Heart of Gold: A Mountain Man's Valentine Read online

  I may be jealous. And a brat. But I love weddings. And I love my sister. Even if she is the perfect one.

  Sophia kisses my cheeks and leaves to say goodbye to some of her other guests. Meanwhile, Taylor and Samson find their way to the foyer and the three of us exchange hellos.

  “I’m glad to catch you—without Sophia, Taylor,” I say. “Because, I was wondering if you would like any help with the wedding rings.”

  Taylor pushes his lips forward. “I think Sophia has some strong opinions about the wedding bands.”

  “I know, I just thought if you wanted them to be custom, I’d love to help.”

  “I’ll let her know, but don’t hold your breath, Ava. You know how Sophia is. And she’ll want the band to match her engagement ring. In both quality and quantity.”

  I try not take it personally, and instead offer him a fake smile. This is not about me. This is so not about me. This is about what they want. On their hands for the rest of their lives.

  “How would you help with the rings?” Samson asks.

  This is the most I’ve heard him say all night. I watched him during dinner, because how could I not? He is seriously the hottest man I’ve ever seen. And I don’t think he smiled or engaged in small talk even once. If I was to sum him up in two words I might use steak and potatoes. Or not necessary. Or perhaps, strong silent type. So, that’s three. You get the point.

  “I’m a jewelry designer.” I shrug, mostly because no one in my family actually takes my designs seriously. Setting up an Etsy shop didn’t give my parents a reason to believe my fine arts degree from Berkeley was worth it. So, I’m not holding my breath that this man who lives alone is the woods is going to care about custom wedding rings either.

  Jokes on them, because my rings are fucking amazing.

  They just don’t understand.

  “Do you work with stones?”

  “I do. I know people say diamonds are girl’s best friends, but I like more precious gemstones... Ones that are more unique.”

  “And you use gold for all your metalwork? Right?” Taylor asks, adding to the conversation.

  “I didn’t realize you had taken an interest in my artistry,” I tease.

  “Not me, I’ve just seen the website, Sophia was showing me some of your work. She had some ideas of how you could revamp your website and possibly get more clicks if you reworked your SEO.” Taylor starts rambling about CPC and targeted campaigns and I zone out.

  “Gold?” Samson asks, breaking through my mental fog. “Where do you source it from?”

  “There’s a guy in Portland who I buy wholesale from. It’s not what I want exactly, but it works. Do you know anything about precious metals?”

  Samson shrugs. “Not much.” He has a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and for a fleeting, stupid moment I wonder what hotel he is staying at tonight.

  Realizing the conversation has once again hit a dead-end I offer Taylor a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

  “It was nice meeting you, Sam.” I intentionally leave off the son, wanting to give him a little wiggle room in case he wanted to flirt.

  “It was nice to meet you too, Ava Grace.”

  Okay. So, he wasn’t looking for an in as much as a goodbye. Roger that, ruggedly sexy man from the middle of nowhere.

  I leave the restaurant and the November night is chillier than I expected. I run my hands over my arms and look around the empty street for a cab. Of course, there are none to be seen. I pull out my phone and bring up the Uber app. I request a ride and prepare for a ten-minute wait.

  “You just planning on standing out here in the cold?” Samson says, coming up beside me.

  I smile, his face warming my heart. Okay, let’s be real. His face is warming up my pussy. “I’m just waiting for a ride. I don’t have a car.”

  “I don’t have a car here either.”

  “At home you do, though, right? Or have you sworn off cars too?”

  “I’m guessing you’ve heard some stories about me?”

  “Yeah, I heard you were some creepy loner,” I tell him, deadpan. I’ve heard no such thing. Taylor says his brother took care of him for years but then just went off the rails. No one said anything about him being a creep. “I heard that you’re out in the sticks, living off the land. Is that, about right?”

  “Something like that.”

  “So... Did you need a ride too?” I ask. I know it’s totally insane, but part of me is wondering if I could end up with him tonight. I mean, I want to end up with him tonight, but he’s exactly the kind of man I have written off.

