His Make-Believe Bride

By Frankie Love

I may be an Alaskan fisherman, but I didn't expect my catch of the day to be Alice. 
When I pull her from the water and see her wet clothes clinging to all the right places, I want to strip her of them and make her mine.
By the time she's below deck, naked in my bed— I learn that she's more than a virgin. 
She's the woman of my dreams. 
But I haven't told her everything about me. 
My secrets will push her away.
And I don't want that—we're playing a game where she's my make-believe bride ... and I can't lose her before I turn this into something real.
Dearest You, 
Have you been looking for your mountain man this summer?I found him! And this fisherman has a pole that's ready. Who want's to hold his rod? ;) #wowthatsabigone #masterbaiter #wiggleyourworm
AIDEN & ALICE FOREVER! 
Hope you love it!!
xo, frankie

• Language: English
• Publisher: Frankie Love
• Release date: Oct 8, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201062620

Frankie Love

Frankie Love writes filthy-sweet stories about bad boys and mountain men. As a thirty-something mom who is ridiculously in love with her own bearded hottie, she believes in love-at-first-sight and happily-ever-afters. She also believes in the power of a quickie. Get ready to fall in love … you deserve it! **Frankie also writes under the name Charlie Hart!

Book preview

Chapter One

Imake no apologies for the kind of man I am.

And why the hell should I?

I was born and raised in God’s country. Not everyone understands what it means to be an Alaskan mountain man, but I sure as fuck would expect any woman who married me to get the concept.

Of course, when Sheila fooled me into thinking she was my kind of woman, I figured she understood that I lived and breathed the wild mountain air, the ice-cold ocean, the skies so blue you could get swallowed up in them.

But all she was after was a ring on her finger. After a weekend of knowing one another I ended up in Vegas, so fucking far from home I feared I would never get back where I belonged.

I learned from that mistake. A mistake like that? I sure as hell will never make it again.

Out in my fishing boat this summer morning, trolling for King salmon in the open waters, I push away the uncomfortable memories of the past and try to clear my head––focus on the good things in my life. Like my family who has my back, this town that feels like home, and my mutt Chum who’s barking up a shit storm below deck.

I hear ya, buddy, I say, setting down my thermos of coffee and opening the below deck cabin door. You sure you wanna come up? The water is choppy this morning. I grab a doggy biscuit laced with an herbal motion sickness remedy. A lady in town bakes them for Chum, and they seem to help somewhat.

Tossing it to him, he follows me up, wagging his tail, ready for the day.

I leave him below deck as much as possible because watching him get nauseous is painful. Chum’s the only dog I’ve ever known who gets seasick, and he doesn’t seem to have his sea-legs yet. Through four years out here with me, I’d thought he’d have grown them by now.

Still, he insists on staying by my side. This dog has been with me through thick and thin. The fact that one encounter with Sheila caused him to go into beast mode on her should have been red flag enough. He tossed her boots overboard, ripped her purses to shreds, and insisted on sleeping between her and me on the bed. Chum may not be able to hold his own on the open water, but he’s good at looking out for me.

The marriage to Sheila didn’t last long anyways, and Chum called it straight away. Still, that woman is hell-bent on making sure she gets as much money from me as possible before she agrees to sign on the dotted line.

We’ve been in divorce court for two fucking years, and I’m over it. She cheated on me. Hell, she was sleeping with anyone who had deep pockets before we eloped, she had no intention of stopping after.

It’s bullshit, that’s what it is. I was faithful to her, but all that’s done now. Our sham of a marriage is nothing more than a memory I’d like to forget so long as our lawyers come to an agreement.

And I’ll fight her tooth and nail before I give her any more money than necessary. I’m sure as hell not gonna hand my family’s fortune over without a fight to a woman who’s already planning on buying a condo in Maui.

Shit, I hate getting bent out of shape over Sheila. I check my downrigger where it’s set in the icy water and am pleased to see Chum and I have caught some salmon.

