Claimed by 3 Mountain Men (Silver Ridge Mountain Men)

3. Jt

3

JT

G od. She has a mouth on her.

I step into the shower, the hot water pounding against my skin, and let out a deep sigh, hoping to lose some of the tension rising through me.

She had been just the distraction I needed. Being stuck on that flight for hours, thinking about what I’m going to say to my brothers after losing Dad.

Her wide, curious eyes had seemed to see right through me. I hadn't expected to feel this... connection. And then her reaction when she realized who I was. Jack Truitt. The name apparently carried more weight than I remembered. I had forgotten what it was like to have everyone know your name.

I run a hand through my hair, the water cascading over my fingers, and shake my head.

Mac, with her long raven-black hair that she had hastily pulled into a messy bun, a few stray strands framing her face. The high cheekbones and deep-set, dark eyes, a striking combination that gave her an almost ethereal look.

Plus, that body.

Fuck.

I close my eyes, the image of her in those tight hiking pants seared into my memory. The way her ass swayed with every step she took. A growl escapes my lips, and I bite back a curse.

This is a bad idea. A very, very bad idea.

I have to deal with my family; Dad’s death and my brothers. But I can’t seem to calm the hell down, and all because of a plane ride next to her .

My cock twitches, reminding me that my dick apparently hadn’t gotten the memo about the whole 'grieving' thing.

But damn, those eyes.

I want to see them roll backward as I slide my hard cock into her. Feel her cum into my mouth as I taste every inch of her pretty little pussy.

She should be in my bed, her long, smooth legs wrapped around me as she moans my name and bites her lower lip. Her nipples hardening as I kiss my way down her neck. The image is so vivid I can almost feel the heat between her legs as I bury my face in her scent and inhale.

Her eyes. Her figure. That ass. I can almost feel it in my hands, sliding against my palms.

A groan escapes my mouth as my hand clenches into a fist, moving it up and down on my shaft slowly in time with the pulsating jet of water hitting the back of my neck. Mac. I need to forget about her. She's trouble, a distraction I don't have time for right now.

I should’ve just tried to fuck her on the airplane.

Taken her in that tiny bathroom, pressed against the wall.

Mac has a mouth on her. She does indeed. Those plump pink lips, the color of raspberry sorbet. They’d feel good wrapped around my cock.

I can see it now. Her on her knees, my cock deep in her throat, when suddenly?—

“JT?”

I practically jump out of my skin as the rumbling voice cuts through my thoughts.

“Jesus Christ, Ben!”

“I didn’t know you were home already.”

My hand immediately covers my rock hard erection and I keep my back to him. Thankful that the steam of the shower on the glass door blocks out most of the view.

“Everything alright?” Ben asks.

“Fine, fine. Just…lost in thought.” I glance back over at him.

“You know, I keep telling you, you shouldn’t bottle it all up bro.”

I grunt and step out of the shower, quickly grabbing a towel. “Yeah, well, I don’t have the luxury of time, do I?”

Ben sighs, leaning against the doorway. “He’d want you to take care of yourself, you know that.”

“The only thing Dad cared about was taking care of the business and his wealth. That’s it.”

“JT…” Ben’s voice trails off, he looks as tired as I feel. His sandy blond hair, usually pulled back in a loose ponytail, hangs around his face in damp strands. Dark circles under his hazel blue eyes makes his usually warm gaze look haunted. He’s a big guy, almost as tall as me, but not quite.

I shoulder past him, wrapping the towel around my waist.

“You know it’s true.”

Ben’s hand catches my arm, stopping me. “JT, come on. He might’ve been tough on us, but he wanted what was best for the family. For us.”

I shake my head, my jaw clenched. “What’s best for the family or what’s best for the business?”

He lets go of my arm, running a hand through his hair. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference. But you know he loved us in his own way.”

“He left us with a mountain of a mess. Hundreds of files, loose paper trails. I can’t believe the bastard never thought to hire an accountant.”

“Yeah, well, we’re gonna have to deal with it now.”

I rub at my face, trying to will the thoughts away. “I just want to get the hell out of here and back to San Francisco.”

