Hawk Valley Mountain Men Box Set

by Mazzy King

  It built when I realized how philanthropic he is. How humble and modest he is. How giving of his time and his resources. How understanding. On the few occasions I’ve needed time off, he’s always said yes without hesitation. He never pries, never crosses any unprofessional boundaries with me.

  I wish he would.

  But nothing will ever happen with him, and I think I’ve hoped something would these past two years. And it’s time to move on before I drive myself insane.

  I’ve already taken steps toward that, moving on. I have serious interest from the biggest law firm in town, where I’d not only be the executive assistant to the three partners, but I’d have my own team of admins to manage. The pay and benefits aren’t much different—Mr. Jericho has always treated me very well in that regard—but I need to go someplace where I don’t lust after my boss all day, when it’s just the two of us alone together.

  All.

  Day.

  Long.

  It’s an amazing opportunity, and they’re waiting on me. To have the final-offer meeting, to accept, sign the paperwork, and start a new chapter.

  All I have to do is…tell Mr. Jericho.

  I finish up proofreading a batch of emails he needs sent out, cursing myself for my cowardice. “I’ve cleared your calendar?” That warranted an office visit?

  “I’m heading out.”

  I glance up. Mr. Jericho’s already pulling off his tie as he steps out of his office. His jacket is open and the top few buttons of his shirt are undone. My mouth waters before I glance away.

  “Drive safely, sir,” I say, clacking at my keyboard. “I checked the weather this morning. There’s a chance of snow tonight, even though it’s only fall.”

  “It’s the mountains, Evelyn,” he says, his eyes twinkling at me.

  I’m entranced. There’s a lightness in his face, an anticipation of something wonderful. I’m not sure what that cabin of his is like, but I suspect it’s getting back to nature and the town where he was raised that has him in such high spirits.

  “Right,” I say. “Of course. Well—safe travels, and I hope you have a wonderful weekend.”

  “Thank you.” He pauses at the door, glancing back at me. There’s something in his face, like he has the urge to say something else to me. A little line appears between his brows, and he opens his mouth. Then he closes it, like he’s thought better of it.

  I hold my breath. What was he about to say?

  Instead, he gives me a little smile. “I meant what I said about getting out of here early. Make sure you do that. Whatever you’re working on can wait until Monday morning.”

  “But it’s your schedule for next—”

  “It can wait,” he says again, gently. “I promise. With you at the helm, I know it’ll be fine.”

  There’s no point in arguing with him. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

  He nods, holds my gaze a beat longer, then leaves.

  Still, as much as I appreciate his desire for me to have the afternoon off too, I end up staying at the office until six. Maybe he thinks his calendar can wait until Monday morning, but I don’t want to be playing catch up all day, essentially losing a full day.

  Just as I’m turning off my computer, a fax comes through. I rise from my seat and walk over to the machine to retrieve it. It’s a long document.

  Stone, it reads, I’m sorry this is coming to you so late. I had an emergency meeting with the investors. If you really want to cement this deal, I need you to review this contract and send it back tonight. Our contact is heading overseas for conferences in the morning and wants it to give to his superiors. Matt.

  Oh shit…what is this?

  I quickly scan the pages, frowning. Apparently, Mr. Jericho made some kind of deal with his advisor to move forward on some investment. Then I realize it’s not just some investment, but an agreement to purchase part of another company with the intention of taking it to the next, very lucrative, level.

  This is most definitely something that cannot wait until Monday.

  I groan out loud, realizing what I have to do and understanding there is no other option.

  Chapter 3

  Stone

  I reach Hawk Valley before the snow starts, but the first few fat flakes drift down just as I pull up to the cabin. The sight of it brings me immense peace.

  When I knew I was ready to build a house back home, I selected the highest point where a home could safely be built. I can see the entire town from my front porch, sprawled beneath me. I feel like I can rise above the demands of my life up here.

