Hero (Alpha Mountain 1)

I glanced up at the glass ceiling, and all I saw was pounding rain. Who knew how long this spring storm would last. I had no intention of putting in a few miles on a treadmill; I had the wilderness outside for that. Except I couldn’t sit here in my wet clothes while I waited for the weather to pass. Before the front came in, it had been in the high seventies, and thankfully, the glass kept the space balmy. I sighed, then shivered, even though it was warm.

“Sorry, Ford,” I muttered as I toed off the muddy boots. Nah, I wasn’t sorry. Getting his fancy home gym muddy wasn’t close to what I’d had in mind for getting even after all these years.

I would’ve been lying, though, if I pretended there wasn’t a part of me that didn’t want to stick it to him a bit after what he’d done to me. Okay, what I’d done to him, but either way, “the incident” had left a big scar on my confidence—and heart—and created enough shame to pretty much ruin sex for me. It didn’t make me any less horny because I’d seen Ford at the grocery store a few months ago. Yeah, I’d hid behind a display of canned peaches, but I’d seen him. He’d changed since the night I offered up my virginity to him on a platter. Back then, he’d been a focused SEAL, all sharp edges and precision. At the funeral, he’d looked older. Weary. The gloss had been gone, but I hadn’t paid him all that much attention. But in the pasta aisle? His dark hair had been longer. He had a dang beard like he was settling in well to mountain life, which somehow made me all kinds of aroused.

He still had sharp edges, but they were honed now. As if his focus was laser-sharp.

It made me wonder what all that intensity was like in bed.

Those thoughts were why I was hiding in his greenhouse gym instead of knocking on his front door. I wasn’t going to be denied twice. In the same place.

I removed my jacket and stripped off the wet hiking pants. At least my t-shirt and panties were dry. That was about all, though. I hopped on one foot, then the other, to take off my wet socks. They weren’t going to be fun to put back on, but I’d worry about that later.

The pounding of the rain on the plastic roof must’ve drowned out all other sounds because I had no idea I was no longer alone until a deep, all-too-painfully familiar voice rumbled behind me.

“Indigo Buchanan.”

I jumped a foot and screamed then spun around.

There, standing in jeans and a soggy black shirt was an older, broader, bigger Ford Ledger. And he was holding a gun. He ran a hand over his mountain man beard as he raked his gaze over every inch of me.

“You have a real habit of taking your clothes off and making yourself at home where you don’t belong.”

Chapter

Two

FORD

* * *

I put the safety back on the M9 I’d palmed when the security system alerted us that someone had breached the fence at the property line and tucked the weapon in the waistband of my pants. This time when the sensor went off, it hadn’t been a deer jumping the fence. Or a bear.

No, it was Indigo “Indi” Buchanan.

I debated if I’d rather wrestle a bear than this woman. Fuck, no. I wanted to roll around with her. Too much. She’d have claws, and I kind of hoped she bit, just a little. At least that was my dick talking.

I tried—fuck, I tried—not to look below her waist. I couldn’t, shouldn’t, drink in the sight of those long, toned legs. The bare skin that…

No.

Nope.

Fuck—not going to look.

Not going to even think about checking out what color, cut, and style of panties she wore. Not when I remembered all too well what she looked like out of them.

In my bed.

Indi.

The woman who haunted my dreams. Who taunted me still, even though this was the first time I’d seen her since she was eighteen—except across the church at Buck’s memorial service. All those years ago, Buck and I had been on leav., The summer she’d graduated high school. The night she’d left her bra dangling as an invitation and climbed naked in my bed with the intention of letting me punch her V card. The night Buck had found us thirty seconds after I’d covered my eyes and told her to get out. He’d wanted to hand me my balls for breakfast.

Now? She wasn’t for me even though she was no longer jailbait. She never had been, and she never would be, no matter how fucking gorgeous she was. She was my dead best friend’s little fucking sister. Off-limits.