One Bride for Five Mountain Men: A Reverse Harem Romance Read online

  “Are you a guest of the hotel?” I ask in a low voice, pushing my chin out suggestively.

  A smile twists the corner of his mouth, revealing perfect, straight, shiny teeth. His tongue slides out and presses along the ridge of his upper teeth. I can’t help but wonder what that tongue can do.

  With a pout, the bartender leaves his drink on the lacquered surface and stalks away. He picks it up without looking at it and downs it in one gulp, his head tipped back, allowing me to watch his Adam’s apple scrape underneath the skin of his throat. Then he sets the glass back down on the bar and grins.

  “You want to see my room?” he smirks, offering me his elbow.

  Behind me, I hear Nance chuckle as I take his arm and allow him to guide me through the crowd. People turn and stare at us, muttering under their breath as we head for the elevators.

  It feels wonderful, being observed like this, gliding through all of these snowboarders and snotty rich kids with this gorgeous man leading the way. It feels good, like I finally found the event to top off this underwhelming vacation.

  I’m ready, so very ready to be slingshotted into the next section of my life. Here we go. This is the finale. And it’s about damn time.

  In the elevator, he immediately turns to me and places his hands on the mirrored wall behind my head. His mouth is hot and slippery, covering mine with a surprising amount of suction as he pries my lips apart, stuffing his tongue between my teeth and cheek.

  Automatically my back arches, trying to align my body to his. My nipples are pointed and ready, seeking that connection to make the spark. He sways back and forth, a low groan coloring his whispers as he invades my mouth.

  “I knew I’d find you,” he says between wet, highly suctioned mouth work.

  Slightly confused, I try to keep up. He definitely has a rhythm of his own but I can’t quite seem to figure out what it is. My teeth keep crashing against his and there seems to be an overabundance of moisture gathering inside my lower lip.

  When the elevator doors slide apart, I’m happy to see that they open directly into the penthouse. We won’t have to stumble through a hallway full of other guests. He breaks away first, giving me a second to rearrange myself. At least I’ll have another chance to try to figure out how to make out with him properly, maybe get a slightly better connection. At least a decent kiss, anyway. I mean, not to be a snob, but kissing should be a mutually beneficial experience. So far it just seems like he’s the only one enjoying it.

  With a sweeping gesture, he holds his arm out toward the penthouse suite and grins arrogantly.

  “See that?” he crows. “Best view in the place.”

  Striding forward, he takes off his suit coat and drapes it over a chair, then begins pulling at his necktie. Dutifully I check out the view, which I’m sure is wonderful in the daytime but it’s sort of dark now, so I can’t really know. There are lights around the lake that I can see from here, but other than that it’s really inky blackness below and a beautiful starlit sky above.

  “Wow,” I reply anyway with a flirty smile. “You really got the best suite?”

  “Of course I did,” he nods, unbuttoning his shirt to reveal a waxed, shiny chest. Slowly he pulls the shirt out as though unfurling his wings or something, as though I’m supposed to admire this view as well.

  It’s a really nice chest, don’t get me wrong. His pecs look like somebody opened one of those unabridged dictionaries on his chest and sculpted the muscles based on that. I was just hoping for little chest hair. I like chest hair.

  Lola, stop being so picky, I command myself. This is a one-night stand. It’s not a lifetime commitment. Now get in there!

  Smiling prettily, I begin unbuttoning my own blouse. He licks his lips in anticipation and rubs his crotch through the front of his trousers.

  “Yeah, Lola,” he murmurs encouragingly. “Let me see your pussy.”

  “Oh, there’s no rush, is there?” I tease as I slide out of my boots as slowly as possible. “It’s fun to wait, don’t you think?”

  As if to answer, he unzips his trousers and lets them fall to the floor with his cock springing right out and into his hands. I note that not only is his chest completely hairless, but so is the rest of him. He must wax the whole thing. Even his legs are smooth and glossy like a baby seal.

  Reaching forward, he takes me by the elbow and guides me toward the bed with one hand while he fists his cock with the other. It’s long and sort of slender, but probably will work well enough. His hand moves quickly along the shaft, almost roughly.