  I don’t often flash my money around in obvious ways. I like to dress well, but I don’t go overboard. I have a nice car, but it’s functional too, and it’s the only one I have. I have the latest gadgets, but as a tech CEO, it’s my job to. I don’t own a Rolex even though I could afford one. My place in the city is nice, but no larger than what a single man needs. I have a housekeeper and a chef who come a couple times a week, but that’s because I can’t cook as well as he can, and I want to make sure I’m eating well.

  But this place—when it comes to my sanctuary here in the mountains, I spared absolutely no expense. Every luxury I could think of is inside this house. Gas fireplaces that require only the throw of a switch. Plush carpeting, hardwood floors, and the most comfortable furniture. A built-in wine cellar and wet bar. When I escape, I want to escape.

  Michael, my chef, loaded me up with a weekend’s worth of meals, and none of them are the normal healthy stuff I eat during the week. He fixed me plenty of my favorites—brisket and mac and cheese, prime rib and mashed potatoes, lobster bisque soup, coq au vin, and plenty of desserts to satisfy my sweet tooth—and all I have to do is put it in the oven. It’s more than enough for one person, but it’s just me, and I don’t have anyone to share with.

  I hop out of my Range Rover and grab my duffel and the huge box full of covered aluminum pans and carry it all inside. Whenever I come to town, I hire Mrs. Morris, the woman who runs the bed and breakfast, to clean my place. I do a pretty good job myself before leaving, but she comes to freshen things up for me and always leaves me a little something on the island—beer from Forrest Thornhill’s bar or cupcakes or a bag of coffee from his wife’s bakery. This time, a bound coffee-table-size book sits on the island for me. It’s full of exquisite and professionally shot photos of the nature and landmarks and people here in Hawk Valley.

  Hawk Valley: Paradise in the Mountains by Ava Holmes. I’m not sure who that is, but she must live here.

  I carry my duffel to the back of the house where the master bedroom is, then walk back out to the spacious front area. The snow is falling heavier now.

  I unpack the food and put it away in the giant, stainless steel fridge, then pour some soup into the saucepan to heat it and set out the loaf of focaccia Michael packed for me. I’m impatient and starving and would prefer to heat the soup in the microwave, but he was insistent that doing so would “ruin the integrity of the soup” and that it should be heated—preferably over a gas flame—at lower heat until hot, thick, and bubbling.

  Whatever. The man knows food. I don’t question his brilliance.

  I open a bottle of cabernet sauvignon and pour a glass, chewing bread while I wait for the soup. I crack open the photo book and flip through the thick, glossy pages, admiring each one.

  Then, a fist rapidly pounds at my front door.

  What the hell?

  People in town know I live here. I sometimes drive into town for supplies. But people also know I like to be left alone. So who the hell came all the way up here to knock on my door and disturb my peace?

  I debate on not answering. My SUV’s outside, so whoever it is knows I’m here, and to not answer would be a dick move, but a huge part of me just doesn’t care right now.

  Another frantic tattoo of fist on door, this time accompanied by the doorbell.

  “Fuck me,” I grunt, dropping my piece of bread back on the plate. I stalk to the front door and peer through the pee
phole, intending to rip whoever’s there a new one.

  I see who’s there.

  No way in hell.

  I look again.

  “Jesus Christ,” I mutter, my heart suddenly pounding like hell. I hesitate one beat, then throw open the door.

  Evelyn Adams shivers on my front porch.

  My chest tightens, but it’s not exactly unpleasant.

  “Evelyn,” I say, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice. “What—what’re you doing up here? Come in.” I reach out and draw her in by the elbow.

  Behind her, the snow is falling more heavily. She’s without a warm coat of any kind, and it makes sense—it’s a balmy springtime in the city. A heavy coat’s unnecessary there, but up here, it’s one of those things you notice as soon as you don’t have one and need it. You’ll notice that lack of coat immediately—it’s fucking freezing.

  I half expect her to decline, but she eagerly steps inside my home. Snowflakes caught in her raven hair immediately melt. I grab a flannel blanket off the big sectional and drape it around her shoulders.