This time of year I live on my boat, I go out on week-long fishing trips, and when I’m home, I spend my days with my lines in the water. My nights are spent at the bar at the end of the marina, before I come back here, below deck, and sleep it off.

Sleep alone, mostly. Damn, it’s been a fucking long time since I wet my whistle. And sitting out here, all by myself, I have plenty of time fantasizing about my dream woman. The silver lining to the Sheila mistake is that I learned what I really want in a partner--and what I sure as hell don’t.

And damn, the woman I want... I’m about ready to lose my load just thinking about her.

Not that she exists. If she does, I sure as hell haven’t met her yet. And how could I in a fishing town like this?

My girl, she’d be tender and innocent. Not a jaded bitch who’s looking for something only found in a bank account.

Hell, if I ever commit to a woman again, she’s gonna be the exact opposite of my ex.

Not that I can find a girl like that here. The local ladies are tough as nails, and I guess you need to be that way if you live out here in the wild. But when I think about my dream woman--the kind of woman who really gets me hard, she isn’t like the girls I grew up with.

I picture myself with the woman who speaks softly, who fits in my arms, who needs a real man to take care of her--and who doesn’t judge a person on his 401k.

I shake my head, checking out the size of the King salmon. Chum is right by my side, his tongue hanging out––the smell of the morning catch is apparently making him feel better.

You hungry? He yips at me, and I grab some chum from a bucket and fill his dish. He goes to town on the scraps and I pat his back, telling him how well we’ve done with our morning catch.

I’m guessing salmon is the only thing I’m gonna be catching anytime soon so long as I stay up here in Alaska. I wonder, like I so often do, if it’s about time I cast my net a little wider.

Ready to call it a morning, I turn my rig around and head toward the cannery to drop off my catch. As I drive my boat toward the pier, I see Max, an old friend from town wave at me from his boat. I nod my head at him; glad he was able to get out on the water today. I know he was sick the last few weeks, and when a fisherman isn’t on his boat--he doesn’t get paid.

Pulling up at the pier, Thomas greets me with a hearty, Top of the morning. How an old Irishman made it to middle-of-nowhere Alaska is beyond me, but his toothy grin never fails to make me smile. Which is a fucking miracle considering my reputation for being stoic and reserved.

After he’s gutted and weighed my fish, he asks how I’m holding up. He seems to think the fact that I’m flying solo is a bad thing.

You need a wife, someone to keep you warm at night. Alaska’s too lonely to fare without a woman by your side.

I give him a sidelong glance, having heard this all before. My family founded this town, and everyone knows my name. Seem to think they can give me their opinions too.

Doing fine, thanks though, Thomas. Chum is pretty good at keeping me company.

Thomas claps me on the back. Oh, son, you just haven’t found the right woman. Maybe you need to look a little farther. I’ve heard about matchmakers sending mail order brides to remote areas in Alaska.

I spend most of my time on this boat. Not sure it’s big enough for two people.

And if my marriage to Sheila has taught me anything, it’s that I don’t really have the personality to go through the bullshit of online dating, or even meeting with the matchmaker. Let’s just say, I’m not exactly oozing charm. But I won’t say all that to Thomas. He means well.

But you have that gorgeous cabin out on the mountain. My wife Leanna would faint if I had something like that for her.

I raise an eyebrow, laughing as the morning sun shines down on us. But you’re a nice guy, Thomas. Me? Not so much.

I’m not the guy you take home to meet your daddy, I’ve got a beard so fierce that it would make most guys’ dicks limp with shame, and eyes that have been called smoldering a time or twenty. I don’t put on a damn show, I got nothing to prove, and my eyes tell you exactly what I mean.

Thomas, though, just shakes his head and laughs. All us fisherman, we’re hard to reel in when we were young. Age will slow you down a bit, and a good woman will do her part in helping with that.

I tell him I’ll see him in a week and a half-- I’m headed out on a ten-day fishing trip tomorrow--and board my boat.

Driving my boat back to the marina to find some breakfast, I pull my beanie down over my ears. It’s cold, even though it’s June. We’re on the coast, and the water always