  I’m a little off balance and stumble toward the mattress, barely catching myself before I slide to the floor. Pasting a smile on my face, I try to arrange myself gracefully across the quilted silk comforter and reach for his shoulders to attempt round two of making out.

  “Yeah, yeah,” he groans as he almost falls on top of me, jerking himself and rubbing against the hinge between my thigh and my hip, poking uncomfortably at some part of my intestines.

  “Oh, excuse me,” I mumble politely, attempting to rearrange us into a more graceful coupling. “Just let me get —”

  His weight dumps on top of me all at once, pinning me to the mattress below. There is a sharp pain in my side as his ring scrapes across my waist over and over again and he arches and curls around me.

  “Hold on!” I call out, realizing what’s going on. His legs are tense and knotted, and he kicks me in the shin, twice.

  “Oh! OOOOHhhhhghhhhgggg!” he groans into my hair, lying across me diagonally. I feel something hot and sticky shoot between us, seeping over the ticklish edge of my ribs and landing on my blouse that’s pinned beneath me.

  Politeness dictates that I don’t disturb him during the last few seconds of his orgasm, I’m quite sure. But it takes almost all of my strength to keep from kicking him off the side of the mattress.

  Panting and heaving, he continues to flop on top of me until his balls are spent. When he finally slides away, I can hear the sticky sounds of our skin separating again, and I want to throw up.

  As soon as I’m free, I roll toward sitting, pulling my shirt up behind me. It’s cold and heavy where his spunk has left a distinctive splotch on the fabric.

  “Oh, you are amazing,” he moans into the comforter. “I knew you would be. I just knew it.”

  His arms are flung out on either side of him as he relaxes completely, apparently going to sleep.

  For a few minutes I just stand there, stunned. What exactly is the protocol for this situation? I mean, what on earth just happened here?

  Finally, with a mixture of disappointment, confusion, and somehow shame, I just stumble back toward the elevator door and punch the button with my thumb. When it finally dings to announce its arrival, I glance back and see this guy doesn’t even notice. He’s probably asleep.

  And I realize I didn’t even get his name.

  Chapter 3

  Lola

  The next morning, I find that I am in just as crappy of a mood as I was yesterday. If there was a way to fly back to Sacramento today, I would do it. Unfortunately, I left all of my travel docs in Nance’s room. And if I know her, there’s no way she’s letting me out of this early.

  But it’s worth a shot.

  With a fresh grande latte in my hand, I shuffle down the silent hallway to Nance’s suite and kick gently at the door. There’s no answer.

  A small family, probably here for a ski vacation, hurries behind me with the mom guiding the children in front of her like they are baby ducks. Glancing over my shoulder at them, I wait for them to pass before kicking more forcefully at Nance’s door.

  “I know you can hear me,” I say at the shiny wood. “Open up, Nance. Don’t make me make a scene.”

  Finally I hear the deadbolt unlatch and the door opens three inches. I push it open the rest of the way and walk in, watching her long limbs stretch over her head as she walks, naked, to the row of bright windows.

  Funny thing about Nance. She loves being naked. If sh
e could take meetings naked, she would. Not that I blame her: she does have quite the glorious body. Long and muscular, smooth as if carved out of marble. Tiny, pointy tits and a perfectly round belly button like somebody just plucked a jellybean out of the middle of her.

  “I brought you a latte,” I explain shyly, leaving it on the desk and plopping into a chair. I’m pretty sure that my travel docs are right there, in the satchel with all the papers spilling out. Maybe she’ll go to the bathroom or something and I can dig them out of there.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” she sighs, leaning dramatically to one side in some kind of yoga pose. Triangle? “I’m only drinking yerba maté this year.”

  “Figures,” I scowl.

  She rises back to standing with her arms out like an airplane, then tips to the other side. Despite myself, I can’t help but watch. She really is something else.

