Passion In The Mountains Read Online Olivia T. Turner

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Insta-Love, Virgin Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 24334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)

I just watched my ex-fiancé marry his gay lover.
It was supposed to be our wedding, but he asked me to be his best man instead.
I think I need a vacation.
My sister says I need to get laid.
She says I have an itch that only a mountain man can scratch.
I think she’s full of it until I head to Montana and see Dylan Wallis.
He’s bathing in a river.
My body instantly reacts.
I want him.
I want those big broad shoulders, that massive chest, those strong tattooed arms, those tree trunk legs, and that massive piece of wood dangling between his legs.
I want all of it.
And I want it now.
When those dark heated eyes find me watching him, I can tell he wants me too.
My sister was right.
This hot mountain is about to scratch my itch.
He’s about to destroy my V-card.
And I’m going to love every second of it.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************



I’ve been smiling all day. I can’t do it anymore.

I’m slumped over at the head table and tipsy as hell, but not the good kind. It’s the hating-my-life-and-wanting-a-new-one-kind.

Look at them… They look so damn happy.

That should’ve been me.

“How you holding up?” my sister Megan asks as she sits in the seat next to me.

She takes my nearly empty wine glass and slides it away.

Probably a good idea.

“I’m just fucking great!” I say with a big sarcastic smile. “Life is just wonderful when you’re watching your ex-fiancé marrying someone else.”

She sighs as she looks at the blissful couple slow-dancing on the dance floor like they’re the only two people in the world.

“You know it never would have worked out, right?” Megan says.

I look at her with dead eyes. “Yeah, Megs. I think I know that. He’s a night owl and I’m a morning person. He likes Jazz and I like Rock ’n Roll. He’s gay and I don’t have a dick.”

Megan chuckles and shakes her head. “How much did you drink?”

“Not enough,” I say as I reach past her and grab my wine glass. She tries to take it from me, but I have an iron grip. The only way she’ll get it is if she pries it from my cold, dead, lonely, bitter hands.

“Don’t get too drunk,” she warns as she slides the half-finished bottle of red away. “You’re still the best man, or best woman, or whatever the fuck you want to call it.”

“Third wheel is what I call it,” I say as I stare at the two groomsmen. Justin whispers something in Richard’s ear and my ex-fiancé smiles with those beautiful blue eyes lighting up. We were high school sweethearts, Richard and I. We dated for eight years, ages fourteen to twenty-two, which is a lifetime in teenage romance years. In all that time, he never once looked at me the way he’s looking at Justin. I should have known. Maybe a small part of me did, but I didn’t want to admit it.

There were small hints like his intense fascination with the male lifeguard at the public pool, medium hints like him never wanting to go further than holding hands and cuddling, and giant hints like the time I took my top off in front of him and he made that face like he just bit into a lemon then said he had a stomachache and practically ran home.

I should have fucking known.

But he was so sweet and we loved each other in our own weird way. When Richard proposed, I immediately said yes. Why wouldn’t I? He’s smart, witty, always upbeat, always making me laugh. He truly is the perfect guy. Well, ya know, if you can ignore the whole gay thing, which I was more than happy to remain oblivious about.

We planned the wedding with the help of our handsome wedding coordinator, Justin, and the two of them hit it off big time. A few weeks later, Richard came over to my house in tears and let me in on his big gay secret.

I was shocked and devastated and maybe a little bit relieved. In the months since that happened, I’ve realized that our love was always more platonic than passionate.

I guess we’ve always been better suited as friends. I’ve always longed for a scorching hot passionate love affair. The kind that sweeps you off your feet and changes everything.

I never got that with Richard. We hardly even ever kissed. I got rom com movie nights and baking muffins with him, but never wild unbridled passion.

“Let’s go dance,” Megan says, pulling my arm. Billie Jean is playing and everyone is moving, including Justin who’s doing a perfect moonwalk. Richard looks so ecstatic as he watches him. I wish they weren’t so damn cute so I could hate them.

“I’m not going out there,” I say as I wrap my ankle around the chair leg. “I look like a waiter.”

Megan looks at my female tuxedo—yes, I was horrified to find out that’s a thing and they wanted me to wear one—and laughs.

“You laughed!” I say with a look of betrayal. “Now, I’m definitely not going.”

“Well, you can’t sit here all night and mope.”

“Yes, I can,” I say as I take another glug of wine. “I have nothing going on in my life. I don’t have a man. I’ve never experienced romantic love. I’m burnt out from my shitty job and from helping to plan this wedding that was supposed to be mine. So, yeah, Megs. I can sit here and mope all I want. Okay?”

This quarter-life crisis I’m going through fucking suuuuucccckkkkssss.

“You’re feeling sorry for yourself. It’s pathetic.”

I glare at her with glossy eyes. “My ex-fiancé and his new groom are going to be walking hand-in-hand on the beach tomorrow for their honeymoon and I’m going to be hungover watching Judge Judy reruns and ordering pad Thai for one.”