my waist, as if he’s taking me as his.

  I’ll let him take me anywhere he wants.

  Reed is the opposite of Derrick. I never thought of it until now, but Derrick was all talk, and it got him nowhere. Reed’s words are few ... yet he is all man. My man.

  I’ll climb up his mountain, that’s for sure.

  He lifts my ass, squeezing it, then patting it nice and good, and I wrap my legs around his waist, feeling his hard cock against me. I let out a soft moan, right there on the Alaskan highway.

  I wanted a husband, and I’ll make him glad that I’m his wife. It will be my mission, my drive. My purpose. Throw myself completely into this marriage, and show Reed that I’m the woman for him, even if he seems underwhelmed at the prospect of having a wife.

  He carries me to the truck, opens the door, and drops me into the passenger seat. I scoot to the middle seat, and he sits next to me, closes the door. It only takes a second for me to climb back into his lap, and for his mouth to find mine.

  Oh, sweet Lord, he’s getting me hot. I’m grinding in his lap, his cock against my pussy. My panties are soaked through and I tighten my entrance in anticipation. I want him so freaking bad.

  “Fuck me, Reed,” I murmur, unbuckling his belt, unbuttoning his jeans. He smells like cedar and sage, and whiskey, neat. But he looks tired. His eyes are worn and I can tell that, deep down, he needs a woman to take care of him. Maybe he doesn’t even know it yet.

  “Oh, yeah,” he breathes into my ear, and I pull down his pants, ready to show him exactly what kind of woman I am. His.

  “When are we getting married?” I ask, as his hands snake around my waist. My skin prickles in delight at his touch. I’ve never been so freaking grateful for stretchy jeans; he’s able to tug them off easily. I let my heels drop to the floor mat, and I’m straddling him in only a tiny white thong and matching bra. His hands grab my ass tightly, before reaching for the hem of my top. I raise my hands, letting him slip it over my head, and watch as his eyes rake across my body.

  I feel gorgeous. I feel wanted. I feel alive.

  He breathes heavily, as his hands run across my skin, over my thighs; his thumb scouring across my thong-covered-pussy, his fingers running over my belly, up my ribcage, over my round breasts.

  They linger there, his palms cupping me. My pussy is absolutely dripping now, because the tip of his cock is taunting me deliciously. I reach behind me and unhook my bra.

  My breasts spill out, and the closest thing to a smile that Reed has yet given me crosses his lips. He likes what he sees.

  But he still hasn’t answered my question.

  His thumbs roll over my nipples, hardening them, before squeezing my breasts together. Any man who’s a boob guy would be happy with my full chest, but Reed seems especially
drawn to them. He presses his mouth against them, then lets his tongue crosses one nipple, then the other.

  I swear I can’t handle much more of this tease. I need to see that cock. I need to feel that cock. I need to take that cock inside me.

  “We won’t be going to the courthouse for a few weeks,” he says.

  “Oh.” I’d hoped it would be sooner. I’d hoped it was, like, now. I wanted complete certainty that I’d be his wife.

  Not just because I’m stripped naked on the side of the Alaskan highway, but because I don’t want to be tossed aside for the second time within a month. I can’t handle more rejection. And what if Reed spends a few days with me and realizes he wants out?

  Before I can ask anything more, Reed presses a finger to my pussy, sliding the thin fabric of my thong aside. He pulses against my opening, finding my clit with precision, as if he knows exactly what he’s doing.

  And oh, sweet Jesus, he clearly does. Because I’m falling into his chest as he deepens his pressure, and within minutes I’m shuddering under his touch.

  “Your pussy is so nice and wet for me.”

  “I think that’s the longest string of words I’ve heard from you.”

  “There are better things to do than talk.”

  And I agree, because my pussy is throbbing, aching for more, aching for everything.

  “I want you, Reed. I want to see your cock.”

  That hint of a smile passes his mouth again, and I squirm slightly as he presses a second finger into my opening, fluttering against my folds. He must like it when I talk about his cock. Good. Because he seems like a boob-man, and I’m certainly a cock-girl. I love to look at them, suck them, and wrap my mouth around them.

  Around his.

  He pulls down his boxers, and his cock—so big that I know it will stretch my pussy into submission—springs to life.

  “Why did you keep this hidden for so long?” I tease.

  “I’ve known you under an hour, honey. I don’t think I’m the one jumping the gun here.”

  “As your wife, Reed, I’m telling you it isn’t fair to keep your cock out of sight for so long.”