  For a long time, she doesn’t say anything. I suppose I’m supposed to wait here while she completes her bare-assed sun salutation or whatever the hell it is that she’s doing over there. I squint at my reflection in the mirror. My auburn hair curls around one side of my face, framing my green eyes. It’s a good look for me, part bombshell and part intrepid reporter from the 1930s. I mean, that’s basically the look I was going for. It works.

  Of course, it didn’t work for Scott. Which is why we’re here.

  Initially it did. He claimed to be my Peter Parker. Turned out to be more like my Green Goblin. Three years I spent with him. We even looked at wedding invitations together. We even talked about whether his parents were going to give us the beach house as a wedding present. I mean, of course I thought he was serious. Who wouldn’t? Those are the things that a serious person says, right?

  Maybe I got overconfident, but I really thought I had it made. Twenty-three years old and living the goddamned dream.

  So when he decided that he had a brand-new Mary Jane in his life, what could I be but surprised? I thought our storybook ending was already written out, and we were just rolling along a well-defined track, one that inevitably led to marital bliss.

  Well, surprise! I guess there was a parallel track he forgot to tell me about.

  “You’re stewing,” Nance announces suddenly, interrupting me.

  I blink at my reflection, scowling and forcing myself to turn away.

  “I’m not,” I object meekly, but it doesn’t even sound remotely true. For a second I consider repeating myself, maybe actually trying to sound sincere, but what’s the use.

  Nance turns around, leaning back against the windowsill on her bare buttocks, drawing one knee up in a charmingly self-conscious pose.

  “So I guess your evening with Tucker didn’t turn out like you hoped?”

  “Tucker?” I repeat, confused. “Wait… is that his name?”

  Nance raises an eyebrow at me as she rolls her shoulders back. She glances down and stares at her nipples for a second, pinching them into little points. I know this display is not for my benefit, but it is still a little strange. Seems like the sort of thing a person would do in private, maybe with just a single witness. I mean, a romantic witness. Not a platonic best friend kind of witness. Or not a “basically my underling” kind of witness, because I guess my “boss” is exactly what she is also.

  “So… you didn’t get his name?” she muses playfully. “Why, Lola, you dirty girl!”

  Standing from my chair, I pull the hotel-issued terrycloth robe off the hanger from the open closet and hold it out to her.

  “You’re going to catch pneumonia or something,” I suggest. “Why don’t you put this on?”

  Nance strides toward me, bouncing so that her tits wobble up and down on her chest, her eyes alight with mischief.

  “Nudity shouldn’t make you so uncomfortable,” she lectures me. “You’re so Midwestern sometimes.”

  “Just take it,” I sigh, shoving it toward her. Finally she does, and twirls it around her shoulders with dramatic flair. After squinting at it for moments, she picks up the latte as well and sips at it.

  “Was it just too passionate?” She giggles, rolling her eyes. “Or did you just fuck him into unconsciousness? Honestly, I always figured that Tucker was the sort of guy who calls out his own name when he comes, so I’m surprised you didn’t catch it!”

  “Yeah, well…” I answer gruffly, “let’s just say there wasn’t a whole lot of fucking. He sort of… got carried away without me.”

  She tips her head to the side like a golden retriever. “What does that even mean?”

  “It means…” I begin, then just give in. I mean, what’s the point of even having that kind of experience if you can’t relive it in great detail for your best friend?

  I find myself acting the whole thing out for her amusement. She giggles into her hand, her eyes wide as I recount every detail including his saliva coating my chin, and his instant, disappointingly selfish masturbation act.

  “Wait… So you’re saying… You guys didn’t even do it?” she asks incredulously. “Because he said you did!”

  I pause, mid-pantomime, my arms out to my side as I try to recreate his beached whale impression when he fell asleep.

  “What do you mean, he said that I did? He said that I did what?”

  Nance takes a long sip of her latte. “He said you guys fucked like three times,” she shrugs. “I mean, it seemed like he went and found us in the bar specifically to tell us. And you never came back, so…”

  “All I wanted to do was sleep!” I exclaim, exasperated and instantly furious. “I just went back to my room and took an Ambien and passed out! I couldn’t even believe that!”

