MOUNTAIN OBSESSIONS

instalove, age gap, mountain man, forced proximity, obsessed/protective alphas, ex-military, biker, ex-con, lumberjack, curvy heroine, virgin, runaway bride, hurt/comfort, touch her & die, HEA

Please Note: Each book in this series contains explicit sexual content and profanity.

Claimed by the Mountain Man Biker

gun violence, graphic violence

His Mountain Obsession

physical violence, cheating (NOT between MCs)

Tempted by the Mountain Man Next Door

explicit sexual content, profanity

Big Mountain Promise

maternal abandonment and parental neglect (off the page), grief related to the death of a loved one

Chapter 1

Melody

I should be excited. Most women would be.

An all-inclusive luxury resort in the mountains. Fresh air, towering pines, crystal-clear lakes. And a fiancé who spared no expense for our pre-wedding getaway. Everything is perfect—except the part where I don’t believe any of it.

Liam has been in the shower for twenty minutes, steam curling beneath the bathroom door like the tension under my skin as I sit at the edge of the king-sized bed. 

I declined his invitation to join him in the shower.

His phone buzzes again.

I glance toward the bathroom. Water still running.

Buzz.

Again.

My stomach twists. He never lets it out of his sight. But he left it on the nightstand this time. Careless.

I know I shouldn’t look.

I never have before. I don’t want to be that woman—paranoid, insecure, snooping through his messages.

But something in me already fucking knows.

His phone lights up with another message. I reach for it, fingers trembling.

I unlock it—his birthday, of course. Pathetic, really. 

My thumb moves without thinking, straight to the messages, like I already know what I’ll find. And I do. 

Somewhere deep down, I’ve always known. 

This is just the moment it stops pretending to be a secret.

The most recent text is from his assistant, Laura.

Missing you. Can’t wait till that cock is all mine again.

My vision goes blurry. My ears ring.

No, no, no. I’m not fucking seeing this. The truth still hurts, even when you sense it coming.

The text thread is endless. Photos. Videos. Her in his office, splayed out on his desk, the two of them fucking.

It’s not just one woman. There are multiple threads.

My hand clamps over my mouth, fury rising in my throat.

The bathroom door creaks open, and I drop the phone like it’s dripping in poison.

Liam steps out, towel slung low on his hips, steam trailing after him.

He sees my face, the phone on the bed, and his expression flattens instantly.

“You went through my phone, Mel?”

No guilt. No shame. Just irritation.

“Are you serious right now?” My voice cracks. “That’s what you have to say?”

He shrugs, unfazed. “What did you expect to find, Mel? You and I both know this wasn’t about love.”

The room spins.

“What the hell does that even mean?”

“It means… you make sense. You’re the kind of woman a man marries when he’s ready to settle down. But fun?” His mouth curves into a sneer. “You’ve never been that, babe.”

“Wow,” I whisper. “Just wow.”

He sighs, like I’m the problem. Like I’ve made this awkward by discovering the truth.

“I didn’t mean for you to find out like this. So can we just…not turn this into a fucking thing? Let’s get through the weekend, the wedding—”

I don’t even hear the rest.

Something in me snaps. I stand and walk out of the room.

I don’t take my phone. I don’t grab my purse. I don’t even think. I just walk—barefoot, half-dressed in silk and shame—because I’d rather vanish into the woods than spend one more second breathing the same air as him.

I won’t do it. Not another second.

The hallway is quiet as I pass the other suites. I move fast, like if I stop, I’ll shatter.

I step into the elevator and ride it to the lobby, heart hammering like it’s trying to escape my chest. 

I keep my head down and slip toward the side exit—away from the guests, the noise, the eyes. 

Gravel bites beneath my bare feet as I move blindly toward the tree line. 

They built the resort into the mountain, carving its luxury into the wilderness. 

I don't think. I just start running—past the private cabins, beyond the trail markers, until the silence swallows me whole.

The air is crisp and thin, biting at my lungs as I push uphill.

It doesn’t matter that I’m not dressed for this. That I have no plan. All I have is rage and heartbreak. And the unbearable pressure of everything I thought I knew crashing down around me.

I stumble over a root and go down hard, my hands scraping against the hard ground. I don’t cry. I don’t make a sound.

He was right—I was the simple choice. The quiet girl. The one who never raised her voice, never made a scene, the one who swallowed her pain with a smile and called it love.

Not anymore.

Something inside me twists, hardens.

I push back to my feet and keep going—deeper into the woods, and farther from cruel reality.

