Hawk Valley Mountain Men Box Set

by Mazzy King

  “Really.”

  “But, if you don’t date…”

  I smirk. “That’s right. It’s been a long time since I’ve made love to a woman.”

  She flushes even more deeply. “I… Isn’t that hard?”

  I laugh uproariously, and the sound echoes off the mountains.

  Savannah smacks a hand to her forehead. “Yeah, I just heard it. Difficult. Isn’t that difficult?”

  “Of course it is,” I say, lifting a shoulder. “I’m a man. I love women. I love sex. I miss it. But I want one woman to share that with. I don’t do one-night stands. I don’t do casual hookups. It’s just not what I want for my life.”

  She says, “Hmmm,” then goes quiet.

  “And what about you?”

  “What about me, what?”

  “You said you don’t date. What do you do when things get…hard?”

  She bites her lip, grinning and shaking her head. “I guess I’m like you. I don’t like meaningless hookups. You know, I write all these songs about romance and love and finding your soulmate, but it’s like I just go through the motions. I’ve never had that.”

  I lean a little closer. “You’ve never had love?”

  She shrugs a shoulder. “I’ve had boyfriends. And maybe I thought I was in love at the time. But I look back and I feel…nothing.”

  “Maybe your grief over your dad has something to do with that.”

  Savannah meets my gaze. “I’ve always felt that way, even before I lost my father. I used to talk to him about it, tell him I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I’m in the business of selling love. Why can’t I find the real thing?”

  Her eyes are like the sky on a cloudless day—almost like today. The stormy dark clouds are drawing closer, and I even hear a rumble of thunder. My heart beats a little faster.

  “What did he tell you?” I ask softly. “Your dad.”

  “He said… He said those relationships were just practice. That they were reminders something even better’s waiting for me. All I have to do is be patient. And that I’ll know what real love feels like because it’ll just…slam into me. When I’m not looking.”

  God, does she feel it, too? This pull, this magnetism between us? It can’t just be me.

  She blinks. “I need my guitar.”

  The urgency she says it with leaves no room for questions. Immediately I reach down and grab the case strap and hand it over to her.

  She takes it with a nod, already humming some tune softly under her breath. “I’m gonna go find a little privacy for a second. Is that okay with you?”

  I point past her. “If you go around that bend, you’ll find a big, flat slab of rock. You have to climb just a little bit to get to it. The sun shines right down on it.” Then I shift my finger to the sky. “You better hurry—looks like we got a storm coming.”

  She beams at me, and that tug in my chest yanks a little harder. “Thanks.”

  I watch as she sets down her mostly untouched sandwich and hurries in the direction I told her. Bramble lifts his head from the remains of his chicken breast to watch her go, then turns to give me an accusing stare. Why’d you let her go?

  “Her real love’s calling,” I tell my dog, then lean back and sigh, enjoying the last bits of sunshine while it lasts.

  Chapter 5

  Savannah

  “‘When you…slammed into me,’” I croon, strumming my guitar. “‘I never saw you comin’. No, I never saw when you…slammed into me. But, baby, you’re just what I needed. You’re just what I needed to learn…how to breathe.’”

  Clay was right. This patch of mostly flat, smooth stone raised above the walking path is absolutely perfect. My father’s old words rise to the front of my mind like he just said them yesterday.

  Who knew it took nosy questions from Clay to make them resurface, and jostle a song loose in my mind?

  I smile, strumming a few chords as more lyrics rush through my mind. Clay was nosy as hell, but I liked his questions. He learned something about me, and I learned something about him.

  He’s celibate.

  That tall, broad, bearded, sexy as hell mountain man is saving himself for the one. It’s like something out of an old-school, romantic country song.

  I strum more chords, thoughtfully arranging my fingers along the guitar neck. What’s he like in bed? Assuming he has the right woman with him. Is he soft, tender? Direct and strong? I think about his hands, large and strong. I think about them running up my bare thighs, squeezing the fleshiest part at the top, pulling them apart, and lining up to—

  A cool drop lands on my nose, and my eyes fly open.

