Unlocking Her Chastity (Polar Bear Alaska) Read online

  UNLOCKING HER CHASTITY

  POLAR BEAR ALASKA

  FRANKIE LOVE

  CONTENTS

  Unlocking Her Chastity

  1. Jacob

  2. Juniper

  3. Jacob

  4. Juniper

  5. Jacob

  6. Juniper

  7. Jacob

  8. Juniper

  9. Jacob

  10. Juniper

  11. Jacob

  Epilogue 1

  Epilogue 2

  Epilogue 3

  Coming Home to the Mountain

  More from Polar Bear, AK!

  About the Author

  By Frankie Love

  Cover by Cormar Covers

  Edited by Happily Ever Author

  Proofreading by Normas Nook Proofreading

  Copyright © 2021 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.

  UNLOCKING HER CHASTITY

  A POLAR BEAR ALASKA ROMANCE

  When she crashes into me, running for her life, I know this vixen needs saving – but she is no damsel in distress.

  Juniper is an axe-wielding temptress who needs help with just one thing.

  She may be focused on the medieval chastity belt locked to her – but I am transfixed by her smile, her laugh – and her curves?

  Well, they certainly add to the package.

  And the package is more than I deserve this Christmas.

  I’m a mountain man who knows a thing or two about loss.

  But this woman seems to take it all in stride.

  She wants me to unlock her chastity belt, but is it possible that in turn she could unlock this closed off heart of mine?

  Dear Reader,

  This icy mountain man is lonely in Polar Bear, AK!

  It’s time we warm this feral alpha up!

  So light the fire, baby, it’s gonna get hot!

  Xo, Frankie

  1

  JACOB

  I hate going into town, but sometimes you've just got to grin and bear it. Today is one of those times.

  I'm out of coffee, and that's one of the few things I can't live without. I know, I'm supposed to be some burly-ass man living up here in Alaska. And sure, I've got a beard, the flannel shirt, and the axe to prove it, but there's a few things I just can't live without. Coffee is one of them.

  I get most of my shit delivered to my P.O. box in town. I drive there as infrequently as possible to pick up whatever's left in my cubby. But there are some things – like coffee and cream – that I have to pick up at the grocery store. So today, I get in my giant-ass truck and leave my cabin.

  I head down the mountain, Christmas music on – because I’m no Grinch – thinking it’s probably a good idea to see another human every so often. It's been a while since I've been in civilization. And considering it's a few weeks till Christmas, I could probably do with a bit of holiday cheer. Polar Bear, Alaska, may be the middle of bum fuck nowhere, but they do a few things right this time of year. There are trees decorated with ornaments, garlands strung across Main Street, and as I roll into town, I can’t help but smile. Memories, painful as they are, return to me, reminding me of happier times.

  I’m Jacob Whitaker, a widower, and once a father, always a father. And now, seeing a kid go down a hill in a sled, a giant smile on their face, brings a smile to mine too.

  Life's been hard. Hell, we can all relate to that, but I haven't let it define me. Most folks would think that, considering I live all by myself, I’m some bitter man in the woods. They probably think I'll be wrestling my demons till the day I die. But that's not the truth.

  I simply moved up to Alaska after I lost my family – I didn’t have anything left for me in Oregon, and my little boy, Spencer, he loved polar bears. I figured I might feel him up here somehow, some way. And sometimes I do. I made the right call moving here, even if at times, it’s lonely.

  I’m not trying to be some recluse. Life has just turned out that way. Now, if there was a woman to give me a second chance at happiness? I sure as hell would act on it.

  I turn into the parking lot at the grocery store, get out of my red truck, and then grab a shopping cart. As I make my way down the aisles, I realize I’m hungry … and everything looks good.

  How long has it been since I’ve been in town? A month? More?

  I have an appetite, that’s for damn sure, and I begin filling my cart with eggs, butter, milk, cheese. All the dairy I can cram into that metal basket.

  Some folks in town make eye contact when they notice me, and I give them an awkward wave, trying to remember if I know their names. I probably don't. Or maybe I do? Hell. I've been up here in Polar Bear for five fucking years but don't exactly know my neighbors.

  Still, I do my best to nod politely as I pass them, as they grab their Raisin Bran and yogurt, and I grab my fresh fruits and vegetables, knowing they're all luxury items up here in the far north.

  The canned fruits aisle is tempting, and I grab some peaches, a few boxes of cornbread and cake mix. A bunch of shit I probably don't need. But it's winter and it's for hibernating, right? I smile at the thought.

  And just as I'm smiling, my eye catches on something. Rather, someone.

  Someone who's staring at me. Her face is buried in a magazine at the end of the aisle, but she's not reading it; her eyes are scanning me. I can tell.

  I lift my eyebrows. "What?" I ask plainly.

  She shakes her head. Those eyes though? Damn. They're seductive. Bright blue, like the sky overhead at my cabin. Clear as fucking day. Her hair is bright red, to her waist. Long tresses. She looks like a medieval princess. She's got a giant white fur collar on her long black coat that runs all the way down to her calves.

