The Fake Bride Loophole - A Mountain Man Romance

by Layla Valentine

  “What you’re describing is a perfectly functioning social ecosystem. A capitalist’s worst nightmare,” I tell Daley.

  “A communist’s wet dream?”

  “Not at all. These sharing-is-caring ideologies have downsides of their own, but it would take a lot more than a weekend and all the wine in your pantry to address everything,” I reply, trying not to laugh. “Though I wouldn’t mind talking about this stuff or any other stuff with you. I like you.”

  And I have no idea where that came from, but Daley is left speechless for a moment.

  It’s too late to take it back, though. I’m reeling from our earlier kiss. There’s an ache in my chest that is in desperate need of soothing, and he is the only one who can help. I know this as clearly as I know my first and last name and date of birth. The certainty of heat between us is about as solid as the certainty of gravitational forces, of sunrise and sunset, and of the vacuum of space.

  “I’m not sure this is what we should be doing,” he says, looking away, perhaps hoping I’ll drop it again.

  I can’t, though. Our earlier moment was true and genuine. I didn’t dream it.

  “What are you afraid of?” I ask. “I like you.”

  “I like you, too, Michelle. That’s not the issue.”

  Suddenly, dessert is no longer appealing, despite the display of full and luscious red pulp drowning in sweet fresh cream.

  My lips tingle. I need more of what happened this morning. So much more. And the longer we deprive ourselves of it, the sharper the decline into what I can only assume is some kind of mindless frenzy. Sooner or later, Daley and I will end up tangled beneath the furs on his bed. I’d like us to be able to enjoy it and not lose our minds altogether.

  “Then what is the issue?” I reply.

  “What we’ve got here is a lie meant to get Cline out of my life. Once it’s done, you’ve a life waiting for you back in Minneapolis.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  He’s getting frustrated, but it’s kind of cute to watch as it confirms what I’ve already been suspecting. Daley is into me, probably as much as I’m into him, yet he’s trying so hard to be cool and respectful and not get carried away, even though it’s clearly becoming our only option.

  Let the river take us both, I don’t mind. Whatever happens, happens. Right now, I’m at that point where I would rather regret what I did, not what I didn’t.

  “I don’t want us doing anything we might regret later,” he says.

  I burst into laughter, getting up from my seat at the table. “I didn’t take you for a scaredy-cat, Mr. Fontaine. I sure as heck don’t remember marrying one.”

  “Michelle.”

  “Daley.” I cross my arms, just to irk him some more.

  The darkness in his eyes reaches its boiling point, the pressure in his shoulders reaching out like a shadow and swallowing everything in its path.

  “You’re right. I’m a fast-talking city girl, and you’re a grumpy mountain man, yet here we are, fitting perfectly together like pieces accidentally made for the same puzzle. Why not give this a spin and see how we like it?”

  Slowly, he stands, towering over the entire dining area. I begin to feel small. Fragile, even.

  “We’ve yet to consummate our marriage,” he says. “That could lead to an annulment.”

  “And an annulment could give Cline cause to come at you with the Bachelor Amendment again,” I say, realizing what he’s doing. “The last thing we want, right?”

  “Absolutely the last thing.”

  A split second later, the distance between us is gone. We hold each other tight, kissing with ravenous passion, tongues wrestling and hands feeling everything.

  His fingers dig into my hips while I close my arms around his neck and arch my back. The movement tears a groan from the back of his throat as he deepens the kiss, sending my senses into a chaotic disarray. Every bit of tension up to this moment had been building up, one buzzing brick at a time, only to come down now… crashing and flailing and breaking, the energy forced to recirculate and jolt through our muscles.

  Any closer than this and we’ll merge into a single being. His scent is hypnotic, sending heatwaves through my chest. His lips find my earlobe again, nibbling gently at first. But then he starts trailing kisses down my neck, and I throw my head back, gasping with every blessing of his lips, hands firmly holding me against him, beckoning me to feel his arousal, his mounting desire…

  “If we go through with this, Michelle… there will be no turning back,” Daley warns between ragged breaths.

