Montana Ice: A Small Town Romance - Book 2

by Vanessa Vale

  The sky was an inky black, the fields of snow spread out around me glowing in the sliver of moonlight as I drove to Mike Ostranski's house. The headlights shone on the road, coated with a thick layer of compacted snow. On the back roads like this one, it was dirt beneath, but that wouldn't be seen until spring thaw. My breath came out in puffs until the heater kicked in. I chose to drive the plumbing van instead of buying a car as it was cheaper, but I wouldn't have minded the luxury of heated seats and power windows—and four-wheel drive.

  Mike lived east of town about five miles. His house was log cabin style and sat up on a rise on ten acres, a view of the Gallatin mountain range out the large family room windows. The house wasn't a Montana version of the McMansion, but it was a masterpiece of construction on a smaller scale. No detail had been missed when Mike had it custom built about five years ago. Views, high-end appliances, complex and confusing multimedia equipment hardwired throughout. The Jacuzzi tub in the master bath was like a swimming pool. The house had a two-hundred-gallon instant hot water system, radiant floor heating and even a heated driveway. I knew about these special features like the Jacuzzi, not because I'd used it, but because I'd installed it. I knew the plumbing features of the home intimately. As a podiatrist, Mike could afford all the fancy amenities.

  I parked by the three-stall garage and went around to the back of the van to grab the box, the freezing air stinging my cheeks. Mike popped one of the garage doors, came out and nudged me aside after I opened the back doors of the van.

  “Here, I'll take that.”

  He picked up the box for me as if it weighed nothing. I grabbed my purse off the top as we walked inside. Mike had played football in high school and college, and it showed. He could be Paul Bunyan for Halloween if you gave him a flannel shirt and an axe. I only came up to his shoulder and he had at least a hundred pounds on me. But football was as short-lived as the scholarship and medicine took over. Now, he ran his own podiatry practice and was especially busy during the ski season. There seemed to be a never-ending supply of bad arches and bunions.

  “You're not going to believe it,” he said, pushing the button for the garage door on his way into the kitchen.

  I sat on the bench in the super-sized mudroom and pulled off my boots, dropping them on the little plastic tray meant for wet footwear. The mudroom was the catch-all area between the garage and the kitchen. Coats, shoes, umbrellas and all the other random items you didn't want either in the house or the garage ended up there. It was particularly nice in the winter when you had on so many layers and had to put them somewhere—besides in a pile on the kitchen counter. On top of that, it kept all the mud and snow from tracking into the house.

  My house was too small for one, and I didn't have a garage. I lived vicariously through Mike's.

  “Guess who I ran into today and is coming to this little shindig?” he asked.

  We'd been friends long enough that I got to use the garage entry instead of the fancy front door. I dawdled, pretending to rearrange my argyle socks as a miserable feeling settled in my stomach. I knew exactly who was being dragged to the party.

  I paused and sighed. “Jack Reid?” I guessed.

  Mike popped his head back into the mudroom and looked surprised, and not because of the crankiness in my voice. “How did you know that?”

  For being in town for less than a day, word—and the man himself—got around. “Wild guess.”

  5

  I was saved from explaining by the doorbell. After a questioning look, Mike left me in peace for a few minutes while I took off my heavy layers and pulled myself together. I wasn't quite ready to face Jack again. I didn't think he'd be too keen on seeing me. Ever again. But we were to be roomies, so I'd run into him eventually. Doing so publicly meant he wasn't going to kill me, at least right away. Men's voices carried through the house. I heard the TV come on, a commentator recapping some sporting event. Pulling my compact from my purse, I checked my makeup, my hair and made sure nothing was stuck in my teeth.

  “V, come on! Want a beer or something?”

  “Something,” I mumbled to myself as I put the mirror away and wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans.

  I lugged the box of toys Mike had left on the kitchen counter into the great room. The space was two stories tall with a bank of windows that showed off the beautiful scenery—if it wasn't pitch black beyond the glass. A large stone fireplace filled the north wall, a crackling fire in the hearth. Dark leather sofas faced the fireplace with a wide screen TV in the built-ins next to it. Opposite was a wet bar. Platters of snacks covered the counter along with a bucket full of ice and bottles of beer. Mike stood behind the bar mixing some kind of alcoholic beverage.