  The sun has slowly slipped behind the clouds—heavy, dark clouds that seem to glide across the sky toward us. Another fat raindrop lands on my forehead, then another.

  Hastily I pack my guitar, then jump off the slab of stone and hurry back to where I left Clay and Bramble. The sporadic sprinkling turns into a steady sprinkle, and the big drops make smacking sounds as they hit the ground.

  Clay’s already finishing up packing the remnants of our food and water. He swings the bag onto his back and catches sight of me. “I was just coming to get you,” he says loudly over the noise of the rain. “We’d better—”

  And then the skies open up.

  To call the rain a downpour would be a gross understatement. I don’t think mountains can have monsoons, but this torrential storm has to be close.

  I’m instantly soaked. Bramble races around us, barking. “What do we do?” I squeal.

  Clay glances in the direction I just came from, then reaches for my guitar case. “Follow me!”

  I whirl and race after him. His long legs take huge strides, and I jog to keep up. Bramble lopes at his side. We head toward the slab I sat on a moment ago. Clay hurries past it, then ducks around the side of it.

  There’s an opening—a small cave.

  I scurry inside after him, water streaming off me. Bramble shakes wildly, dousing me with another bath. “Gah, Bramble!”

  Unbothered, Bramble lowers himself to his belly, panting and pleased with himself.

  Clay leans against the cave wall and laughs. “Well…this isn’t quite what I had in mind when I asked you on a hike today. Sorry.”

  I shake my head. “Are you kidding me? I’ve had a great day. I got some good exercise, I wrote part of a song with more ideas on the way…and I got to spend time with a handsome, seemingly kind stranger.”

  He leans forward, brows up. “Seemingly kind? I only seem kind?”

  I grin and shrug. “There’s always room for improvement.”

  He chuckles and folds his arms across his wet T-shirt. “All right. Well, can I hear what you wrote?”

  “I’m surprised you couldn’t hear me when I was on the roof of this thing.”

  He lifts a shoulder. “I heard sounds, but I didn’t pay attention. It seemed like kind of an intrusive thing to do.”

  I don’t know why, but that touches the bottom of my heart. I open my guitar case. “I don’t have a whole song, but…”

  I play him the song I’ve already started calling “Slammed Into Me.” The acoustics in the cave are actually pretty incredible. The sound is sort of muted but full at the same time, and my voice soars.

  When I sing the chorus, I lock eyes with Clay.

  “‘When you…slammed into me, I never saw you comin’. No, I never saw when you…slammed into me. But, baby, you’re just what I needed. You’re just what I needed to learn…how to breathe.’”

  My cheeks heat. It feels like the lyrics have taken on a new meaning.

  I strum a final chord and clear my throat. “That’s—that’s all I have.”

  “It’s beautiful,” he says earnestly. “You’re ridiculously talented. I mean that.”

  “Thank you,” I say quietly, flushing.

  Outside, the rain begins to taper, and then comes to a stop altogether. Clay pokes his head out and frowns up at the sky. “There’s another wall of clouds right behind
this one. Look, my cabin’s about a half a mile from here. We may as well head there to wait out this next storm in comfort.”

  “Sure,” I say.

  We almost manage to make it to his place before the rain hits again. This time, I’m shivering.

  “Let’s get you inside,” Clay says, unlocking the door and ushering me inside.

  I wasn’t sure what to expect when he first broached the idea, but his cabin is spacious and full of windows. The wood is a warm, light blonde color, and it’s almost luxurious compared to what I pictured.

  There’s a loft above where we’re standing, and the living room sprawls before us. Behind that is the kitchen area, which has a big island, stools, and gas range. Recessed lighting gives the space an updated, contemporary vibe, as do the furnishings, including a big, wide, soft-looking couch, an equally inviting easy chair recliner, and a flat screen TV on the wall over the fireplace.

  “I—wow,” I say. “I wasn’t expecting it to be so…fancy.”

  He chuckles. “Well, business has been good, and that’s allowed me to make some upgrades. This is my home, you know. It’s not a place I visit once a year for a weekend. I want it to be really comfortable.”