  “So be it,” I blurt out and kiss him again.

  I’m not even sure how time flows afterward or how we made it into his bedroom, but I give myself a few seconds to steal glances at everything around me while Daley takes off his plaid shirt and I peel the woolen sweater from my sizzling skin.

  Soon enough, we are skin on skin, warm creatures getting warmer, hearts thudding and lips clashing. We’re both hungry for each other. We’ve been hungry for a while now.

  And he might be the solitary type, but by the stars… Daley Fontaine definitely knows how to please a woman.

  He covers every inch of me with kisses, tongue trailing invisible designs as he stops, here and there, to deliberately linger and explore, to lick and to suckle, to leave faint bite marks along the way. Meanwhile, his hands do copious exploring of their own, while I trace my fingers down his back, following the ridges of his shoulder blades before reaching the ropes of taut muscles of his abdomen.

  He's not a dry-cut slab of chiseled stone. His muscles are palpable but not bulky, skin glazing everything smoothly. I can’t get enough of him, and I recognize the danger in this thought of mine, but the universe be damned… it brought us together.

  There is sense in this madness, and I see it now. As the tall, gray-eyed mountain man claims me, shaggy brown hair shadowing his face, as we lose ourselves into one another, I understand…

  I finally understand.

  This changes everything. Nothing will ever be the same again.

  And as the soul-shattering climax consumes us both, bodies slick with sweat and hearts sweet with strange new feelings, I’m ready to admit—at least to myself—that the road I’ve been on might not be the one I’ll stick with, after all.

  Daley kisses my temple, gently, kindly, and we stay in the clouds for a while, catching our breaths as reality itself redraws its rules and limits.

  Chapter 15

  Michelle

  Sunday morning finds me slowly waking up. Naked. Sore and smiling, molten in Daley’s firm embrace. We were at it for hours. Hungry, constantly hungry, relishing in every second that brought us together.

  The memories of last night come crashing in, and my smile broadens as I try to understand this new life of mine.

  Because it’s a new life I’m living. Forget the Michelle that came here from Minneapolis. Now, she’s only one part of this whole of me.

  Naturally, I have questions. Plenty of doubts and fears, too. But one certainty remains constant and undeniable: I’m in bed with Daley Fontaine, and we spent last night making love like there would be no tomorrow.

  My heart sings as I listen to his drumming beneath a pair of strong, rippling pectorals. My fingertips capture every cell, every sensation that his smooth skin has to offer.

  “It’s Sunday,” he grumbles with his eyes still closed but perfectly aware of our physical entanglement. “Are we in a rush to go anywhere?”

  “I hope not.” I nuzzle his ear, dark stubble tickling my lips and the tip of my nose.

  He breathes deeply and rolls us both over. The movement is so quick and unexpected that it makes me squeal, which prompts a short bark from the other side of the bedroom door, where Jax sits—probably impatient and eager to come in and see what the heck we’re up to.

  I laugh lightly as Daley ends up on top of me, his whole body pinning me into the mattress.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Fontaine.”

&
nbsp; “Right back at ya, Mr. Fontaine.”

  We’re only playing with the whole title thing. It’s innocent fun, or so we tell ourselves. I ignore the pang in my chest and welcome his lips as he kisses me.

  This time, we’re lazy. We take our time.

  This lovemaking session leads to a copious breakfast downstairs, an hour later. Jax licks his bowl clean, then growls his warnings to Spark and Felix, who would like to check if there’s any kibble left on his side, since they’ve already inhaled theirs.

  Next thing I know, three pairs of puppy eyes—cats can do that, too, it seems—are fixed on me as I indulge myself with Daley’s “everything” omelet.

  I’m wearing his shirt, several sizes bigger and loose enough to feel like a thigh-length nightgown, and a pair of thick woolen socks.

