by Frankie Love
“No thanks, and I doubt Brent would want to help me,” I snort, thinking about her husband and the way he was condescending when I told him that I wouldn’t be taking my father’s money.
“It’s because you aren’t grounded. Once you have your shit together, a husband, a house, and a 401k, then you and Brent will get along.”
I swirl my mimosa, wondering what planet my sister lives on. I love her, I do. But she’s living in a completely different galaxy.
Anna must sense my irritation because she softens her stance. “Listen, I just care about my little sister. You’re twenty-five and don’t have a plan.”
I groan. “I do have a plan. The reality TV show is going to fund my life,” I explain, circling back to where we started.
Anna raises her hand and signals for the check. “And if you don’t get the job?”
I down the rest of my mimosa. “Then I guess we’ll have to go on that double date.”
Well. That sucked.
I was so not supposed to eff up that interview. I was supposed to be classy and smart and current. I was supposed to speak clearly and look at the camera.
Instead, I was a bumbling mess of nerves.
A complete disaster.
I was thrown the moment the concept was pitched. I thought the show would entail me making over some mansion in the Hollywood Hills, not designing the interior for a cabin in the woods. My ideas were all wrong. I was thinking gilded tables instead of buffalo plaid.
My design work had not prepared me for this. At all. I couldn’t be less suited for the job.
“Ms. Saint Claire,” a television producer says, stopping me in the hall. “I want you to know I was rooting for you. I saw some of the work you did in the last Seattle City magazine, and it was gorgeous, which is why I brought you in for an interview.”
“Well,” I tell her, swallowing tears. “Thank you for your time. I know I don’t have experience with this sort of design and would be all wrong for the project.”
“I wish this show was a better fit for you.”
I take a deep breath, wishing I hadn’t pinned all of my hopes on this, and say goodbye.
In the hotel lobby, I order a well drink, gin and soda, grateful for the happy hour prices. Sure, I could ask my parents for money, but that has never been my mode of operation. And I’m not destitute. I have a few more projects lined up for the spring, and by then I will have found a few more.
I look down at my phone, not having the courage to text my sister. I swear to God the moment I do she’ll be making reservations for our double date.
Instead, I lift my eyes and look down the bar.
A man raises his pint of beer to me, smiling. Unabashedly. They aren’t tiptoeing around anything. His eyes say, Slide down, sweetie. Let’s make this a night to remember.
I smile back, because, well, it’s nice to have someone flirt with me, especially after the afternoon I’ve had. Especially this someone.
He’s the opposite of Brent, even though he’s in a dress shirt and tie. His shirtsleeves are rolled up, revealing tattoos on his forearm. He may clean up nice, but it’s clear he’s rough around the edges. His beard could rival any of the hipsters in town and he has a look that says, Let’s do this, baby.
Without hesitation, I pick up my drink and move four seats down the bar.
I may not have gotten a television gig today, but I can certainly end the night with a bang.
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Claimed By The Mountain Man
A Modern Mail-Order Bride Romance
"Everly," he growls. "I'm claiming you as mine, right here, right now."
SILAS
I want a wife who knows what it means to live off the grid, cook my food, and keep my bed warm.
In exchange, I'll give her a lifetime of happiness in the form of my c*ck.
But d*mn, Everly's more than I bargained for and I don't think she has any idea what it means to be mine. Hell, I wanted a wife, but I'm not sure I know how to live with a woman.
EVERLY
Did I expect to be a mail-order bride at twenty-two? No. But honestly, my life could be a helluva lot worse. The agency says this Alaskan mountain man is rich, hot as heck, and willing to pay off my student loans.
I'm crossing my fingers he's everything I signed up for.
But I may be a little over my head. Mostly because I'm marrying a stranger and also because I've never dated. Period.
Clearly I have no clue how to be a wife ... but it's too late to back out now.
*WARNING: This story features a mountain man who knows exactly what he wants. And how he wants it. Don't one-click if you want a tame mail order bride story ... this is a classic Frankie Love romance ... steamy as hell with a HEA.
Prologue
Grabbing the Prosecco from the fridge, Everly finds three mason jars, pops the cork, and divvies up the bubbly. The goal tonight is to forget the reality of the situation she and her two best friends have found themselves in.
Homeless. Jobless. Boy-less.
Champagne will certainly help the cause.
“Is that the last bottle?” Delta asks, as Everly balances all three glasses in her hands and walks back into the living room.
