Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 28026 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28026 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
My ex is crazy. Pamela and I are in the middle of a contentious divorce when she shows up at my mountain cabin with her teenage daughter in tow. They’re here to stake their claim to my property because possession is nine-tenths of the law.
But then my ex leaves ...
...yet her daughter’s still here.
Emily is everything her mother’s sweet, innocent, and untouched. As beautiful as a rose, with the bloom of youth on her cheeks.
F*cked up?
Yes, absolutely. But what goes around comes around ... and nothing will stop me from claiming the sweet girl as mine.
The mountain man stomps around like a beast, grumpy and growly with rage shooting from those fierce blue eyes. He tears things apart with his mighty hands, and is built like a lumberjack with broad shoulders; massive, tree trunk thighs; and a thick, solid axe hanging at his waist.
Even worse, the unthinkable happens. The axe comes out ...
... and I’m the one panting with heat.
I’ve become a prisoner ...
... caged in Christian’s strong arms as I beg for more.
Soon, he’ll be divorced from my mother ...
... but it’s me with the mountain man’s baby in my belly! Help, what do I do now?
Call 9-1-1 because the sparks between Christian and Emily are off the charts in this tale! Yes, he’s the man of the house, and yes, she’s the innocent brat, but the attraction is fierce, and soon the unspeakable is happening within the small walls of his log cabin! Get ready for passionate, over-the-top romance, complete with a raging forest fire, a bouncing baby named Blaze, and a curvy girl who becomes a single mom ... only to be saved by her billionaire mountain man after he discovers she’s had his child in secret! You’ll love the story, I promise. Click “Read” now to get your copy!
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
Christian
Istare out the window of my cabin, a steaming mug of joe in hand. The outdoors is frosty and grey, with a blanket of heavy snow on the ground. Icicles hang from bare tree branches, glittering in the early afternoon light, and it’s totally silent, save for the small crack of a branch as an unseen animal makes its way in the forest.
Perfect.
I never want to see another human face again.
Fuck that. I never want to see my ex again because that woman broke my heart and stomped on it. Pamela was a gorgeous girl when we met. She was a blonde showgirl with the requisite big bust, long legs, and tiny waist, not to mention a sparkly smile and constantly soaked pussy. We got along like a fire fed by high octane fuel and spent more hours in bed than out of it.
But Pammie was dedicated to her career, and ultimately, that dedication killed us as a couple. Don’t get me wrong because I respect women who work, but I never thought that an aging showgirl would be so committed to the stage. I hate to say it, but thirty-five is over the hill in that particular line of business, and most girls in her place would be only too happy to marry a billionaire and hang up their heels for good.
Unfortunately, Pamela’s not most girls. She continued to spackle her face with make-up each evening while squeezing into ridiculously tight costumes. She also put herself through rigorous diets and insane exercise regimes to whittle down her already slim figure. But worst of all, she was gone most nights at the casino, prancing and dancing for an adoring crowd. By the end, we were just two people living in the same space. We hardly saw one another, and I don’t think my ex cared. What mattered to her was the applause, the attention, and the limelight. Clearly, we both saw the divorce coming from a mile away.
The divorce.
I put my coffee down, suddenly depressed again. I’m the product of divorced parents, and growing up fucking sucked. My mom and dad never should have gotten married, and never should have reproduced either. But in an ironic twist, they spawned four fucking kids, and as their eldest child, the burden was heavy. I was more of a father figure than a brother to my three siblings, and it was hard because our parents were always fighting. The shouting and screaming was non-stop, not to mention the plates flung on the floor, furniture broken, as well as holes punched into the walls. There were more than a few nights when my siblings cried themselves to sleep, and I’ll never forgive my parents for that because it broke my heart to see my siblings in tears. I was so helpless, trying to comfort them as a screaming match took place outside. The memory still makes me angry, and I don’t think I’ll ever forgive my parents for it.
Unfortunately, family patterns seem to repeat, and now I’m the one who’s divorced. Or at least, almost divorced. Pamela and I were pronounced legally single by the judge more than a year ago, but not all aspects of the separation have been resolved. Pamela’s still fighting to get more of my money, and it’s a fucking joke. She’s a showgirl. I’m a goddamn billionaire. She has no resources, and no money to fight me with, and yet the property division continues to drag on. Yeah, like I said, a fucking joke.
I slam my mug down on the table with anger. The last batch of papers my attorney received was a demand for a share of my casino, the Degas Hotel in Vegas. What the fuck? Pamela and I might not have had any children together, but that fucking hotel is my baby. I built that thing from the ground up, brick by brick, and no fucking way am I giving that woman a share of the Degas. The hotel bears my name, my fingerprints, and my legacy. No fucking way.
But Pamela’s tenacious, I have to give her that. She’s dug her claws in, and we’ve been wrangling in court for more than two years now. The money she’s spending on attorneys must be savage, and even worse, some of it is my money. Can you believe it? What the fuck? I literally pay a portion of her legal bills because we’re spouses who aren’t “similarly situated.” This shitshow is a farce, and I can’t believe I’m paying for attorneys in order to litigate against myself. It’s fucking absurd, and those assholes better understand who’s footing the bill because the gravy train isn’t going to last forever.
I stare straight ahead, a grim expression on my features. At least the forest is beautiful. Fairview is a little town where I bought a small cabin twenty years ago. It’s relatively remote, and situated on the South Shore of Lake Tahoe in the thick of the El Dorado National Forest. The trees are old growth, the air clean, and the wildlife pristine. The best part? I can get away from the shitshow that’s humanity. I need to be alone now and then, in order to let the solitude and quiet calm my fucking nerves.