  He has his jeans on, while I feast my eyes on his magnificent torso, just as the sun decides to spill into the clearing and cut through the kitchen windows. The whole place seems to come alive with a golden glow, as Daley and I eat in silence. It’s the good kind of silence, where we steal playful glances at one another, each carrying the promise of even sweeter moments ahead.

  Giving in to my weak side, I manage to slip a couple of chunks of bacon under the table. Once I realize that, despite his size, Jax is still willing to share with the cats, this moment takes on a whole new meaning. Everyone helps everyone here. Even the dog helps the cats and probably vice versa, as well.

  What a beautiful home this is. A tranquil life. And not a single day is boring, as was my initial perception.

  I could never get tired of any of this. With a good data plan, I might even consider a working holiday here, once in a while. I could come here every other week, maybe.

  Damn, I’m getting ahead of myself. Way ahead. Daley and I gave in to the moment by rejecting any possible future. We made it work because tomorrow was never part of the discussion.

  “We should head out,” Daley says.

  And just in time, because I was about to reprimand myself for overthinking. Last night was incredible. This morning was sublime. I need to hold on to that.

  He continues, “There’s this cool diner in Dickinson. Their Sunday menu has pecan pie. It’s rumored to be the best in the area.”

  I give him a curious look. “Area as in a five-mile radius or are we talking district?”

  “I’m talking statewide.”

  “Oh, my.” I flash him a cool grin. “Consider me intrigued. Oh, I forgot!” The email came in earlier, but we were busy with… other things to check it out, so I slide my phone over to Daley. “Received word from some of my court peeps.”

  “And?”

  He reads through the email, and I can see some of his worries floating away, like bad shadows finally removed. Moments later, he looks up, and our eyes meet as if for the first time, twinkling with newfound hope.

  “We have a shot at your old judge,” I tell him. “We did some digging and turns out he’s still on the bench and part of the same district. I’ll have the motion ready to file in the morning. I just need to find a good reason as to why we’re going behind Judge Durbin. He’s going to see it as an insult.”

  “Bias, maybe?” Daley suggests. “Cline has done the area a whole lot of good. I wouldn’t be surprised if he bought something off Durbin, too.”

  “I didn’t even dare consider that, but I’m glad I have you to push the envelope,” I reply, almost proud of how deviant his mind can be when cornered—because that is the case. For all his strengths and qualities, for all his strong-man vibes and determination, Daley is in a tight corner, legally speaking. This is one of the few things that he can’t fight or shoot his way out of, and it makes him feel vulnerable.

  My goal is to destroy that sentiment and return his own sense of dignity. I want him to be happy and at peace, no matter what.

  It’s a worrying thought, I know… but I can’t help it. I am not leaving this place until we sort this out. Maybe I won’t want to leave this place even after we sort this out.

  Shaking the thought away, I let a sigh roll out.

  “What is it?” he asks.

  “I wouldn’t know where to start, but that pecan pie sounds better with every minute that goes by, Mr. Fontaine.”

  He puts on his debonair smile and gets up with an extra kick in his heel.

  We put the dishes away and head back upstairs to change for a quick drive into Dickinson. Of course, Jax and the cats are disappointed at being left behind, but we make sure they have enough food and water to last them through till Monday in case we decide to stay in town—Daley did leave the option on the table, should we have a go at the local spirits along with our pies.

  Dickinson is surprisingly busy, I notice. It’s a Sunday, after all, and no one wants to stay indoors with such beautiful weather.

  It doesn’t even feel like autumn, but rather a slightly chillier June afternoon. The sun is out, blazing orange in the dusky sky. The air is dry and cool enough to make my nostrils sting just a little—a subtle reminder that we’re in mid-September despite the pleasant warmth.

  We stop by Harley’s Diner, a cute rockabilly-style establishment with black-and-white diamond tiles on the floor and a lacquered red wallpaper. As soon as we walk through the double doors, I know I’m in a good place. They’re playing Elvis on an old-timey jukebox, and the whole dining area smells of deep-fried goodness and vanilla milkshakes. It’s not too crowded, either, with a few booths still vacant.

