Sweet Queen

  Sweet Queen

  Luna Maye

  Copyright © 2020 by Luna Maye

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Beta Read by Shalini Gopal:

  www.digitalreadslibrary.com.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Author’s Note

  Queen of Kings Excerpt

  About the Author

  1

  Shelli

  Underdressed and overexerted, Shelli Sutton hauled ass down a bumpy two-track dirt road in her extra-long tank of an SUV. In her last six years running the most successful catering company in the Chama valley, she had never, ever been this behind schedule. Of course, it was a call from the resort asking her to serve lunch in less than 30 minutes that had her whipping a U-turn and leaving her lake day plans with the rest of the Hellacious Honeys MC in the dust.

  A bikini, baby tee and high-waisted jean shorts weren’t her typical catering company attire — she preferred to wear a pristine white chef’s coat when she made normal deliveries. But, the Chama Hunting & Leisure Resort was one of her top clients. When the resort manager asked her to prepare a lunch spread for a group of guides returning from a month-long scouting trip in the backcountry, she couldn’t turn down his desperate pleas or let the group go hungry after so long without a full hot meal.

  She stopped by her kitchen and bakery in town next door to Mina and Isabel’s shops, loading up her car with extra-large fresh baked buns, green chili pulled pork, twice baked potatoes, potato salad, baked beans, coleslaw, fruit salad, six different kinds of homemade pies and cookies — basically all the food she’d prepared for the club’s dinner.

  The ladies would have to make do with pizza tonight. She was only on tap to be feeding ten men, but every time she made a meal exclusively for the guides, she seemed to underestimate — those guys could really pack it in. Satisfied with her load, she secured the tubs of food, closed the back hatch and stepped on it all the way to the resort.

  In the early years of her arrival in the Chama Valley with Mina, Shelli wouldn’t have taken a delivery alone and she definitely wouldn’t be seen in town or at the hunting lodge in the skin barring outfit she sported today. Years spent with an outlaw motorcycle club in Albuquerque left her with mountains of physical and emotional scarring.

  The physical scars were easier to overcome than she thought, with Mina, the president of HHMC and her best friend, naming the club to coincide with the two H brands burned into the back of her neck and Isabel, the Honeys’ resident tattoo artist, finishing up a full sleeve on her right arm last summer. Winding vines hid the majority of her deep scratches, while a vivid combination of hibiscus flowers and cacti camouflaged most of the cigarette burns. Now she bared her arms proudly and with her club sister’s support to thank — she would be a hollow shell of a person without the saving grace of her club.

  Emotional scarring was a different matter entirely. After six long years, she still had not mustered up the nerve to let a man within a foot of her, much less touch her intimately. Every time she considered seeking someone out, it felt too forced and while she was comfortable in close proximity with Mina’s husband, Victor, and Mattie and Moises, the twenty-something twins who’d become fixtures around the club, she never felt even a hint of interest in anyone sexually.

  It wouldn’t be much of an issue, but she was already thirty-seven and not getting any younger. Despite her past, she still longed to be a wife and mother, if anyone could look beyond her outward appearance and past baggage to build a life with her here.

  As Shelli pulled up to the back entrance of the resort kitchen, the frantic front desk manager met her outside, flying out the door in a wild frenzy before she even got her car parked.

  “Thank you so much Shelli, I’m going to owe you big time for this one. I can’t believe I forgot they were coming in today, I’ve had it on my calendar for a month!”

  “It’s not a problem Steve, I had enough in the walk-in at my shop to make a decent meal for these guys. Do you want me to help you set it inside for Lisa to serve?”

  “W-well, that’s actually another favor I want to ask of you,” Steve stuttered, twisting his hands in a nervous gesture she was all too familiar with. The man was constantly caught up in a tizzy. “You see, I gave Lisa the day off. We haven’t set up for river season yet and with the guides coming back in, the resort is mostly empty. I was hoping… maybe you could do the serving?”

  Shelli pressed a hand to her forehead, trying to calm her racing nerves. She was perpetually a ‘yes’ person, rarely able to say no to anyone, especially in a work setting. She breathed deeply, closing and then opening her eyes to look over at Steve, ready to let him down as gently as possible.

  “I wouldn’t mind helping you out, but I absolutely am not dressed appropriately to do a lunch service.” The resort targeted hunters, but it also catered to a number of more uppity clientele, mostly artists following Georgia O’ Keefe’s work in the valley and so the accommodations were done in a sophisticated southwestern style to suite both groups. It was definitely not a bikini and flip-flops establishment, even with so few guests present.

  “That’s not a problem at all. We’re feeding these guys in the informal gathering room, and it’s a relaxed, family style lunch. They’ve been out in the woods so long, they aren’t expecting anything fancy. Just put out the dishes, let them serve themselves, and check in occasionally to make sure they don’t need refills. I’ll add double your normal serving fee to the bill.”

  Shellie reluctantly agreed and pushed her hair back behind her ears. She could get through this, as long as they behaved like gentlemen and she didn’t have to serve them individually, it would definitely be doable. Hopefully, no one would even notice her.

  Yeah right, like her dark auburn hair and vibrantly tattooed body were going to be ignored by a bunch of formerly isolated mountain men. She snorted a bit at that, but hey, at least the money would be good. Promising herself a fresh manicure with some of the extra she would make here today, she steeled her spine and set to work.

  She found a hair clip in her cup holder and threw her hair up in a messy twist on the back of her head. A braid plain and simple braid normally kept her hair out of her face and out of people’s food for serving, but she didn’t have a tie today so this would have to do. As she continued unloading her car and reheating the food in the massive commercial kitchen at the resort, she put in some ear buds and lost herself in upbeat pop music and the little thrill of pleasure she got from being needed and serving others.