  I nod, trembling. I miss the heat of the sun earlier. As the downpour outside continues, the temperature’s dropped at least twenty degrees.

  Clay quickly gets a fire going in the fireplace, then leads me to his bedroom. “Bathroom is just through that door, and let me get you some dry clothes.” He lays out plain gray sweats. “Hope this is okay.”

  “Warm, dry, comfortable clothes?” I groan. “Yes. This is more than okay.”

  “Feel free to take a hot shower, if you want. I’ll see about getting some grub together.”

  I realize I hardly ate when we stopped for lunch a while ago, and my stomach growls in response. He grins.

  “Get comfy.” There’s a low purr in his voice that warms me more than the hottest shower could.

  But…the hot water does help. It feels great sliding over my chilled skin. As I contemplate the clothing he gave me, I realize my bra and panties are soaked from the rain. And what do I do with my wet clothes? It seems a little embarrassing to just leave them lying out in the bathroom, hoping they’ll dry…but I don’t have a lot of other options.

  And my bare breasts and prominent nipples are very obvious under this sweatshirt.

  I leave his bedroom and find him in the kitchen. Bramble snoozes on the couch, front paws twitching a little as he dreams hopefully a beautiful doggy dream.

  Clay whistles a tune over a boiling pot on the stove. I lift my brows at the sight. He seems comfortable in a kitchen, turning this way and that to grab this pan or that bowl.

  “My dad loved to cook too,” I say, leaning against the island, arms firmly crossed over my chest.

  Clay smiles at me. “Yeah?”

  I nod. “He loved making comfort food. It was like he literally made it with love.” I chuckle. “It’s no wonder I grew up to be a full-figured gal.”

  “A full-figured goddess,” Clay mutters, not quite under his breath. He glances at me. “It’s awesome you had that growing up. My parents were so busy, it was mostly TV dinners or pizza every night. We always ate together, though, and no matter what it was, my mom set the table and we ate off nice plates. I guess she wanted to feel like she’d contributed somehow. So…” He gives the boiling pot a stir with a flourish. “I learned to cook for myself a while ago. I’m kinda like your dad. I like the comfort food too.”

  “So what’s on the menu?” Whatever it is, it smells great.

  “Mrs. Morris’s famous creamy chicken and noodles,” he announces, doing an elaborate sprinkling of freshly chopped parsley, bringing to mind that “Salt Bae” meme. He winks at me. “The best thing to fill you with warmth on a cold night. One of them anyway.”

  I snort. “You’re a real charmer.”

  He clicks his heels together and bows to me. “I do try.” He lowers the heat. “I’m gonna hop in the shower next. Mind giving that a stir every so often?”

  “Sure.”

  “Beer’s in the fridge. I also have some wine, not a lot, but help yourself to whatever catches your fancy.” He strides off for his bedroom.

  I decide to open a bottle of white wine. I locate a corkscrew and a glass. I’m just about to take my first sip when horror smacks me upside the head.

  All my wet clothes are still in the bathroom—including my bra…and panties.

  Oh my God.

  I smack my hand to my forehead.

  I’m sheepishly stirring the soup when he strolls out a little while later, wearing sweats that nearly match mine, hair still damp.

  “Ah, wine sounds good,” he says nonchalantly, and sets about pouring himself a glass.

  “It’s a good bottle,” I murmur, unable to meet his gaze.

  “It was a gift. How’s the soup coming?”

  “Nice and hot. Probably ready to go.”

  “Great.” He claps his hands, rubs them together, then pulls two bowls down from a cupboard and fishes two spoons out as well.

  Did he not see my unmentionables sitting out? Was it no big deal? He seems like such a joker and a smartass he’d flip me some crap for them. I mean, who wears a black lace thong to go on a hike, anyway? But it was all I had. I’m surprised I even had athletic leggings and a dry-wick tank to wear.

  Then I feel him at my back, his hand dropping over mine as I stir the soup. He leans down to my ear, his beard tickling my skin. “Let me,” he murmurs. “I want to serve you.”

  Immediately, I’m wet. And I don’t mean from the rain or a shower.