  Daley takes my hand in his and nods at the waitress, who has her back to us and is fiddling with a cell phone on the bar counter. “Excuse me,” he says, getting her attention.

  She whirls around, eyes as big as saucers when she recognizes him. “Daley Fontaine? Are you frickin’ kidding me?!”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he replies, smirking.

  It makes her laugh. She’s younger, probably mid-twenties, and the name tag on her pink and white waitress uniform says her name is Shelly.

  “How’ve you been, tater tot?” Daley asks.

  “Not sure you’ve noticed, but I’m not a tater tot anymore.” She giggles, clearly flirting.

  I hold back a laugh when she sees me, her whole number fizzling away with a whiff of disappointment.

  “Oh. And who might you be, darlin’?”

  “His wife,” I reply.

  Poor Shelly is speechless. It makes Daley smile as he looks my way.

  “Shelly here used to come up to my cabin and feed Jax when I was away. Back when she was still a tater tot, of course.”

  “Aw…”

  “Yeah, I love that wolf!” Shelly says, back to her hospitable self as she motions for us to follow her. “Come on, let me get you two a seat, and you can tell me how y’all got hitched on the way here, ’cause last time I checked, Daley Fontaine was one of Dickinson’s most prized bachelors. And I checked when I got back from Brown, mind you.”

  “You graduated! Congratulations,” Daley replies.

  We take our seats in one of the corner booths. I run my fingers along the black faux leather upholstery. Parts of it are flaking off, particularly around the edges, but the fabric still has a year’s worth left in it. “Shelly here left Dickinson four years ago to study economics.”

  “What brought you back to Dickinson?” I ask as Shelly gives us a couple of laminated menus.

  She raises a sarcastic eyebrow—the most sarcastic I’ve ever seen. “The economy.”

  Before either of us can laugh, a bell rings in the kitchen.

  “Sorry,” Shelly says, “I’ll be back to get your order. Want anything to drink, in the meantime?”

  “Some Cherry Coke would be great!” Daley replies.

  “Do they still make that?” I ask him, while Shelly glides back to the bar and then around it. She slips through the kitchen door, and voices emerge in different tonalities over the music.

  “No, but Pops Bailey, the owner, bought a lot of cases a few years back,” he says. “Not everybody knows this, t
hough. He only keeps it around for the people he likes.”

  That gets a chuckle out of me. “You’re one of the people Pops Bailey likes?”

  “I dated his daughter for a little while. He was so happy to see me with her, he just opened himself up to me, Cherry Coke and secret menu items included.”

  “Secret menu items, good grief. What about the daughter?”

  “Oh, she married later.”

  “What did Pops Bailey have to say about that? Did he think it should have been you?”

  Daley chuckles. “She married another woman. Both Pops and I were sort of… blindsided.”

  “Oh, snap.”

  We talk and laugh our way through a burger menu with a spectacular homemade garlic and rosemary sauce, followed by the equally fantastic pecan pie. I savor every morsel, crunching the roasted and caramelized nuts slowly so that I might taste everything that this single slice of culinary heaven has to offer.

  “Wow, you were right. It’s definitely the best pie I’ve ever had,” I tell Daley.

  He nods in agreement, mouth full and eyes crinkled with a smile. It’s so obvious that he’s happy—with me, with us, with this.

  Again, I find myself thinking about the future, but there’s a divorce looming somewhere nearby, right after we deal with Cline.

  It’s the promise we made one another.

  I keep saying it to myself, over and over, like some kind of sacred oath that’s meant to get my mind off him. To get my heart away from his. It’s getting harder to resist these ideas, however, and I don’t know what to do with any of this.

  “You might think Dickinson is just this tiny town in North Dakota, but the whole region is rich in all kinds of things,” Daley says. “Most of the farming done in these parts is old-school, organic and bio. They get government subsidies and invest in eco-friendly tech and treatments. The food markets here are fantastic, some of the best in the country, actually. Pops said once that some of those prissy LA foodies come here for the artisan festivals, and they always leave with huge grins and full bellies.”