Deep Wood by Margot Scott
Publication date: May 1st, 2020
Synopsis (according to Goodreads):
She's mine to claim. Mine to protect. Mine to care for.
I swore I'd never go back to that mountain, not after my childhood friend and I fell out years ago. So imagine my shock when I find out he's died and left me his old hunting cabin.
On the way there, I find myself staring down the barrel of a pistol without a safety, in the form of smooth thighs, arresting green eyes, and curves that could charm a sapling into a mighty oak.
But it turns out my old buddy's gone and thrown me another curveball: the nymph with the ass that won't quit? That's his eighteen-year-old little girl. She's running from something, but I'm not about to let anyone lay a finger on this green-eyed angel.
I'll put my life on the line to keep her safe, because that's what good Daddies do.
*****
Author's note: I've wanted to write a mountain-man romance for what feels like FOREVER! There's just something about a rugged, brooding loner with a big axe that makes you want to curl up by a roaring fire. Enter, Silas Walker! He's a little grumpy and a lot stubborn, but once this mountain Daddy gets his hands on his baby girl, he's never letting her go.
Please be aware that this book contains suspense elements and discussions of past physical abuse. But don't let that heavy stuff fool you, this romance is fast and filthy, with no cheating or cliffhangers, and features a guaranteed HEA!
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Excerpt
A gust of wind blows the playing cards off the table. Norah drops to her knees to collect the deck before it's lost. I join her, stuffing the cards in the box as I grab them.
"Cold front's moving in. I'll go split some wood." I hand her the box of cards and then run around back to fetch the axe. Beneath the awning off the garage sits a pile of logs protected from the element by a blue tarp.
I grab an armful of logs and take them to the chopping block. I bust through half a dozen before I feel like I'm being watched. When I turn, I find Norah standing there, watching me.
"Enjoying the show?" I grab a fresh log. She shivers as if shaking off a trance.
"I'll start bringing these in." She fills her arms with wood and then runs off, returning just as the first drop of rain hits the back of my neck. I break up the last log and help her gather the remaining pieces. We're halfway to the house when the sky opens up, dumping frigid water down on top of us.
"Better make a run for it," I yell.
We sprint toward the house. Norah reaches the porch before I do, dumping her pile on the porch with the first load so she can open the door. I rush inside, drop my wood by the fireplace, then hurry back to help her with the rest.
Thunder rumbles in the distance. My T-shirt clings to my chest and back, and my jeans feel like they've gained thirty pounds.
"It got so cold so fast." Norah rubs her arms. Even in the dim, gray light, I can make out the points of her nipples through her tank top. My cock perks up as I imagine fixing my mouth to her breast, tonguing her nipple through her shirt. I picture her without the shirt altogether. Soft, creamy skin. Round, juggly tits. Stiff nipples.
She catches me staring, and rather than cover herself, she folds her arms and shoves her breasts together. Forcing myself to look away is like telling a wolf not to stalk a rabbit, or a lion not to lick its chops.
Someday soon, Norah and I are going to sit down and discuss what to do about this thing between us. It's time to set some ground rules, like no more paper-thin tank tops.
"Go dry off," I tell her. "I'll start the fire."
She looks like she wants to say something, then purses her lips. As soon as I hear the bathroom door close, I let out a breath.
"Fuck..." This isn't good. I have to get myself under control before she comes back.
I stack the logs in the fireplace, tuck a crumpled piece of paper into the center, then light it with a match. The fire crackles to life as another rumble of thunder shakes the cabin. The storm will be on top of us in a few minutes.
I peel my wet shirt off and toss it in the washer along with my jeans. My boxers are damp, but I leave them on so I don't accidentally give Norah an eyeful on my way up to the loft. I'm about to head upstairs for dry clothes when I spot Norah standing by the fire, gripping a towel around herself that barely covers her ass.
She eyes me through strands of rain-soaked hair. I know she's naked under the towel, and I know all it would take to see her in all her glory is a swift flick of the wrist.
"Silas," she says. I don't move a muscle. She moves closer, her bare feet sinking into the rug with every step.
My muscles tense like they're gearing up for a fight.
She drops her towel, and my pulse jackknifes.