  My eyes keep trailing her, and I take in her boots. They're brown leather. They have sensible heels, sturdy, like they were made for something: for riding, for combat. I look back and memorize her face. She looks like a queen. Regal. I'm half expecting to see a crown cresting her head.

  She lowers the magazine. Her lips are pink and pouty. Her nose is upturned. There's a smattering of freckles across her cheeks. And damn, my body is turned the fuck on.

  This is not my general reaction while walking through a grocery store. First of all, this is not my natural element, grocery shopping. I don't do it often. And my cart, it's fucking filled to the brim, as if I’m half-starved, which, upon seeing her – I realize just how hungry I am.

  She eyes my cart next. She hasn't said a word, and neither have I. But I keep walking toward her as if she is the destination, the end point.

  I clear my throat. "Have we met?" I know damn well we have not. Because if we had, I would never forget her. Her name, her everything. She lifts her eyebrows. One hand moves to her hip. She cocks it. It's curvy and cute, and I want her in a way I've never wanted anyone. And that fact alone makes my heart pound in my body, thrum, makes everything turn bright.

  "No," she says, her voice filled with light and laughter. "We haven't met. I think I'd remember."

  "Remember what?" I ask, unsure of what she's meaning.

  "I'd remember this wild Alaskan mountain man walking toward me with a basket full of so much food I'm thinking he's prepping for the end of the literal world."

  I look at the shopping cart. I mean, it is full. Really, really full. I didn't just buy one kind of cheese. I picked out six different kinds: colby and pepper jack, a medium cheddar, extra sharp. "I like cheese
. What can I say?"

  She laughs. "I mean, who doesn't like cheese?"

  I shrug. “You know, those freaky anti-lactose dairy-free folk."

  "That's not a thing," she says. "Anti-lactose?”

  I shrug. "At least we know we're both cheese people."

  She smiles; her teeth are bright white. And I want to run my hands over her lips, over her teeth. And I realize, as I think it, that’s creepy as hell. Who wants to kiss someone else's teeth? But I do. I want to kiss hers. She's staring at me. I wonder if she can read my mind. I know she can't. And, fuck. I'm glad. I can’t have her running away. We’ve just barely met.

  "What?" she asks, half whisper, half amazement. "What are you doing with all of this food?"

  Okay. So she's not transfixed by me in the same way I'm transfixed with her. But, fuck. I'm feeling something, real and raw. Alive. Sharp. Sudden.

  "I'm just hungry, I guess," I say.

  “I suppose you are," she says. "You like to cook?"

  I shrug. I pick up the can of peaches. "This won't spoil."

  She nods. "Right. I mean, you're stating the obvious. I do understand how canned food works."

  I chuckle. "Right. Well, I just ... Do you live around here?"

  She shakes her head slowly. "No, I'm here for work, research."

  "For research," I repeat. "That's interesting.”

  "You don't even know what kind of research it is."

  I smile. "Fair enough. So what kind of research is it?"

  "I'm here at the Polar Bear Sanctuary outside of town. Have you ever been there?"

  I nod. "A few times."

  "I’m going there tomorrow. I just got in last night."

  "Have you ever been to Alaska before?" I ask.

  She shakes her head. "You live here long?"

  "About five years," I tell her. "What's your name?"

  "Juniper. Juniper Jones."

  "That's a nice name. It sounds familiar."

  She smiles. "I get that a lot. What's your name?"

  "Jacob Whitaker," I tell her. "Hey, do you want to come over for dinner? I happen to have all of this food and I thought I could cook you something."

  She laughs. "Let me guess, you live in some cabin all alone in the middle of the woods?"

  I run a hand over my beard. "Yeah. Now that you put it like that, I realize how creepy that invitation sounds."

  She smiles. "Do you want to meet at a restaurant in town for dinner?" Her voice is playful, and I appreciate it.

  "Sorry, I haven't done this in a long time. I haven't done this since ..." I swallow. "Dinner in town sounds fucking great. And I must be really liking you considering I never go into town two times in the same day.”

  "Wow. I must be someone special," she says, exaggerating her voice.

  "You are," I tell her. Honest. Plain. True. "You are someone special, Juniper Jones. Her cheeks go pink and damn, it's cute. "There are only a few nice places to eat in town. The restaurant inside the Icicle Inn is one of them.”

  Juniper’s eyes light up. “Perfect. That’s where I am staying.”

  “Do you want to meet at the Icicle Inn at 6:00?" I ask her. "I'd say we could go eat now, but I've really got to get these groceries back home before ..." My words trail off, and she fills in the rest of my sentence.

  "Before your four different kinds of ice cream melt?"

  I laugh. "Exactly."

  She smiles. "That sounds great, actually, Jacob."

  "Alright, Juniper,” I say. "I guess I'll see you then?"

  "It's a date,” she says. She licks her lips. "So, bye?" She gives me the tiniest wave; her fingers are delicate. She looks so beautifully put together and polished. So lovely.

  My eyes are captivated. My heart is too. I walk away from her, hating that I am. But she's moved on.

