Mountain Desire (Wild Mountain Men 3)

“Fine. Eve. The hot detective. You said she was cute? Cute? She could flay us alive with that smart tongue of hers. She’s hot as fuck and that pussy…” My mouth watered at the thought of getting between her thighs again.

Shane groaned. “All I got to do was kiss her. You got your hands on those tits and your mouth on her pussy.”

“I finger fucked her, too.” My dick hardened remembering how wet she’d been. How tight. How she’d rippled around my finger when she came.

“Fuck you.”

I couldn’t help messing with him. “I’d rather fuck her.”

I slowed and carefully steered the truck onto the county road that led south toward my ranch. Since Shane couldn’t leave his forest service vehicle at my house for his days off, I’d picked him up at his cabin. We were headed back to my ranch to collect our snowmobiles, which I kept stored in one of my outbuildings. Our plan was to park at a trail access Lucas Mills had told us about and spend the day in the backcountry. The new snow would make for a great ride.

“She was incredible,” he said. “We have to persuade her to have more than a fling. I want her and not as a quick lay.”

“I only suggested a no-strings relationship because she was scared of more.”

“To make her change her mind through multiple orgasms.”

“Exactly,” I replied.

“The only way that’s going to happen is to get her between us again.”

Sure, I wanted to get more than my finger in her pussy, but I wanted to know her. “I shouldn’t push for more. I’m not a good bet and you know it.”

His head flopped back against the headrest. “Not this again,” he groaned. “Jesus, you’re too hard on yourself. She was into us. Us. Hell, she was into your mouth on her pussy. Not me, not me and a sidekick. Me. You.”

“Whatever. Figures the woman both my dick and my heart wants is a fucking detective. What are the chances of that?”

I’d gone to jail for assault. I’d beat up an asshole who’d been slapping a friend of ours around, and I didn’t stand for that shit. Not when I’d been nineteen, not now. But beating the shit out of a Cutthroat Richie Rich, regardless of the fact that he’d been assaulting a woman, meant I’d gone to jail.

No woman wanted to be with a guy who hit, regardless of who or why I’d done so. It had been ten years since I’d gotten out, and while a woman might like to fuck a convict, that was as far as it went. Especially not a police officer.

I wasn’t too keen on being taken to the ground and handcuffed. If it had been anyone besides a hot, scantily clad woman, I’d have probably panicked. But feeling her thighs squeeze my sides, the heat from her pussy against my lower back, had made me forget everything but how hard she made my dick.

Clearly Eve didn’t know my past, or she’d have kept me in those fucking handcuffs.

No one wanted the long haul with me. The white picket fence and two-point-five kids and a dog. My property was too big for the fence, but the right woman would get a ranch and a dog. And me. And Shane. Hopefully she’d give us a bunch of kids.

“You’re the one she spread her legs for,” he prompted. “You’re the one she wanted.”

I glanced at Shane and gave him snark. “Sure, pretty boy.”

Shane was the guy all the women went after. Dark hair, piercing eyes. Muscles. A quick wit and a quicker grin. Plus he had a movie-star dad, even though the guy was a total fucker. On the surface, that combination was lethal to a woman’s panties.

“Don’t forget, besides being the pretty boy, I’m rich, too. You’re not the only man who’s single,” he countered. “None have wanted me either, at least for more than a quick fuck. So calm your tits.”

I sighed. He was right. I wasn’t the only single guy in Cutthroat. At least I knew where I stood with women. Shane probably had to figure out if his dick was getting sucked because a woman actually wanted to satisfy Shane himself or because she got on her knees to get closer to his father.

“If she’s the one for us, she’ll see me for me, not for the fact that I’m Eddie Nickel’s son. She’ll see you for more than just your record. She’ll understand why. She won’t give a shit. Hell, she’ll think you’re fucking honorable.”

I shot him a doubtful look. Eve might only want sex, but I doubted she wanted to take a felon’s dick for a ride.

EVE

“I want to know why the killer hasn’t been caught. So do Keith and Ellen Mills.”

Anthony Nash, better known as Mayor Nash, stood before our desks, arms crossed over his chest. I pegged him to be in his late fifties, early sixties with salt-and-pepper hair. He was six feet tall, but his ego was much bigger. I doubted he cared that justice was served for Erin Mills as much as the case being closed so he wasn’t known as the mayor who let a murderer roam free.

“It’s one man,” he continued. “There are only so many people in Cutthroat. About half of them are women.”