Chapter 1

Gavin

The curvy blonde takes another sip of her drink, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The gesture is innocent, yet my dick instantly twitches to life.

For two months, I’ve watched her.

I see her at the bar, running errands, walking home. 

Sometimes, on nights when the noise in my head gets too loud, I find myself drawn to the shadows around her place. 

Parking my bike down the street, I lean against a tree in the backyard and watch until dawn breaks over the horizon. 

I never get too close—never cross the line—but the urge is there. It always is.

I know it’s messed up. I’m not proud of it. 

Hell, it makes me feel like I’m barely hanging onto what’s left of my humanity. 

But there’s something about her—something that quiets the storm inside me, if only for a few minutes. That kind of peace? You don’t just walk away from it.

From the moment I saw her, I was hooked. 

New to town, nervous smile, haunted blue eyes that carry the weight of something I haven’t figured out yet. 

She doesn’t belong here. 

Not in this dusty bar. 

Not surrounded by assholes who don’t see past her curves.

I see her.

And each day, I slip deeper into my obsession.

But a woman with that much pain behind her eyes deserves the world. Better than the broken mess I am, so I’ve kept my distance.

Ten years ago, the Army spat me out after my last deployment, leaving me permanently fucked up. The physical scars are a lasting reminder, but the mental ones... they’ve paralyzed me.

The first few years home, I drowned the pain in whiskey and fucked every woman I could find, trying to forget. 

The women eventually lost their appeal, but the whiskey... that's a demon that has yet to be exorcised.

It’s been two years since I’ve been with anyone, and as I devour the curvy blonde with my eyes again and down another swig of my drink, my dick throbs against my jeans. 

I’ve never wanted a woman like this.

Staying away is a fucking war I’m close to losing every night.

She’s perfection. Soft and curvy in all the right places. 

Those big, blue eyes, those plump, pink lips... I want to crush my mouth against hers and taste her moan. 

Her shorts ride up as she crosses her legs, teasing me with a flash of her creamy thigh. 

Her tight top showcases her full breasts. 

The way she’s dressed makes me feel possessive, territorial. 

She should be mine, and only dress like that for me. 

It pisses me the fuck off, knowing every other man in this bar has eyes on her.

And I’ve definitely noticed the way they watch her.

I down more of my drink as some prick takes the seat next to her.

For fuck’s sake.

I slam the glass down, my blood boiling. My hands clench into fists under the table, my jaw tightens until it aches.

Who the hell does he think he is?

He says something, and she stiffens, shaking her head. Clearly not taking the hint, he rests his hand on her thigh, crossing a line.

I shove my chair back roughly, the scraping against the floor echoing my fury, and stalk to her side of the bar. 

I rest a hand on her shoulder, and she looks up at me through those thick lashes. Instead of flinching, she relaxes under my touch.

“Baby.” I give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze and turn to the prick.

“Can I help you with something?”

“No, man. Didn’t realize she was with someone.”

He takes a nervous sip of his beer and stands to leave. But he hesitates, like he doesn’t buy my act. His face tenses, like he’s debating something. After a few seconds, he shrugs it off and stalks to the other end of the bar.

Most people react that way to me. I tower over most at six foot five and two hundred and fifty pounds. So it’s no surprise this guy backed down.

Taking the empty seat beside her, I catch Hutch’s eye behind the bar and signal for another round.

“Thank you,” she says after a moment. “That guy wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“I didn’t like him touching you.”

“You—you were watching me?”

“Yes.”

I don’t even try to deny it. I can’t fucking stay away from her now. Not after this. No other man will ever lay a hand on her again.

“Why were you watching me?”

“Hard to take your eyes off a beautiful woman.”

Hutch slides our drinks in front of us. She grabs hers, takes a small sip, and nervously plays with the straw, swirling it through the ice. I notice her cheeks flush a soft pink.

“Am I making you blush?”

“Well… I’m not used to men coming to my rescue like that. I’m used to men hitting on me but—”

“That what you think I’m doing?” I grunt.

“No, I don’t think that at all. I can tell you’re different… you’re a good man.”

I wish those words held a shred of truth, but I’m not a good man. Not even close.

“Men tell me all the pretty things I want to hear,” she continues, “to get in my pants, to take what they want. They cheat on you, tell you to get used to it, that ‘women like you’ are safe choices to settle down with, but never going to be enough. Now, I pay attention to the eyes. They tell you everything you need to know.”