  It’s his voice. His warmth. His strength. And that hard bulge I feel brushing against the swells of my ass.

  Oh, he saw the panties, all right.

  His breath warms my neck and I imagine what his mouth feels like there. I imagine what his mouth would feel like on every inch of my skin.

  I turn around slowly to face him. My nipples are hard and standing out and they brush his chest, sending another ripple of shivers over me. His gaze locks on them for a long moment, then he lifts smoky, twinkling eyes to mine.

  “Cold?” he teases, then bites his lower lip.

  “No,” I tell him, reaching behind me to turn off the stove. “Very, very hot.”

  Chapter 6

  Clay

  Black. Lace. Thong.

  It was laying out on top of a heap of her wet clothes like an invitation when I went in to take a shower. I know it wasn’t meant to be an invitation, but…that didn’t stop me from getting hard as hell and jacking my cock in the shower, all while imagining those strips of lace disappearing between those two luscious cheeks.

  I thought relieving myself would help tamp down my raging need for her, but seeing her at the stove, stirring the soup, the outline of her breasts and nipples obvious under that flimsy sweatshirt, and picturing her as mine was too much.

  Now as she gazes up at me, that invitation I daydreamed about while stroking an explosive orgasm out of myself is real. The feel of those peaking buds against my chest is real. The click of the stove being turned off is real.

  “Be careful what you wish for,” I tell her as she leans closer. “Because I’m gonna have to give it to you.”

  “Then give it to me,” she practically growls. “Hard.”

  I seize her lips with mine.

  God, how long has it been since I’ve had a woman in my arms? And not just any woman, but a woman I feel an undeniable pull toward, a woman I know I’ll never be able to get enough of.

  Her mouth is sweet from the wine, her tongue cool and soft as it slides into my mouth. I run my hands under her sweatshirt up her smooth, bare back, then grasp her hips and pull her tight against me.

  “Feel that?” I whisper against her lips. “Feel what you do to me?”

  She boldly takes my hand and slides it into her sweatpants. I shudder as my fingers graze the thick, warm, soft flesh of her pussy, and then the slide of her cr
eamy wetness.

  “Feel what you do to me?”

  I growl. “I didn’t get any cookies at lunch. I’m ready for dessert right now.”

  I lift her off her feet and her legs wind around my waist. I carry her to my bedroom and throw her onto my king bed that feels so empty sometimes.

  She lands with a soft “oof” and gazes at me, excitement hooding her eyes. “Clay, I haven’t been with anyone in a long, long time. I’m on birth control.”

  “What are you saying, Savannah?”

  She bites her lip. “I’m saying I want to feel you. All of you. Nothing between us.”

  The thought of sliding into her raw makes my cock throb and I can feel precum trickle out of the tip. “Your wish is my command, gorgeous.”

  I strip off my hoodie, wearing only my sweatpants. My thick cock protrudes in front, making an obvious tent. I kneel on the bed and pull her sweatshirt off, revealing her bountiful breasts topped with rosy pink nipples. She’s all soft curves, with a nipped-in waist that bows out to beautifully round hips. I lean down to run my tongue along her neck, then down between her breasts. I take one to massage in one hand and lick and tease the other until her nipple is nice and hard on my tongue. Then I move to the other side and lavish my attention there until she’s squirming with need.

  I tug off her sweatpants. “You’re fucking stunning,” I breathe. Her thick thighs are as soft as any part of her, and I want those babies wrapped around my waist as I fuck her hard and slow. But first…

  I spread her thighs. Her pussy is neatly trimmed and lean down to inhale her scent. It’s heady and delicious. I’d rather drink her than any glass of fine wine.

  I run my tongue up her wet slit to her quivering pearl at the top and listen to her moan of pleasure. The sound incites me, and I devour her like she’s the only thing that can feed my hunger…because right now, she is. She’s sweet and creamy on my tongue, and her moans build as she greedily twists her fingers into my hair to bring me even closer. My tongue reaches in deep to tease her swollen G-spot, but I pull it out and return to her clit. I want my cock to be the thing that makes that fleshy pleasure pulse explode.