I sit in the worn leather chair, facing Dad’s mahogany desk. The walls are lined with hunting trophies, the lifeless glass eyes of all the animals stare down at me. They used to frighten me when I was a kid, when Dad would drag us in here to lecture us on some bullshit.

He hasn’t changed a single thing about this place.

“Any luck finding the will?” Ben asks, his voice tinged with fatigue and frustration as he walks into the office.

“Yeah,” I reply, holding up a thick, yellowed envelope. “Found it in his safe. Along with a bunch of other crap.”

I tear open the envelope and pull out the will, spreading the pages across the desk. Ben moves to my side, peering over my shoulder.

“It’s like deciphering ancient hieroglyphics,” I mutter, scanning the dense legal jargon. “But from what I can gather, he left the business to us equally. No surprises there.”

Ben snorts. “He always said we’d have to figure it out together.”

“Right,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Because we’ve been doing such a stellar job of that lately.”

We fall into a tense silence, the only sound the rustling of papers and the occasional creak of the old leather chair as I shift my weight. I glance around the room, my eyes landing on a framed photo of Dad in his prime, standing proudly in front of a pile of freshly timber. He looks strong and invincible, like a king.

The door creaks open again, and Hank strides in.

Hank is the perfect blend of Ben and me. At six foot three, he’s not as towering as Ben, but his frame is lean and sinewy, covered in tattoos.

His hair is jet black, thick and unruly, often falling into his dark blue eyes, which are sharp and penetrating. He’s got the high cheekbones that run in our family and a rugged complexion with a few faint freckles from our mother.

“Well, look who finally decided to show up,” Hank says, plopping down on the chair across from the desk. It creaks loudly as he leans back, sizing me up.

I look up from the desk, taken aback by his sudden entrance. “Nice to see you too, Hank.”

“Don’t give me that crap,” he snaps, stepping closer. “You think you can just waltz back in here after being gone for so long?”

“Hank, calm down,” Ben says, trying to diffuse the situation.

“No, Ben,” Hank says, his gaze never leaving mine. “I want to know what JT thinks he’s doing here. Dad’s dead, and now you decide to show up?”

“I’m here to help sort things out,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “I know things have been rough.”

“Rough?” Hank laughs bitterly. “You have no idea. Dad’s been killing himself trying to keep the business running, so have we. Where were you?”

“Living my own life.”

Hank’s eyes flash with anger.

“Dad wouldn’t have had to push himself so hard if you’d been here.”

“I know,” I say quietly, the weight of his words slamming into me. “I should have been here. I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t have to hold him still while he bled out on us. Sorry doesn’t change anything,” Hank spits out, his voice hard and unyielding. “Dad’s gone. And now we’re left to pick up the pieces.”

“We’re going to figure this out,” Ben interjects. “Together. We need to keep the business running and find a way to move forward.”

“That’s the thing. I’m worried about the way Dad was operating things,” I say, the concern I’ve been holding back spilling out. “There seems to be a lot of questionable decisions. I think we should bring in a lawyer to help us sort through this.”

“What do you mean by that?” Hank asks, watching me.

“I don’t trust these records.”

“You think Dad was doing something illegal?” Hank asks, his voice raised.

“No, I didn’t say that” I raise my hands in a placating gesture. “I just think we need to make sure everything is in order before we take over the reins of the company.”

I gesture to the piles of financial documents. “It doesn’t add up. And trust me, I know a thing or two about shady business dealings.”

Hank's jaw clenches, but before he can respond, Ben says, "JT may be right. We should get a professional in here.”

“Jesus Christ,” Hank runs a hand through his hair, cursing under his breath. “I’ll call one of the attorneys Dad used in Denver, see if they can come out here and help us sort through this mess,” he mutters begrudgingly. “But first, I’m going into town. I need a damn cold beer.”

“Then let’s grab a beer.”

“All of us?” Hank asks.

“Shit. Why not? The Silver Spur Salon is still open past ten, right?” I reach for the truck keys sitting on the desk. “Come on.”