  Unavailable. Unstable. Prone to wander.

  If someone wanted to track the last four years of my relationships, I think they’d all be categorized in one of those three ways. Winning!

  “Can you ride?” he asks, his voice low, his eyes on me. Is he checking me out? I pull in a deep breath realizing, yes. Yes, he is checking me out. Definitely checking me out. This hunk of a mountain man is eying me up.

  Can I ride? What does that even mean?

  I look down at myself, trying to see what he sees. I’m in bright pink tights. Un-sexy black ballet flats. My top has little ponies printed all over it. Yes, I am that girl. That dork of a girl who shops the sales rack at Forever 21 mostly to spite my mother. But also, because they have some freaking adorable clothes.

  Not getting a response, he repeats himself, “Do you ride horses?” His hand brushes the shoulder of my top.

  Oh. Ponies. Horse Riding.

  “I ride, I ride hard,” I smirk. “But not horses.” I cover my mouth because I’m laughing. Because I literally just said that out loud to my sister’s fiancé’s brother. I know, completely inappropriate.

  Samson is unfazed. “So, what do you like to ride hard, Ava Grace?”

  His eyes narrow, and I think this is his version of flirting. Maybe living in the mountains has made him lose some of his game, or maybe he is one of those guys who thinks less is more.

  It emboldens me.

  “I like to ride things that are solid. Things that are big. Something that knows what to do with a girl like me.”

  “A girl like you?” His dark eyes sparkle—in a way I didn’t even know brown eyes could—and he takes a step closer.

  “Yeah,” I say leaning closer. “A girl like me. A girl who has no filter.”

  “Why do we need a filter tonight?” He licks his lips, his question plain. Simple.

  In the next millisecond, a thousand flimsy excuses run through my brain. But for some reason, they don’t seem like they would work on Samson. Telling him that my sister might get mad seems so inconsequential. The truth is, I want this. He’s letting me know he wants it too.

  And I have literally nothing to lose. I don’t only wear ponies on my sleeve; my heart is there too. The universe is telling us something.

  “I guess we don’t need a filter.”

  The Uber pulls up, Samson opens the door without asking permission. Then he slides in after me.

  The car speeds off, and I smile to myself, knowing this won’t be our only ride tonight.

  Chapter Three

  Ava Grace is like a gust of wind. Like wildfire on the loose. She’s both a burning star and a fanning flame and I don’t think even she knows what she is.

  And that’s okay because tonight we don’t need to know.

  Tonight isn’t about figuring out our shit, tonight is about having good old-fashioned fun. And I can tell that this girl is a firecracker.

  I watched her all through dinner. She didn’t think I was, but damn, there’s no way in hell I could keep my eyes off her.

  She kept touching her hair, smoothing it down, as if she could tame the wildness that is in her.

  When I heard she made jewelry, worked with gold, I could just imagine her soldering pieces together. Taking something unfinished and making it into a thing of beauty.

  In the car, she positions her body to face me, and she is unabashedly eye-fucking me. This girl is gonna be the rig
ht kind of crazy in bed.

  Damn, this night is going a hell of a lot better than I thought it would.

  Ava Grace is fucking beautiful, that’s what she is. Her eyes are clear blue, big and round like sapphires. I’d stare at them all night, but I have a feeling her eyes are gonna be closed half the time, while she’s on her back, panting out her pleasure.

  Sitting next to her in the car, I run my hands up and down her thighs. Truth is, I can’t keep my hands off her, and she seems to love the attention.

  “You are making me so...” she starts, then blinks and shakes her head.

  “So, what?” I press, not just my words. I press my hand between her thighs until I can feel her wetness through her tights. She is hungry.

  She laughs nervously. “So horny, Sam. That’s what I am.”

  She’s taking me to her place, says she has a thing about sleeping in her own bed at night, and I understand. This girl is more than just the free spirit she’d like everyone to believe she is. She’s been born and raised in a country club.

