Page 118 of Mountain Men Heroes
Damon raised his hands. “Alaska is a whole other animal compared to the other forty-nine states. You have to be tougher than all the other SOBs out there,” he lectured. Fists up he landed the first punch, blocking a counter strike. Despite being bulkier than most his age, the teen lost his balance and fell headfirst into a snowbank.
“Careless. Now focus.”
They started over. Both their fists raised.
Snow came down in heavy tufts but he paid no mind. While his older brother, Drake, went into the marines, Damon had devoted six years of his life to the police force. Three of those to uncover work infiltrating the Russian drug organization.
These people used his state to move heroin and cocaine. When a friend was killed on duty, he slipped into the ranks as an undercover operative to break apart the infrastructure of the gang.
He reached his target, took out the group responsible for the drug running. But it had cost him. His wife didn’t care about the good he did. She didn’t want someone who couldn’t focus on her and be there for her one hundred percent. They lasted six months. The hateful words she leveled on him tore at his heart and he swore never to love—or marry—again.
And now this sweet little thing-- virgin no doubt--came to his mountain with pain in her eyes and his inner cop wanted to solve every problem he could see weighing on her shoulders. Unknowingly she stirred up emotions inside him better left buried.
The way her lithe body felt in his arms.
Fuck.
He roared with frustration.
When he looked at Ivy in that tacky sweater and sexy glances she threw his way his dick turned to damn steel and his mind cooked up images of her sprawled out over his sheets, spread wide and bare for his hungry mouth.
Then he’d offered her a place to stay. What the hell had he been thinking? That she would be only a few feet from his own bed with only a couple of paper-thin doors separating them.
He blocked a half-hearted punch from the boy and dealt out one of his own.
He blocked.
“Good,” Damon gruffed. “Faster footwork.”
His brothers could suck it and their judgmental stares as they hugged their wives, all wondering when he would find his. He was happy for them, loved the new members of the family like sisters, but wanting one of his own? Nope.
Been there done that, used the t-shirt as a cleaning rag for the bar.
Angry, he let out a deep thunderous roar and forced his attacker back several paces with a swift slap of his cupped palm.
Didn’t believe in magic? Who didn’t believe in magic?
Damon paced the wide alley behind his bar. What kind of person didn’t believe in what they saw with their own two eyes? Alaska was magical.
And those glasses she wore. trade-off dick twitched every time she reached up to situate them on the dainty bridge of her nose. He wanted to kiss the tip of the pointy refined edge and work his way down to her pouty pink lips.
What kind of man denied what he felt the second their skin connected? He did. And then she’d bombarded him with a hundred questions about his bar because of that damn nosy man, Cougar, and Damon choked.
Fucking choked.
He interrogated some of the roughest, most lethal gang members Russia could produce. He never faltered for words, but she tied his thoughts into one large knot.
To make matters worse, he kissed her. Sweetest lips and the hottest moans he’d ever heard come from a woman.
He didn’t even know he was going to kiss her, but her strawberry flavored lip balm screwed into his brain every time she uttered a word and drove him mad every step of that damn race, and it wasn’t like he could just step away. He was tied to her, for God’s sake. He nearly fucking groaned out loud the second his fingers touched the warm cotton of her long johns as he’d tied their legs together.
He huffed a cloud of frustration. And who the hell wore those ugly things anyway? Old men in western movies?
Not Christmas angels with raven black hair that brushed her waist like a sheet of silk.
An angel. His angel, he growled.
His mountain, his bar. That made her his to claim.