Page 10 of Double Mountain Men

I gasp.

“This weekend?”

“Yes,” she hummed into the phone. “Mr. Decker has requested your presence from Friday night until Monday afternoon. Would that work for you?” she asks again, her voice a tad impatient. My head spins because in fact, it would work. I don’t have classes on Friday, and I can skip my Monday morning study session. Plus, I have this weekend off from my job, so it’s perfect.

“Sure, I can make it happen,” I say in a trembling tone.

“Great,” the woman on the other line speaks. “We’ll send a car for you on Friday afternoon. He said the accommodations are pleasant, but not luxurious, so please pack accordingly. And we’ll email a confidentiality agreement for you to sign as well. Any questions?”

My mouth opens and closes a bit, but no sound comes out.

“Perfect,” the woman finishes in a business-like manner. “Please keep and eye out for the document, and enjoy yourself, Miss Earnshaw.”

Then, she clicks off and I’m left gaping in my bedroom. I’m about to meet Chris in person! Not only that, but it’s going to take place in four days’ time, and I need to get ready.

I sprang into action by splurging on a facial, mani-pedi, and Brazilian wax session. My blonde hair was cut and styled, and I over-packed because I wasn’t certain about what to bring. Should I pack lingerie and sexy fripperies, or should I stick with cute t-shirts, jeans, and warm woolen socks? Should I bring a hat and mittens in case we go outside, or will I be fully nude for the entire weekend, offering my curves again and again?

In the end, I brought everything, and my bag bulged as a result. But the driver of the black car didn’t say anything when I met him on the curb. Instead, he merely tipped his hat, and asked, “Miss Earnshaw?”

When I nodded in the affirmative, he hoisted my bag and placed it into the trunk. Then, we were off on an hours-long journey. I wish I could say where we went, but the truth is that I was preoccupied. My head was in the clouds, filled with thoughts of Chris and what he would do to me. We’d kiss, certainly, butmy suspicion is that things will go from intimate to intense immediately. Plus, what about the other man that I sensed on the call? Who is he, and why was he hiding?

But now, the car has pulled onto to a dirt road that seems to wind through miles of trees. Towering pines surround us, and after driving slowly around several hairpin turns, the black vehicle pulls to a stop in front of a log cabin. It’s sturdy and relatively large, with a porch, a wooden door, and a chimney. There’s a stack of firewood piled against one wall, and I wonder if Chris chopped it all himself.

At that moment, the front door opens and the man of the house steps out. Oh my gosh, he’s even more handsome in person. He appears to be at least six four, that dark hair almost touching the porch overhang as he comes down the steps. Chris is powerful and burly too, with broad shoulders, a wide chest, and thick, tree-trunk thighs encased in heavy denim. Plus, his features are rugged and masculine, even as they split into a smile when he sees me.

“Hi Misty,” he greets in a low rumble. “Welcome. Thanks, Tucker,” he says to the driver before grabbing my bag from the driver’s hands. “I’ll let you know if we need anything.” Then, the black car zooms down the mountain road, and I’m left with this giant of a man.

But I feel comfortable, actually, and smile up at the towering alpha male, looking foolish and silly, I’m sure.

“Chris, right?”

He grins right back, also a bit silly himself.

“That’s right. Come on in. I hope you like it here.”

Then, he leads me into the house, and it’s exactly what the lady said: comfortable, but not luxurious. The furniture is big and brown, with plaid cushions. There’s a full kitchen off to the side, with doors leading to what are probably bedrooms. Random, mismatched artwork hangs on the walls, and the feel is rustic, cozy, and rough-hewn at once.

But then, the door to one of the rooms opens, and my breath hitches in my chest: another man stands there, and he’s massive and intense. He’s not quite as tall as Chris, but he’s broader, with shoulders like a tank, and a chest that looks as solid as oak. His dark hair is brushed back and piercing blue eyes sear my curves.

“Hey,” he growls.

“Misty, meet my friend Brett,” Chris says without losing a beat. “He’s visiting.”

I turn to my host, raising my eyebrows in surprise.

“Visiting?”

The handsome man nods.

“As you can see, we have some things to discuss. Maybe over dinner?” he asks in a nonchalant voice. “Let’s talk things through before anything gets started. What do you think? Would that be okay?”

For a moment, the question hangs in the air, unanswered. But then I smile sweetly and nod.

“Yes, let’s.”

Then, the most exciting, sensual weekend of my life begins.

7

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