  Her parents are filthy rich, and so she may want to be a starving artist, but deep down I can tell she’s used to more luxuries than she likes to let on.

  I know that for a fact as we pull up to her condo. It’s a nice part of Denver; the sidewalks are clean, the street lamps are bright, and there’s no trash on the pavement. I follow her up the front steps and she unlocks the front door.

  I don’t give her a hard time, though, about the obvious fact that her daddy pays for this place. And as she pushes open the door and leads me through the foyer into the living room, my hand is on the small of her back.

  She flicks on a light and reveals a house made of cotton candy. There’s pink everything. Well, pink and gold everything.

  I’m talking pink wallpaper and a gold chandelier and a plush pink carpet and throw pillows that say hello lovely and be mine. She lives in a Valentine’s Day card.

  “You decorate this place?” I ask.

  Her eyes flit over her living room and she smiles. “You like it? I mean, it’s pretty much the opposite of manly man, there’s no rustic cabin or wood stove,” she says, waving her hands in front of me. “But maybe for one night you can enjoy the ambiance of a place with a feminine touch?”

  I step toward her, my fingers inching inside the waistband of her black velvet skirt. “Oh, I’m looking forward to a feminine touch, alright.”

  I look at her dead on because I’m dead serious.

  She doesn’t take it that way. She doesn’t think I’m genuine, even when she saw how badly I want her.

  Her head falls back. A wave of blonde hair swishing over her shoulders and a laugh as sweet as a box of chocolates —cherry cordials to be exact.

  “Oh, so you’re not just hard edges, you have some soft sides too?” Her heart-shaped lips part, her eyes are wide, her neck stretched and she looks at me. “You need a little tender loving care tonight, is that you’re saying, Sam?”

  “That’s exactly what I need tonight.”

  My cock is already straining in my jeans; it’s been a long-ass time since I’ve had a woman that smells so good and looks so sweet, this close to me.

  People I work with might say I push everyone away from me; that I don’t let people get close. That I’m a hard-ass.

  But I’ve never really cared what people say or what they think.

  “Do you think my sister and Taylor are going to hate us?” Ava asks as my arms snake around her waist. I feel her slipping from this moment and feel the need to steady her.

  I cock an eyebrow at her, my hands running under her blouse, up her bare spine, touching her soft skin. “What the hell do they matter?”

  “Well, they might not like the fact that we are...”

  “Do you really give a fuck about what they think?” I pull her closer to me. No way in hell is she getting away.

  “I mean, I don’t want to ruin anything for them. I want their wedding to be perfect. More than perfect. I want it to be everything.”

  “We’re not gonna ruin anything because they don’t need to know anything. This is just you and me, one night. A little bit of fun. Right?”

  For a second, I think Ava is going to pull away; that maybe she doesn’t like the idea of a one-night stand. But hell, that’s all I have to offer. I’m not made to be anybody’s man.

  I look around her pink and gold house, this carnival of a living room. I sure as hell am not made to be her man, but we can have a good time.

  “Totally. Have some fun. That’s all it is.” She smiles, but it’s not as genuine as her laugh from a moment ago. It makes me feel like shit, and it makes me want to make her feel better.

  So, I do. I pull her close, cup her face with my hands, and I kiss her. I kiss her hard. Our mouths collide, our lips part, our tongues entwine. My cock, damn that thing, is ready for the ride she promised, and by her soft whimpers in my mouth, I know she’s ready to get her engines revved up too.

  “Damn, you’re something else, Ava Grace.” My fingers pull down the zipper of her skirt and it falls to the ground, landing on the plush pink carpet. She lifts her arms and I pull off her top.

  Her breasts are beautiful, creamy and full, and she’s wearing a bra that was made to be seen. Lacy and delicate.

  She reaches for my jeans, she unzips them and her hands wrap around my waist. She slides her hands under my briefs, grabbing hold of my ass.