She sucks in a sharp breath, her cheeks flushed, then takes a shaky sip of her drink.

“I’m sorry. You don’t even know me… I don’t know why I said all that. I’m Roxanne, by the way.”

“Gavin.” I toss back the rest of my drink.

It tugs at something twisted in me. How she’s vulnerable enough to share her pain. I’m beginning to understand the darkness that lingers in her eyes, and it ignites a dangerous hunger to claim her broken pieces as my own.

“Whoever hurt you is a real fucking idiot. You’re perfect, Roxy.”

A real man would know how to worship every damn inch of this woman.

And I’m that fucking man.

Chapter 1

Clover

“Yes, Janet. I just got to the rental cabin. Uh-huh… I know, Janet. Uh-huh… Yes, I promise. The final manuscript will be in your inbox by the end of the weekend. Okay, you too. Bye.”

I drop my phone onto the seat beside me; the click echoing the lead weight settling in my stomach. 

Two days. Fifteen thousand words. 

The sheer impossibility of it makes me want to bang my head against the steering wheel. 

How in the actual fuck am I supposed to pull this off? 

Your guess is as good as mine. 

Maybe, just maybe, some kind of cosmic intervention will descend, gifting me the perfect ending. That's the only damn hope I've got right now.

This remote cabin, tucked away in the woods, is supposed to be my magic wand, the key to unlocking the writer within who seems to have gone on an extended vacation. 

My first two novels—they practically wrote themselves, the words flowing like a damn river. 

But this third one—this one has been a monumental pain in the ass from the get-go. 

I just haven't connected with the story, the characters feel like strangers, and my publisher has already granted me two extensions. 

Janet's thinly veiled threats still ring in my ears. 

You're on thin fucking ice, Miss Fields. Lucky for you, you're such a damn good author.

The 'lucky for you' part feels particularly ominous.

Here's hoping the mountain air and the promise of solitude can kick-start my muse before Janet ships me off to writer's purgatory and my new career as a romance author is over before it ever truly began.

I yank my suitcase from the backseat, the plastic wheels bumping and protesting against the gravel as I trudge up the short driveway to the front porch. 

Each wooden plank creaks under my shoes as I climb the porch steps. 

The cabin itself is just as quaint and adorable as the pictures online promised. 

The owner, who I’d only corresponded with via email, had mentioned he lived in the cabin next door—a detail I had given little thought to at the time. This secluded spot, nestled amongst the trees, felt like exactly what I needed.

I pause for a moment, taking in the breathtaking scenery. The air is crisp and clean, and the silence is profound. 

This cabin is perfect.

I find the key tucked under the welcome mat, just as he’d said, and as I reach for the lock, a movement to my right catches my eye.

Emerging from the dense woods is the most overwhelmingly large man I’ve ever seen. 

My breath hitches. 

I practically trip over my fucking suitcase, instinctively grabbing the doorframe to steady myself. 

He’s jogging, shirtless, and every inch of his skin seems to ripple with tattooed muscle, slick with sweat that catches the sunlight. 

Instantly, I want to taste the salt on his skin, the raw maleness of him. 

A damp heat pools immediately between my thighs as I watch the play of his muscles with each powerful stride.

My heart slams against my ribs like a trapped bird as he jogs up the path to the cabin right next to mine. Holy fuck. He’s the owner.

Instead of continuing to the other cabin, he pivots, heading straight towards me.

He slows to a stop at the edge of my porch, his chest rising and falling with each deep breath. He wipes a thick forearm across his sweaty brow, his dark eyes raking over me with an intensity that makes my knees feel weak. There’s something raw and magnetic in his gaze.

“Clover?” His voice is a low, gravely sound that seems to vibrate right through me.

I manage a nod, my throat suddenly dry. “You must be Jackson.”

A slow smile touches his lips. “That's right. Didn't expect you quite yet.” His eyes linger on my face, then rake over my body.

“Well,” I say, suddenly shy under his gaze, “...surprise.”

He takes a step closer, running a hand through his damp hair. “Welcome to the mountain, Clover.”

Well, this writing retreat just got a whole lot more complicated. And a hell of a lot more interesting.

Chapter 1

Colt

Shades of lavender, pink, and pale blue wash across the sky as the sun bleeds into the horizon. Thunder rumbles in the distance, a low growl that vibrates through the soles of my boots. 

The scent of rain, thick and earthy, hangs heavy in the air. I inhale deeply, filling my lungs. Monsoon season had officially begun in our neck of the woods.