  Between the heated floors and the fireplace, it was a warm and cozy place to be on such a cold night.

  “Want one?” Mike called to me. I nodded, not caring what it contained. I needed fortification and I needed it fast.

  I was a little unsure of how this was going to turn out. Six, I counted heads, no make that seven guys and a box full of sex toys. I was going to be grilled about women and what they really wanted in bed. I wasn't a porn star, nor a virgin. I fell somewhere in the middle and had the experience to match. Toys were great and all, but a guy who was good with his hands really melted my butter.

  After working at Goldilocks for, well, forever, I’d learned a thing or two about what a guy wanted in bed. Or out. The first year Goldie tutored me in her entire arsenal of toys, lingerie, videos, and what not. She even sent me home with one video a week to watch with the warning if I told my mother I'd be fired. Not that I would have ever done that. To this day, I'd be mortified to tell her I'd spent my Thursday nights watching Debbie Does Dishes or Dirty Girlz. And those were the tamer titles.

  Goldie’d had me watch instructional videos on every possible subject over my lunch breaks. I was the only person in the world, I was sure, who’d watched Kama Sutra 101 and How To: Oral Sex over microwaved leftovers.

  I peeked a glance at Jack, lounging on the couch, beer in hand. He was watching me, his blue eyes sharp and assessing. Obviously, I hadn't knocked anything important loose since he'd been released from the ER. I felt exposed, vulnerable thinking about what he'd seen—what I'd exposed—earlier.

  Surprisingly, I also felt hot. The fire sure was warm! Yeah, right. Who was I kidding? My fantasy hadn't changed even after his obnoxious words.

  Jack. That's whom I wanted in my bed. Anywhere. Even if he was a complete jerk and drives me bonkers. My head might be thinking strangle the man, but my body wanted to do something completely different to him. With him. I was just glad my sweater was thick enough to hide the way my nipples had gone hard at just the sight of him.

  Mike came out from behind the bar, brought me a highball glass filled with something clear over ice. I took a big swig. Gin and tonic. “Thanks,” I said, hoping it would cool me off.

  “Let me introduce you to everyone.” Mike turned to the five men watching the sports recap show with varying degrees of interest. Jack was watching me intently, not the big screen. I couldn't read the look on his face. He was very good at giving nothing away. I couldn't tell if he was angry, horny, sad or concussed. I silently reminded myself never to play poker with him.

  “That's Joe,” Mike pointed to the skinny blond guy the furthest from me and worked his way around. “He's a radiologist at the hospital. You know the others—Tom, Colin, Arty and Rob.”

  I nodded and gave a little finger wave. I knew them all reasonably well between high school, being friends with one of their sisters, or intramural softball.

  “Hey, V! Laid any pipe lately?”

  I rolled my eyes at Rob's comment and gave a sickly smile. I'd given up commenting back on the plumber jokes years ago.

  “Jack, you remember Veronica, don't you?” Mike asked.

  Jack, eyes still on me, put his beer on the coffee table and stood up. Walked up to me. Well-worn jeans, soft and supple in all the right places, rode low on his hips. He wo
re a black T-shirt which showed off his very appealing tan and broad shoulders. He'd put on thirty pounds or so since high school, filled out. Again, in all the right places and with pure muscle. The man didn’t have an ounce of flab on him, and I would volunteer to confirm that. His hair—since he wasn’t wearing a hat and I could see all of it now—was dark and had a little wave to it, curling down over his forehead and ears. It was longer than I remembered, long enough to run my fingers through, get a little hold on it and pull his head in for a kiss or keep it right between my parted thighs as he—

  Oh shit. I was in big trouble if I was fantasizing about him going down on me.

  I flushed and glanced up at him, glad he couldn’t read my thoughts. He was taller standing up and conscious. I had to tilt my head to look him in the eye. “Miller,” he replied neutrally.