  “You like that?” I ask, my hands tugging at her ridiculous tights. I need them off, I need to see her sweet little pussy, I bet it’s as sweet and pink as this fucking house.

  Chapter Four

  Samson takes complete control of the situation. He seems to inherently know that if left to my own devices this entire night could quickly become a disappointment.

  Because that’s what I usually do. Get too attached. Get too insecure. Get too deep in my freaking head.

  Right now, there’s no room for me to be in my head. There’s no room at all.

  Samson is in my sugary living room, filling up the space adequately enough. More than adequately.

  Because my hand is down his pants, inside his boxers, and I feel the length of his shaft.

  And there is nothing merely adequate about Samson's cock.

  I smile as my fingers run over the velvety smoothness that is his manhood, thinking to myself that if he led with this instead of a scowl or dismissive word, he could have sex with any woman he wanted.

  He runs his hands over my ass, tugging down my panties, and I step out of them. They are discarded next to my ripped tights, my skirt, and top. He expertly unclasps my bra.

  Maybe he does have sex with anyone he wants. Left and right, all the sex. That is the kind of man Samson is. He does what he wants and doesn’t ask permission. He certainly didn’t ask his brother if he minded.

  This is the kind of man I need. The kind of man I’ve been waiting for. His thumbs roll over my nipples. My eyelids flutter, not intentionally, I’m just so overcome with this unexpected sensation. My body being covered by the hands of this ripped and rugged mountain man.

  His mouth is on my neck, his beard tickling my collarbone, and my pussy is dripping wet.

  Clichés be damned, right now, this is a fucking dream come true.

  “You like it when I touch you?” He’s asking a question that he clearly doesn’t need an answer for because his hands have moved to my pussy, and he feels how wet I am for him.

  So, I don’t answer, but I do let out a soft moan, because how could I not?

  I haven’t been touched like this in so long. Maybe forever.

  Why have I been with so many fucking idiots over the years? Why didn’t I hold out for Samson?

  “You know how to touch my cock nice and good, don’t you?” Here he goes with the questions again, questions I can’t answer. Because why would I need to?

  With his boxers on the floor, I look down and take in his cock in all its full, hard, glory.

  “I’ve had sex before, if that’s
what you’re asking,” I tell Samson.

  “That’s not what I was asking. I was just saying you’re good at touching me. I like that. I like that you know how to touch me, nice and slowly.”

  My heart goes pitter-patter. Yes.

  And I unabashedly lap it up. I milk this romantic, swept-off-my-feet, unexpected rendezvous in my living room. This is the kind of romance I’ve dreamed about.

  This is why I’m so happy my sister is having a perfect wedding, a perfect marriage, and a perfect life. I want that for her; I want that for everyone.

  I may be an artist, but I’m a romantic at heart, and this is what my daydreams are made of.

  A man touching me, so unrestrained, his hands running all over my skin as if he owns me. His cock in my hand, my pussy wet, my body his.

  “So, you don’t care that you’re not my first?”

  I don’t know why I feel this desire, this need, to push this question even further. Especially since this is just a hookup. A one-night stand. He’s the one who called it that.

  Which of course, it must be, because he is my sister's fiancé's brother. He lives a million miles away, in the woods. He doesn’t have a real job. He’s a recluse. A not-creep. He’s absolutely not the kind of man I need.

  I always go for these sorts of men: unavailable, uncommitted...… ohh damn.

  I need to get out of my freaking head. Samson is running his fingers over my pussy, and I exhale after having forgotten to breathe.

  Oh, my God. That’s it. That’s exactly it. I can’t think anymore because Samson has pressed his fingers inside my pussy, he’s rolling his thumb over my clit like he knows exactly what to do.

  Because he clearly does. A man like him has done this a hundred times before. I’m glad to be his hundred and first. Because that means he has had lots and lots of practice.

  “Oh, my God, Samson, that feels so so...”

  “Fucking good?”

  “Too many questions,” I moan.

  “Just give me an answer.”

  “Yes,” I forfeit. “So, fucking good.”