Everly moans as she delivers the drinks. She’s wearing her hair in a messy bun and her nerd-girl glasses contribute to her low-key appearance. But tonight she isn’t acting low-key. Tonight she is dramatic and drunk.
A dangerous pairing for any twenty-two-year-old woman.
“The state of my checking account was so depressing I was like, eff it, and bought two more bottles,” she says.
“That’s what I love about you, Everly,” Delta snorts. “You’re just so damn responsible.” She takes the glass from Everly’s hand and sets it on the coffee table before screwing the cap back on a bottle of eco-friendly nail polish. She’s just painted daisies on her big toes, as if declaring herself the ultimate flower child. Her long hair and boho dress complete the look. She’s a vegan, through and through, and living in Portland, Oregon makes her lifestyle easy.
Clinking the rims of their glasses, Everly takes a long sip. “I know, it’s hard to be such a put-together adult, but somebody has to do it.” She smirks, knowing she’s anything but put-together.
“No, but like, for reals, what are we going to do?” Amelia, who is braiding her hair, asks. She’s in ratty sweats and a tank top, but she gets a pass considering Derrick, her boyfriend of four years, just broke up with her. “I mean, all of us were legit counting on staying at Derrick’s summer house for the next three months. Now we’re going to get kicked out of here in a week. Then what?”
“Calm down. It’s all going to work out,” Everly tells her, not believing the words herself, but knowing Amelia needs the affirmation—considering she’s the one recovering from an unexpected break-up.
Everly falls onto the couch, squeezing between her two best friends. They all take drinks of the bubbly, each lamenting their own personal hell.
They aren’t exactly on top of the world. And they feel deceived. The entire universe led them to believe that if they went to college they would be grown-ups. But here they are, all three of them a week out of Oregon State College, with no job prospects, no boyfriends, and—apparently—no housing.
“This sucks,” Amelia says, her head falling on Everly’s shoulder. “Why didn’t a career counselor ever mention the fact that a Fine Arts degree wouldn’t help me? All it did was teach me that I’m more of a hobbyist in terms of creating visual masterpieces. Like, I can legit scrapbook, but that isn’t a job.”
“Um, sweetie,” Delta says, “my degree is in Hospitality. There are literally no jobs for me.”
“You can be a hotel desk clerk,” Everly suggests.
“Yeah, except I didn’t need a degree for that, and
it won’t offer me health insurance or pay my student loans. It’s not realistic.”
“I know,” Everly says. “Even if I sold a story to some magazine, I’d make what—fifty bucks if I was lucky? And I can’t afford to sit here and write the next great American novel. That won’t pay any of the bills.”
Everly thought a degree in English Literature would help her become a writer, but so far she’s only completed a few short stories about her life as a college student. Not exactly inspiring.
“At this point I would do anything to stop feeling so out of control. I just want a plan,” Amelia says. “I feel desperate.”
“I’m not desperate, I’m just horny as hell. I haven’t been with someone in like, three months,” Delta moans. “I want a husband, someone to keep me warm at night and fuck me all day long.”
“Then we should have gotten MRS degrees, not BAs,” Everly says, sighing into her champagne. “Not that I’m exactly ready for marriage.”
Delta and Amelia both look at Everly, giving her puppy dog eyes. It’s no secret that she’s a virgin, and if anyone needs a man, it’s her.
“What?” Everly shrugs. “I’m not holding out for Mr. Right. The problem is, I’m just never going to meet a guy who is okay with taking it slow.”
“You don’t need to take it slow,” Amelia says. “You need a man who isn’t going to take no for an answer.”
“I don’t need to take it slow, either,” Delta says. “I just want to take it, if you know what I mean.”
Amelia shoves a pillow in Delta’s face. “Yes, we get it. You want to get laid. But on a more serious note, maybe there are new apartments on Craigslist?” Amelia suggests. “You know, since we’re getting evicted.”
“Not evicted,” Everly reminds her. “It’s just we’re in campus housing. We have to go.”
“Like, in a week.” Delta sighs. “This is dumb. Let’s do something bananas. Like, move to a commune. Or become Amish.”
Noticing the now-empty glasses, Everly returns to the kitchen and brings back some more champagne. “I just want a nice house and a normal life. Nothing crazy, just something regular.”
“With good sex,” Delta adds, winking. “And on that note, let’s look in the Help Wanted section with an open mind.” She opens her laptop. “At this point we don’t have many requirements.”
“I just want to get out of this college town,” Amelia says. Forgoing a glass, she grabs the bottle from Everly’s hand and takes a swig. “I can’t handle it here,” she says, wiping her mouth. “There are way too many memories of Derrick and me in this town, and I need to move on. Stat.”