  Oh yeah. Forgot about that one. He'd always called me by my last name. I gave myself a mental head smack. Now I knew why. He didn't know which Miller I was. Using our last name would cover both me and Violet and he wouldn't be wrong. Pretty slick. I had thought it was a cute nickname, a weird endearment. I was such a putz.

  “I ran into Jack at the hospital earlier. Broken foot,” Mike told me jovially.

  Obviously, the broken foot wasn't Jack's but some other unfortunate person. Mike gave him a slap on the back. I saw Jack wince slightly from probably a head ache, his mouth a grim line. Pain medicine must not be working well enough.

  Guilt riddled me. Just a little bit. Or maybe it was the sip of G & T talking. “How are you feeling?” I asked. I couldn't come up with anything else. Nothing witty from me. Just being in the same room as Jack made me nervous, flustered. Mad. Horny.

  “Wonderful,” he said sarcastically, if the tone of his voice was any indication. “Remember the explanation I had to give to the ER docs?”

  I nodded, worried my lower lip and wondered where this was going.

  His eyes dropped to my mouth.

  “They loved it. If it weren't for confidentiality laws, it would be around town by tomorrow.” He was cranky. Angry.

  Mike just watched the two of us. “You knew he got hurt?” he asked, baffled.

  I nodded again. “I drove him to the ER.” If Jack wasn't going to bring up the whole sex-paddle-to-the-head scenario, I wasn't either.

  “Oh,” Mike replied as if that answered everything, although he looked as if he had no clue. “Why?”

  “Didn't Jack tell you?” I glanced over at him. “We're going to be roommates.”

  “At Violet's?” Mike asked, still obviously confused.

  I nodded.

  Mike wiggled his eyebrows, grinned, and turned to Jack. “That's going to be...cozy. Just the two of you in that tiny house.”

  “Want to put me up here?” Jack asked. He could've been fishing for a room, or he could have just been trying to irritate Mike. It was hard to tell which.

  Mike smiled, held up his hands in front of him. “Nope. Wouldn't want to cramp your style.”

  I rolled my eyes. Mike and I had kissed once. In ninth grade. His braces had nicked my lip and it had been a slobbery mess. We’d both agreed right then and there in his parents' basement that had been a one-time deal. From then on, he was like a big brother. A big doofus of one.

  “Besides, my parents are coming Monday morning,” Mike continued. “Why can't you stay at your uncle's?” Before Jack could answer, Mike kept right on talking. “Right, the remodel. I heard about that. Look, can we get this started?” He rubbed his hands together. “This is going to be great! I'm so glad I ran into you and you could join us, buddy.” He got a beer from the bar and sat down in his recliner, positioned just right for TV watching.

  Mike was a little too enthusiastic, like a cheerleader who had too much sugar and didn't have any focus.

  “Is he always this way?” Jack jerked his thumb toward Mike.

  “Pretty much.”

  “So, Violet's house? Not yours?” Jack asked as we stood there, the other men mesmerized by some fancy basketball replay.

  “Oh, um. No.”

  Jack just stared at me waiting for more, as if he had all the time in the world. I'd heard he was a lawyer. I guess the skill came in handy when he was trying to get the truth out of a witness on the stand.

  I sighed. “There was a small fire at my house. In the kitchen, actually. It's being fixed, but in the meantime, I'm staying at Violet's.”

  “And where is she?” He lifted his hand to the back of his head. “She wasn't the one who...no, you just told Mike you drove me to the ER.”

  I lifted an eyebrow. “You think we pulled a switch?”

  Jack shrugged casually. “It wouldn't be a surprise,” he commented, his voice a little bitter sounding.

  My mouth dropped open in shocked anger. “The last time we did a switch was in first grade.”

  “Really?” It was clear Jack didn't believe me, his one eyebrow arched up.

  “Violet,” I enunciated the name so he would be clear about who was who, “is at a conference in Utah. She's a first-grade teacher.”

  “Then it really was your paddle.” Again, his eyes dropped to rake over my body, resting squarely on my chest and the breast he'd seen earlier. Maybe he had X-ray vision like Superman or was just reliving the moment. My nipples tightened even more. I felt my cheeks get hot. One glance from Jack and I melted like an ice cream cone in the summer sun.