  With a trembling hand she extends a leather-bound folder. “Th-th-this n-needed y-your imm-mmediate attention.”

  “Come on, let’s sit by the fire.” I take her hand and tug her toward the living room area. The cabin is ranch-style and is a totally open-air concept. Doorways and separate rooms make me think of the office, the city. And then I find it hard to breathe.

  It occurs to me as I lead her toward the two high-backed, plush chairs by the fire that this is the handsiest I’ve ever been with her—pulling her into my house, sliding the blanket around her, now holding her hand. If she notices or cares, she says nothing.

  She drops into a chair, huddling close to the fire as I take the other one. “I drove up here without the heat on,” she says, shaking her head. “I was so focused on getting up here and beating the storm I didn’t even think of it.”

  “What’s so urgent?” I press. “I told you it could all wait until Monday.”

  Evelyn meets my gaze, the fire making her gray eyes glow. She shakes her head. “That couldn’t.”

  I open the folder and find a sheaf of papers. Flipping through it, I realize it’s the contract for the acquisition Matt called to tell me about. I was so focused on getting out of the office and up here everything he said had gone in one ear and out the other. I scan the note on the cover page—and understand why she made the drive. Based on the time stamp, it means she didn’t leave early like I told her to. She was there, and had she not been, this would have cost the company an extremely promising opportunity.

  I lift my eyes to her. She’s no longer shivering, but still curled in the blanket. “Thank you,” I tell her earnestly.

  She gives me a brief smile and a nod, then glances away into the fire. “If you don’t mind, I just need a few more minutes to warm up and then I’ll be on my way. I should probably go outside and start my car and the heater this time.”

  “No,” I blurt.

  Evelyn raises her eyebrows.

  “Don’t leave,” I say. “I mean, it’s not safe to drive out there right now. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you. Stay. I have a guest bedroom and plenty of extra toiletries. There’s soup on the stove right now. Please. Stay.”

  Maybe the mountain air has gone to my head. Maybe it’s just being back in my place of solace that has me thinking clearly for the first time. But I refuse to let her walk out of my cabin and risk her life.

  I expect an argument. But after a moment, Evelyn gives me another nod.

  “Thank you, Mr. Jericho. That would be…very nice.”

  “Stone,” I tell her gently. “Please. No more ‘Mr. Jericho’ shit. It’s Stone.”

  Her throat bobs slightly as her lips part. “Yes, of course. Thank you, Stone.”

  I smile. I could get used to that.

  I tell her to stay where she is and go to the kitchen to dish up two bowls of the bisque. I bring that, the bread, and the wine over.

  “Do you like lobster bisque?” I ask.

  She nods, spooning up a bite. “This is easily the best I’ve ever had. Did you make this?”

  I chuckle, drawing my chair a little closer to hers. “I wish. No, I’m basically useless in the kitchen. Michael, my chef, made it.”

  Evelyn licks the back of her spoon, and the sight of her tongue immediately makes my blood surge through my veins. How am I going to exist under the same roof as this gorgeous creature? “It’s perfect on a night like this,” she says softly. “Warms you from the inside.”

  We eat in silence for a little while. “Do you need to let anyone know you’re here?” I ask. “A roommate or your, uh, boyfriend, or anyone?”

  She’d mentioned the roommate in passing before. The other part of my question is a shameless dig for information.

  Evelyn shakes her head. “My roommate moved out about a month ago. And I don’t have a boyfriend.”

  “Why not?” I ask before I can stop myself. The mountain air, the wine, the intoxicating woman in front of me—all of it loosens the tightly shut door over my mouth.

  She lifts a brow again, but she looks more amused than pissed.

  I shrug. Fuck it. “I mean, you’re a stunningly beautiful woman, Evelyn. Brilliant. Successful. Any man would be lucky to have you.”

  Her cheeks turn rosy, and it’s not just from the fire or the hot soup or the wine. “Thank you. I…”

  I lean forward. “Yes?”