The offer to join the logging crew last year was a lifeline. A chance to bury the memories, the faces—

To find some semblance of peace in the solitude of the mountains. 

Ten years in the military, ten years of hell, and I'm still trying to piece myself back together. 

My buddy's call was a godsend, pulling me from the wreckage of my former life. I gave years to the military, and it left me hollowed out. The man who went to war wasn’t the man who came home.

I didn't move to the mountains for the scenery. The cabin, purchased with my savings, served a purpose. It was a place to retreat, to piece myself back together in solitude. But I grew to love this place and small town life.

The work on the crew is hard, brutal even. But it fuels me with a purpose. Something I still need these days.

Grabbing a few logs from the pile by the door, the rough bark scraping against my calloused hands, I stalk back inside the cabin to get a fire going. Inside, the fire catches quickly, casting a flickering glow.

I settle heavily onto the worn sofa; the springs groaning in protest, and reach for my book tucked between the cushions—some local ghost story, a morbid distraction. 

I don't buy into that crap, but the Raven House is close by, and I've been thinking about checking it out. Something to break the monotony. 

I crack the spine, the paper stiff and yellowed, and try to lose myself in the words. But a heavy thud reverberates through the cabin.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The sound is insistent, someone hammering on the door.

The sound echoes through the cabin, amplified by the storm's fury.

“What the fuck?” I mutter, pushing myself up.

Who the hell would be out in this weather?

Anger flares, hot and sudden. 

I stalk towards the door, every muscle coiled, ready to unleash my frustration. 

I grab the handle, yanking it open with more force than necessary. The door slams back against the wall, the sound swallowed by the roar of the storm.

My heart stutters, skips a beat, then kicks into overdrive.

Standing before me, drenched and shivering, is the most beautiful creature I have ever seen.

Vibrant red hair flows past her shoulders and strands cling to the sides of her face, framing wide, innocent eyes that seem too trusting for this world. 

Eyes the color of bright sapphires, shining with a desperate vulnerability that tugs at something deep inside me.

I can’t help but notice her petite frame, accentuated by the thin sundress she’s wearing. It's plastered to her skin, outlining the generous curve of her breasts, the flare of her hips, the tantalizing shadow between her thighs. 

My dick pulses instantly, a hunger I haven't felt in years awakening inside me.

She’s so captivating, so unexpected, and for a moment, I forget a storm is raging around us. I forget everything but the primal, possessive pull she has on me.

I can’t tear my eyes away. It's like staring into the heart of a flame, both drawn to its warmth and wary of getting burned.

“What are you doing out here? You lost, sweetheart?” My voice is rough and gravely, even to my own ears.

“I got turned around in the storm.” She explains through her clenched teeth, her voice trembling slightly. “Your cabin is the first thing I’ve seen in miles. I also don’t have any cell phone reception.”

Goosebumps cover her skin, and her hard nipples are straining against the soaked fabric of her dress. 

It is fucking impossible to look away.

A possessive heat flares within me, an urge to claim, to protect, that borders on dangerous. 

I want to care for her, yes, but there's something more, something darker, simmering beneath the surface.

“Yeah, the reception isn’t too great here in this part of the mountains, let alone during a storm. You should come inside where it’s warm and dry.”

My gaze lingers on her trembling form.

Her brows knit together, and she bites her bottom lip, a flash of uncertainty in her eyes. It sparks a possessiveness in me, a need to shield her from any harm.

“You can’t go back out there.” I point to the rain pouring behind her.

I study her face, softening my tone despite myself. “I promise to keep my hands to myself. Come inside where it’s safe.”

However, I realize as soon as the words leave my lips, I’m fucking lying.

I will have my hands all over this girl before the night is out. 

The thought is a brutal certainty, a dark promise whispered to myself.

She glances behind her, toward the heavy rain falling from the sky. No doubt calculating her chances out there or in here with a complete stranger. 

She turns her head back around and nods in approval. 

Relieved, I move aside so she can enter the cabin. As she brushes past me, a spark of raw, untamed desire ignites within me. 

It's a jolt that's both exhilarating and terrifying, a hunger I thought I'd buried long ago. It races toward my heart and then to my cock, a heavy throb that demands attention.

Steadying myself, I suck in a deep breath, fighting to maintain control. 

I shut the door on the storm raging outside, run a hand through my hair, the damp strands slick against my skin, and prepare myself mentally for the storm raging in my heart.

Yeah, keeping my hands off of her is going to be really fucking hard.