  She's left the store, and I have groceries to purchase and items to pick up from the post office.

  And hell. I guess I have a date to get ready for.

  A date tonight, with Juniper Jones.

  2

  JUNIPER

  Okay. So, this plot twist was unexpected, like absolutely, entirely not in my wildest dreams.

  I did not come up to Polar Bear, Alaska, to meet some wild, feral mountain man. I came up here for research. Research on polar bears for my upcoming fantasy romance novel – the seventh book in my fully developed series which shouldn’t require much research but I hit a brick wall. I needed inspiration.

  I was thinking inspiration in the form of polar bears, not in the form of Jacob Whitaker.

  Of course, there are wild, untamed men in this romance novel. So, technically, this man I just came upon who looks exactly like the hero I was dreaming about – and by dreaming I mean drooling, fantasizing, making imaginary montages in my mind – when he stopped me in the grocery store and actually started talking to me, I was a bit stunned.

  See, I thought I already knew him because I've been having imaginary conversations with this character in my mind for the last year and a half. I've been plotting this book for so long that this hero is basically already lifelike.

  And he, this Jacob Whitaker, is that hero in human form, flesh, and bones, and muscles, so. many. muscles. I could practically see them coming out from the seams of his flannel shirt.

  His legs are thick, and strong, and sturdy. And that might be a strange way to describe a grown man's legs, but believe me, they are solid. The kind of legs that could pick you up by the waist and hold on tight. The kind of legs that you could wrap yourself around as he swings you around the room, presses you against a wall, and does, well, all the things I write about.

  So, when I saw him in that little Podunk grocery store while I was browsing, let's just say I got butterflies in my belly, which is a polite way of saying my panties were ruined because, yes, he got me all hot and bothered. Wet and wasted. He is everything I've been writing about: tall, strong, handsome, a man with an appetite.

  I bite my lips as I walk away from the grocery store, wishing I had a reason to go back but not trusting myself to do so. Because if I did, I would basically be following him around as he pushed that cart full of cheese and dairy products like a love-struck fool. He would probably pull back his offer for dinner because he'd think I turned into a stalker in about three minutes flat.

  Wanting to continue the perception of me being that cool, elusive woman who's from out of town, I decided to leave while I still had an air of mystery about me.

  As I walk down the sidewalk with the collar of my coat turned up around my face to try and keep from freezing my cheeks off, I replay the conversation in my mind. "You from around here?" he asked.

  Oh my God. It's like a line from a novel. I mean, not the novels I write because the lines are more like, "Hello, fair maiden. Are you from these regions or a land unbeknownst to me?"

  The fair maiden who is riding the giant white bear through the lands of Winter Fallhaven. My novels take place in a medieval fantasy land where, instead of riding dragons, the heroes and heroines ride these magnificent polar bear creatures, and instead of green, grassy hills, they tread over icy terrain.

  Right now, I'm very glad this is exactly what I write because it's all led me here to this moment, to this day, to Jacob, which, okay, maybe I'm getting a little bit ahead of myself.

  It's dinner. One dinner date which, to be honest, I haven't had in pretty much forever. Deep breaths, Juniper, deep, deep breaths.

  I consider texting my best friend, Lemon, asking if she has any dating advice. Truth is I haven't been on a date since about, well, high school, which was … about seven years ago. After I graduated from Home Secondary School, I started writing my stories and posting them on the internet until it got picked up by a publisher who was obsessed with my Winter Fallhaven fantasy and began publishing them.

  Now, they're in bookstores all over the world, and I'm six books into this medieval, polar bear, romantic epic fantasy world.

  My life is fantastic, except, you know, the fact t
hat I'm single and I live in a beautiful, turn-of-the-century mansion all by myself in Western Washington.

  I'd sell it in a heartbeat if it meant I had a partner. I mean, there's a murder of crows that like to perch on my roof, and I don't exactly think they count as BFFs, or at least that's what my online therapist tells me.

  I'm not going to bother Lemon. I know she is busy helping run her family’s construction company, and with Christmas coming up – she has plenty to keep her busy. Her family was my saving grace when I was a teenager; they took me in when I had nowhere else to turn, and I owe them so much. Besides, I will see them all soon enough at their annual Christmas Eve party. She does not need to text me through a dinner date. I can do this all on my own.

  I consider what my therapist would tell me to do right now to prep for this new and exciting experience. She'd probably tell me to get in a good head space, to take a nice walk, to think through how I want the evening to go, what my expectations of a date with this man might entail.

  How would I like it to go if he tried to kiss me or do more with me?

  Would I be interested? Check. Check. Check. Check.

  Yes.

  Truth is, I'm a virgin, and I'm very interested in changing that.

  I'm very much interested in lots of things regarding that status in fact, and the idea of that changing with a wild-ass mountain man who likes to buy a buttload of cheese seems very appealing to me.

  Not that we're going back to his place tonight. No. We're going to the Icicle Inn which is conveniently the same hotel where I am staying, and having a nice dinner together, maybe a cocktail, or four, or six.