Property Of The Mountain Man - Gemma Weir


I’ve never put a warning at the start of a book before, but this time I feel like I need to, so here goes.

This book contains an over the top, jealous, unreasonable, possessive asshole.

If you consider unapologetic alphaholes unacceptable, or feel their behavior is in someway abusive, then this isn’t the book for you.

If, however, like me you love a guy who is so obsessively in love with his girl that he will snarl, demand, punish, and fuck her until she gives herself to him completely, then read on and welcome to the world of my Montana Mountain Men.



“Welcome to Wake Up and Go Go, what can I get you?” I ask, trying to hide the weariness from my voice.

“Cappuccino to go, extra shot, extra foam,” the guy says absentmindedly as he taps at the screen of his cell.

I busy myself making his drink, blinking hard and forcing my eyes open wider as I try to keep myself awake. My shift should have ended at three today, but my asshole boss didn’t bother to turn up, so here I am still serving coffee nearly fourteen hours after I got here.

I wouldn’t mind if this was the first time I’d ever had to work more hours than what was on my schedule, but it’s not. In fact, it’s not even the first time this week, and it’s only Wednesday. Owen, my boss and the owner’s son, always puts me on the early shift so he doesn’t have to get up and open the shop at six am, but then he conveniently forgets that he’s supposed to be here to take over from me in the afternoons too.

“Two fifty please,” I say, yawning as I hand the coffee over the counter to the customer and take the five-dollar bill he’s holding out for me.

“Keep the change,” he says not bothering to look at me as he turns to leave, his cup to his lips before he even gets out the door.

“Thank you,” I call after him as the door swings shut.

Sighing, I grab a cloth and make my way over to a newly vacated table, grabbing the empty cups and wiping the table clean. I make my way back behind the counter, drop the cloth into the small sink beneath it, and carry the cups to the huge dishwasher in the back. Stacking the mugs in the plastic tray, I pull the clean load from the steamy dishwasher and swap it for the tray of dirty, sliding the clean tray into the rack to dry.

The bell on the front door dings. “I’ll be right with you,” I call, quickly washing my hands and drying them on a towel as I rush back to the front of the store. “Welcome to Wake Up and Go Go, what can I get you?” I ask without looking up.

“Large black coffee, please, and a bear claw if you have one,” a gruff, familiar voice says.

Snapping my head up, I’m met with the sight of Beau Barnett. There’s perfect and then there’s Beau; at well over six-feet tall, he towers over my diminutive five-feet one inches. His hair and beard are dark brown, his skin tan from working outside all day. His arms are muscled and huge, and I have to hold in the desperate sigh that always fights to escape whenever I’m near him. I can imagine myself in his arms, held in his warm, sexy embrace. I can picture what it feels like to be beneath him, surrounded by his massive body, pinned down, completely at his mercy. In fact, that’s one of my recurring dreams.

Only he has no idea who I am, none at all, which is kind of ridiculous given how small the town we live in is and the fact that I’ve lived in the house next door to his family home my entire life.

He clears his throat and I jump into action. Spinning away from him, I place a mug under the expresso machine, twisting the grinds valve free and emptying it before refilling it and setting the machine to brew.

While it hisses and whistles, I place the last bear claw, the one I’ve hidden all day just in case he came in, onto a plate and slide it onto the counter, then I switch off the machine and place the mug of freshly brewed coffee next to the pastry.

“That’s five fifty, please,” I tell him, bracing myself as I lift my eyes and look up into his glorious face. Beau has