  She holds her hands up. “Calm down, Lola,” she sighs. “Everybody knows Tucker is full of shit. He’ll be lying about somebody else before the night is through anyway. Why don’t you just go find somebody else?”

  All I can see is red. It’s like the air turns to ash around me. Cinders are flying everywhere.

  “No! No way!” I object, hearing my voice getting louder and louder. “He said that I… That is so fucked up! Do you know where he is? What’s his last name?!”

  Without answering, Nance stands up, taking the robe off again. She leans over her open suitcase and plucks out a pair of violet mesh panties and starts stepping into them.

  “Nance! Answer me!”

  But she doesn’t answer, instead rummaging through her stuff until she finds a matching mesh bra—honestly, what is the point of this flimsy underwear?—and fastening that around her middle too. Then she dresses in slow, deliberate layers, until she’s standing in full ski regalia with a scarf in her hand.

  “Nance? You might as well tell me. You know I’m not going to let this go.”

  Her shoulders go up and then fall back into place.

  “Listen, Lola,” she finally says. “It’s our last chance to hit the slopes. The guys say there’s a trail they want to show us on the north side of the lake. Why don’t we just go get some fresh air? Clear our heads?”

  I shake my head, disbelieving. Is she trying to make me mad at her instead? It’s working.

  “I don’t want fresh air. I want to find Tucker What’s-his-face and throw a drink at him! Why aren’t you helping me with this?”

  Nance pulls a face, gritting her teeth. “Well… I mean…”

  I hold my hands out. “What? Just say it!”

  “We really need to get back to work, Lola,” she finally sighs. “I mean, we really need to get back to work. We’ve still got a couple of days here… Let’s just enjoy this and then go, okay? Maybe you will even get an idea for a story while you’re out here. Wouldn’t that be great?”

  I repeat what she’s saying in my head, trying to piece it out. A story? When did that become urgent? Like her lady love story? Or like Tucker?

  “Yeah, I guess that would be great,” I repeat cautiously, rising from my chair. “And you’re saying… skiing?”

  She shrugs one shoulder. “Well, Chad is definitely cute,” she winks. “And his d
ad owns the company, so…”

  I search her face, sure that the clues are here. I’m sure that I can figure out what it is she’s trying to tell me if I just…

  “Wait a second,” I hear myself say. “Nance? Is there something else?”

  She wrinkles her nose.

  “Seriously, Nance. You have to tell me. If there is something else you have to tell me.”

  I see her look all around the room as though trying to find an escape route. Finally she looks me right in the eye. Her eyes are green like mine, but darker. Very dark right now.

  “Listen, Lola,” she starts in her very corporate voice. “We all know you’ve been through a tough time, and I really didn’t want to mention this right now. I was really hoping that you would get back to your old self, you know? The Lola we all know and love?”

  My stomach feels sick, tight, as though a band is being cinched around my waist.

  “Just say it, Nance,” I mumble.

  “I’m just saying it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to be nice to Chad,” she singsongs, mincing. I hate it when she pretends to be some kind of fairytale character, some kind of person who hates giving bad news. Because we both know she actually kind of loves it.

  “Because he’s the boss’s son,” I repeat sarcastically. “And I might need that.”

  She smiles. “Now you’re getting it. And it’s not your fault, okay? It’s just life. It’s just business.”

  “Yeah, now I’m getting it, all right,” I say through gritted teeth. “And you knew this? And you didn’t tell me?”

  She reaches out, walking toward me until her palms brush my shoulders, then gives me an arm’s length hug. I stand there as she pins my arms to my sides, trying not to yell. This is probably the worst possible hug in the history of hugs.

  Her lower lip juts out. “Hey, you had a rough month, right? There was never a time to tell you. I wanted to. Believe me.”

  Do I believe her? Does it matter?

  My mind is swirling, thinking of a million things I want to scream at her. Through it all, though, I know it’s not her fault. During the breakup, I was not the best employee. The online magazine market is extremely competitive, and if you drop the ball for a second, your job is in jeopardy. That’s just how it is. Journalism is not what it used to be. It’s not like we have pensions and forty-year anniversary parties and things like that anymore. We’re all basically expendable.