"I want you." She takes another step. I can't stop my gaze from drinking her in, and soon enough I'm drunk. The firelight flickers off her bare skin. She's even more beautiful than I imagined.
The boxers I'm wearing are a size too small. They don't stand a chance once my cock starts to swell. She glances down at my bulge and her lips drift apart. I catch the glint of her teeth and the tip of her soft, pink tongue as she wets her mouth.
"Norah, we talked about this. I'm too old for you."
"Actually, you've avoided talking about this. And you're the only one who thinks you're too old for me."
"Cold front's moving in. I'll go split some wood." I hand her the box of cards and then run around back to fetch the axe. Beneath the awning off the garage sits a pile of logs protected from the element by a blue tarp.
I grab an armful of logs and take them to the chopping block. I bust through half a dozen before I feel like I'm being watched. When I turn, I find Norah standing there, watching me.
"Enjoying the show?" I grab a fresh log. She shivers as if shaking off a trance.
"I'll start bringing these in." She fills her arms with wood and then runs off, returning just as the first drop of rain hits the back of my neck. I break up the last log and help her gather the remaining pieces. We're halfway to the house when the sky opens up, dumping frigid water down on top of us.
"Better make a run for it," I yell.
We sprint toward the house. Norah reaches the porch before I do, dumping her pile on the porch with the first load so she can open the door. I rush inside, drop my wood by the fireplace, then hurry back to help her with the rest.
Thunder rumbles in the distance. My T-shirt clings to my chest and back, and my jeans feel like they've gained thirty pounds.
"It got so cold so fast." Norah rubs her arms. Even in the dim, gray light, I can make out the points of her nipples through her tank top. My cock perks up as I imagine fixing my mouth to her breast, tonguing her nipple through her shirt. I picture her without the shirt altogether. Soft, creamy skin. Round, juggly tits. Stiff nipples.
She catches me staring, and rather than cover herself, she folds her arms and shoves her breasts together. Forcing myself to look away is like telling a wolf not to stalk a rabbit, or a lion not to lick its chops.
Someday soon, Norah and I are going to sit down and discuss what to do about this thing between us. It's time to set some ground rules, like no more paper-thin tank tops.
"Go dry off," I tell her. "I'll start the fire."
She looks like she wants to say something, then purses her lips. As soon as I hear the bathroom door close, I let out a breath.
"Fuck..." This isn't good. I have to get myself under control before she comes back.
I stack the logs in the fireplace, tuck a crumpled piece of paper into the center, then light it with a match. The fire crackles to life as another rumble of thunder shakes the cabin. The storm will be on top of us in a few minutes.
I peel my wet shirt off and toss it in the washer along with my jeans. My boxers are damp, but I leave them on so I don't accidentally give Norah an eyeful on my way up to the loft. I'm about to head upstairs for dry clothes when I spot Norah standing by the fire, gripping a towel around herself that barely covers her ass.
She eyes me through strands of rain-soaked hair. I know she's naked under the towel, and I know all it would take to see her in all her glory is a swift flick of the wrist.
"Silas," she says. I don't move a muscle. She moves closer, her bare feet sinking into the rug with every step.
My muscles tense like they're gearing up for a fight.
She drops her towel, and my pulse jackknifes.
"I want you." She takes another step. I can't stop my gaze from drinking her in, and soon enough I'm drunk. The firelight flickers off her bare skin. She's even more beautiful than I imagined.
The boxers I'm wearing are a size too small. They don't stand a chance once my cock starts to swell. She glances down at my bulge and her lips drift apart. I catch the glint of her teeth and the tip of her soft, pink tongue as she wets her mouth.
"Norah, we talked about this. I'm too old for you."
"Actually, you've avoided talking about this. And you're the only one who thinks you're too old for me."
About the Author:
Margot Scott likes long nails and short, sexy reads, rainbow sprinkles on vanilla ice cream, and rainy days spent in bed with her furbabies. When she's not writing forbidden-love stories about bearded older men, you can find her browsing Pinterest for pictures of pink things.
This is a giveaway for a $10 Amazon gift card + an ecopy of Down Under (1 winner, US only)
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