  “Why, because first-grade teachers don't use sex toys?” I asked, my voice full of snark.

  “I have no idea if they do or not. I meant you swing one like you've had lots of practice.” He smiled. That great smile with one side ticked up. I'd loved his smile in high school. Right now, I just wanted to punch it right off his face. Maybe give the new paddle a test swing or two.

  “Yup, lots of practice. I'll send you a bill for it.” I started to walk off but Jack's hand on my arm stopped me. It wasn’t a tight hold. Too gentle, in fact. But the heat from his touch headed south to all the important places. I picked up his dark, tantalizing scent in the air and, damn, he smelled good.

  “We're exchanging bills? That's great because the one from the hospital's going to be a doozy. They did a CAT scan after all.”

  Oh, brother.

  “V, let's go!” Mike shouted. Jack dropped his hand and I stormed off, ready to hit him again.

  6

  I spent an hour standing in front of the men, my back to the fire, going over the various sex toys I'd pulled from the box. Even though they were fully grown, the guys acted like boys, coming up with lewd and totally inappropriate comments about each one. Fingertip vibrators, edible body powder, and nipple clamps were all hits. Joe even tried a clamp on himself, got it stuck and Mike had to help get it off. No way was I volunteering for that job.

  I pulled a blow-up doll out of the box. “Here, can someone blow this up?”

  “Mike will. He's so full of hot air!”

  “Yeah, and he's had experience with blowing—”

  “Arty,” I interrupted. Shook my head. Too much information for me. Even though I worked part-time in an adult store, details of people's sex lives were not required. Nor wanted. Especially Mike's, or any of my other friends.

  “Sorry,” he replied, contrite.

  “A blow-up doll. Awesome!” Mike got to work, finding the little air valve and filling the doll up, one breath at a time.

  “While Mike's taking care of that, here's the next thing I want to show you. It's a paddle, if you're interested in spanking play or even BDSM.” I heard Jack laugh. At me. I felt my cheeks flame and I avoided looking his way. I passed it around and they tested it against their hands.

  “How do I introduce this to my wife?” Tom asked, hitting his palm gently with the fur lined side. For once, someone had a serious question. Or at least I thought so.

  “You say Bonnie, this is Paddle. Paddle, this is Bonnie's ass!” Joe replied to roars of laughter.

  Jack cracked a smile and shook his head. Tom laughed along with the others but I
knew he really wanted an honest answer.

  “Well,” I started. The men quickly quieted down, realizing they were getting some inside info on women and sex. And spanking. For some reason, men were a little obsessed with spanking. “You could tell her it was something you'd been thinking about and that it really turns you on. Maybe try just spanking her with your hand first, perhaps a little playful swat while you’re intimate. See how she takes to that.”

  Tom nodded. The other men looked at me thoughtfully as if considering my suggestion. No doubt a woman's red ass was the main vision in their minds.

  Mike was doing a pretty good job of inflating the blow-up doll. It was starting to take on its form in all its naked glory.

  Arty stood up to get another beer and Joe smacked him on the ass with the paddle. The men erupted into roars of laughter and high fives.

  I laughed, too. “Maybe not quite like that. If you think that part of your wife or girlfriend is really hot, then tell her so. I can't say for sure how she'll react, but telling a woman you think she's hot or something about her turns you on, it goes a long way.”

  The men nodded their heads sagely. Jack watched me as he took a swig of beer.

  “Hey, this is a guy!” Mike called out, outraged.

  He held up the fully inflated male doll. Including the eight-inch penis.

  “What the...” Joe said.

  I held up my hand for silence. Clearly the men were expecting an anatomically correct woman. “I brought the guy doll to demonstrate this last item. A cock ring.” I pulled it from the bottom of the box and held it up. It had two circles joined together in the middle, in the shape of a figure eight.

  “Hey! Let me see that!” Mike shouted.

  I tossed it to him and sat down on the arm of the empty wing chair by the fire.

  “This, from what I've been told, helps a man stay in the game longer than normal. I know I showed you toys specifically designed for your wife or girlfriend, but this is something that you use and she'll definitely benefit.”