  “…just haven’t found the right guy yet,” she finishes, toying with her spoon. “Meeting someone who meets my standards and is available—physically and emotionally—seems to be pretty difficult. I haven’t been trying all that hard, though.”

  “Tell me about these standards.” I set my bowl aside. We’ve officially crossed over into inappropriate boss-assistant territory, but there’s a flicker in her eyes, maybe some pheromone in the air, that tells me she welcomes this little chat.

  “Uh. Well…” she hedges. “A high intellect, for starters. Emotional intelligence. Kindness. Empathy. Someone adventurous. Strength.”

  “I’m sure that man exists,” I say.

  “Oh, I know he exists.” She holds my gaze for a beat, long enough for my skin to heat. “I just don’t think he’s available.”

  I lean forward deliberately until our knees touch. “Have you asked him?”

  Evelyn gives me a faint, slightly melancholic smile. “There never seemed to be a good time, Stone.”

  There it is. All pretenses dropped.

  Finally.

  “How’s right now?” I ask, reaching out to stroke a finger over the back of her hand.

  She draws a shuddering breath, shaking her head. “What’s happening here?”

  “Whatever you want to happen,” I tell her. “Or nothing at all.”

  Evelyn swallows. “You should sign that contract,” she says in a low voice. “And fax it back soon.”

  “I’m focused on you right now.”

  She doesn’t smile. “This is business. You’re my boss. And I’m your subordinate.” She stands up, and I rise too, frowning. “Would you show me where I’ll be sleeping?”

  “Of course.”

  One step forward. Half a mile back.

  The guest bedroom is situated next to the master. I hold the door open for her as she slips past me. Her scent, something equal parts spicy and sweet, floats into my nose.

  “Can I get you anything?” I ask hesitantly. She’s still wearing her dress and heels from earlier today, and other than her purse, nothing else. I highly doubt she keeps a packed bag in the car for those unexpected moments where she might need to run an important contract to her irresponsible boss.

  She shakes her head. “No, thank you. I’ll manage.”

  I feel like there’s more I should be doing for her, but I also don’t want to push. “There’s extra toiletries and towels in the bathroom, if you want.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Jericho,” she says, and I stiffen. “Good
night.”

  Her dismissal couldn’t be clearer.

  “Good night,” I reply and duck out, shutting the door behind me.

  Chapter 4

  Evelyn

  Long after I wished Stone a curt goodnight, I paced the plush carpet of the guest room, regretting everything that took place between the moment he walked out of the office and right now.

  The impetuous decision for me to hop in my car and drive up to his cabin was stupid in oh, so many ways. The first being the stormy conditions. The next being my level of unpreparedness. And the last being my current predicament.

  What am I doing here? And what happened by the fireplace? How could I let that conversation step over the boundary I’ve been so careful to keep in place these past two years?

  How’s right now?

  He’s interested in me. I can feel it in my bones. But I love him. I don’t want to be some weekend mountain fling. In the morning, if I can sleep, I need to tell him I’m quitting, and I need to get the hell out of here.

  I sigh. But as long as I’m stuck here for the night…a hot shower sounds like heaven.

  Feeling somewhat human afterward, I step out and wrap a fluffy towel around my body. He has basic toiletries, none of the special stuff I use in my hair to keep it healthy, but he does have a blow dryer, so I use that to make sure I’m not sleeping on wet hair.

  Then I realize I have nothing to sleep in.

  I could ask him if I can borrow a T-shirt. I’m curvy, but he’s tall and broad. One of his shirts will suffice as a nightgown.

  I fling open the bathroom door, and there he is, fist in the air, poised to knock. He’s holding a stack of clothes in his hands.

  His blue eyes widen at the sight of me in my towel, then darken with heat.

  “I figured you’d want something to sleep in,” he says, his voice low and rough.

  I know I just took a hot shower and blew my hair dry, but the temperature in the bathroom shoots up another ten degrees.