Delta scrolls through the housing pages, and it’s more of what they’ve already seen. Tiny studios or massive houses requiring three months’ security deposit.
“Hmmm.” Delta keeps clicking, but there are no new listings. Eventually she takes the bottle from Amelia and drinks before passing it to Everly.
Everly follows suit, then sits between them once again, starting to feel more than a little tipsy.
“There’s nothing,” Amelia moans.
“Even if there were,” Everly adds, “it doesn’t matter. None of us have jobs. That’s priority number one.”
“Tell me again why none of us have parents who can help out?”
The three of them were roommates freshman year, and instantly bonded over the fact they’d all been raised by their grandparents. It was such a coincidence—it felt like destiny, and they had to stick together.
And they always did, through thick and thin, for four years. They put Delta’s grandpa in assisted living, attended the funeral for Everly’s grandma and grandpa, and were there when Amelia’s grandma moved in with her older sister.
They have family that love them, but not family that can support them, or even house them.
It’s time they figure this out on their own.
“Okay, go to the want ads,” Everly says, pointing at the tab on the screen.
“Let’s see, here.” Delta takes another sip as the page loads.
The three of them read the job descriptions, not one of them remotely appealing.
Dog walker, ten hours a week.
Editor, must be proficient in Dutch.
Smoothie stand, pasties the required uniform.
“Well, we could do that,” Delta says, laughing. “We all have decent racks.”
“More than decent, but that doesn’t mean I could do it,” Everly says, frowning, knowing her looks have never been her problem.
The problem is, she’s never had a real boyfriend because she always gets so nervous and shy around guys.
“We’re all cute enough so the tips would be good,” Amelia says, considering the smoothie stand position. “But, it just seems so cold.” She covers her chest with her hands, cracking up.
Okay, so they are definitely buzzed.
“This is stupid.” Everly hovers her fingers over Delta’s keyboard. “Let’s try something totally different.”
In the search bar, she types: pretty girls, college degrees, open-minded, need jobs.
The first hit causes all three girls to tilt their heads to the side, and reach for the champagne, simultaneously.
Huh.
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FOR ALASKAN MOUNTAIN MEN.
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Also by Frankie Love
THE ENTIRE FRANKIE LOVE COLLECTION:
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The Mountain Man’s Babies:
TIMBER
BUCKED
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BUILT
CHISELED: PRE-ORDER NOW!
MOUNTAIN MEN OF LINESWORTH:
MOUNTAIN MAN CANDY
MOUNTAIN MAN CAKE
MOUNTAIN MAN BUN
Stand-Alone Romance:
BEAUTY AND THE MOUNTAIN MAN
HIS Everything
HIS BILLION DOLLAR SECRET BABY
UNTAMED
RUGGED
HIS MAKE BELIEVE BRIDE
HIS KINKY VIRGIN
WILD AND TRUE
BIG BAD WOLF
MISTLETOE MOUNTAIN: A MOUNTAIN MAN’S CHRISTMAS
Our Virgin:
Protecting Our Virgin
Craving Our Virgin
Forever Our Virgin
F*ck Club:
A-List F*ck Club
Small Town F*ck Club
The Modern-Mail Order Brides:
CLAIMED BY THE MOUNTAIN MAN
ORDERED BY THE MOUNTAIN MAN
WIFED BY THE MOUNTAIN MAN
EXPLORED BY THE MOUNTAIN MAN
CROWN ME:
COURTED BY THE MOUNTAIN PRINCE
CHARMED BY THE MOUNTAIN PRINCE
CROWNED BY THE MOUNTAIN PRINCE
CROWN ME, PRINCE: The Complete Collection
Las Vegas Bad Boys:
ACE
KING
MCQUEEN
JACK
Los Angeles Bad Boys:
COLD HARD CASH
HOLLYWOOD HOLDEN
SAINT JUDE
THE COMPLETE COLLECTION
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The Charlie Hart Collection
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Daughters of Olympus:
Their Siren
Their Mate
Their Phoenix (2/23)
Their Shade (4/6)
Six Men of Alaska:
The Wife Lottery The Wife Protectors
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About the Author
Frankie Love writes sexy stories about bad boys and mountain men. As a thirty-something mom to six who is ridiculously in love with her own bearded hottie, she believes in love-at-first-sight and happily-ever-afters. She also believes in the power of a quickie.
Find Frankie here:
www.frankielove.net
[email protected]
Love, Bucked