  When everything was ready, she loaded up her first platters of food and pushed through the swinging doors into the gathering room, self-consciously avoiding looking at any of the men standing a
round talking and waiting for lunch. She busied herself laying out plates and silverware for a buffet style serving, squatting down to check the reserves beneath the table, leaning over to check the heat on the chafing dishes. When she straightened and turned her back to press through the door into the kitchen, her gaze came up and found twenty hungry eyes, all trained on her, prey on display.

  2

  Cal

  Absolutely ravenous, Devon Callahan dragged his weary, element-battered body up the steep side of the ravine closest to the resort. With 40 pounds of gear on his back, he dug his calves in deep to the shifting rock outcropping and tried to conjure up visions of the meal that awaited him at the lodge. Lugging his pack around had been much less of a chore when he started as a backcountry guide in his early 20s. At 40, his body required more calories than ever to maintain muscle mass and stamina, calories that were in short supply after a month living off the land.

  Despite its hardships, the yearly, late spring trip deep into the Chama wilderness was by far his favorite. All of the guides broke up the terrain into a grid-like pattern, with each one covering territory solo to check on local elk and mule deer populations. He had seen even more healthy elk calves than normal this year, watching them toddle about fresh in their spots. He treasured the month spent with all of the creatures he monitored in “his” sector. The seasonal fall hunting trips he guided and the summer river season, when the lodge provided guided white water rafting trips, were both exciting aspects of his job, but the solo trips fulfilled his need for the solitude of the woods.

  Cal breathed a deep sigh of relief as he approached the front steps of the lodge, lowering his pack to the intricately tiled floor in the lobby and stretching out his back. His trekking poles clattered loudly to the ground, and he resisted the urge to drop to a squat on the floor to relieve his aching muscles.

  “Devon, it’s good to have you back. Lunch is running a little late so you have plenty of time to unpack or… shower, before you come back for the meal. We’ll meet in the informal gathering room in about 30 minutes.” Steve scurried back behind the large, hewn oak front desk after he was finished destroying Cal’s immediate dreams of a hot meal. He refused the urge to remind the man that no one else here called him Devon; it was a futile effort at this point.

  While he would definitely prioritize food over hygiene, given the choice, his skin did feel almost leathery with dirt and sweat caked on and dried by the sun. He figured his fellow guides would also appreciate a little grooming on his part, especially if Steve’s scrunched nose at his proximity was any indicator.

  He shrugged his pack on for the last time for at least a week, and made his way to the medium sized cabin he shared with two other guides when they were home at the lodge. Neither of his roommates was around when he came in, but their gear had been left neatly by the door in the laundry room to be unpacked later. He figured they already washed up and made their way back to the lodge.

  When Cal walked heavily into the bathroom and got a look in the mirror for the first time in a month, he appeared much unchanged from when he left. He’d given up shortly cropped hair and a closely shaved jaw long ago, choosing to stick to a shaggier, wavy style that wouldn’t grow out as quickly in the woods. His beard had a bit of a salt and pepper effect now, and he had a smidgen of grey around the temples of his sun-streaked hair, but his face was still mostly smooth and tan, his muscles lanky and defined, especially now when food had been in short supply toward the end of his trip.

  He quickly stripped off his shirt and trimmed his beard up before undressing the rest of the way and stepping into the blessedly hot water the shower provided. He enjoyed being out in the wilderness, but there was something about the luxury of a hot shower and thick, dry towels that he always missed while he was away. He didn’t dawdle under the spray, choosing a brusque, efficient wash and then quickly drying before going in search of the few clothes he left behind. He pulled on a sportsman’s brand t-shirt and a pair of cargo pants with some sneakers. He needed to go without his trusty hiking boots for a few days thanks to some blisters he’d developed at the end of the trail.

  As he walked down the path, closer to the main lodge, a large SUV came screaming up behind him, whipping around to the kitchen door before a frantic, heavily decorated and scantily clad woman bailed out of the driver’s seat. He watched as Steve confessed his mistake and the stress on the woman’s face at having to serve ten rough and rowdy guides angered him. She shouldn’t have to cater to them when it was someone else’s mistake, especially not when the doofus was sending her in there like some succulent virgin sacrifice among the natives.

  She would be eaten alive by the men in that getup — her curves were poorly disguised by the tight jean shorts, the cheeks of her ass peeking out the bottom hem and her too-small top highlighted her trim, narrow waist and flat belly. She had a body made for sin and yet here Steve was saying everything was just “fine.”

  The woman, Shelli, if he’d heard correctly, took a deep breath and got back to work after the whirlwind manager spun off to other things, but Cal remained watching over her, something protective immediately swelling up inside him. She looked nothing like his typical woman, with her intricate tattoos, piercings, and questionable business attire, but there was something soft about her underneath all the metal and war paint, something that made his heart kick to life deep in his chest.

  Her hair softly escaped her updo in tendrils down her back and the stalwart concentration on her pretty, pert face filled him with admiration.

  When it looked like she was well on her way to having lunch ready, he moved from where he stood watching to the side doors of the gathering room. Walking inside, he deliberately chose a seat next to the serving stations. Not that he thought there would be any real threats to be worried about — but he knew most of the younger guys were a little hyped up after coming down the mountain. They always behaved like barely contained monkeys whenever an eligible woman was around, much less one as pretty as Shelli. He leaned back in his chair slightly, to see if he could see inside the kitchen from where he sat.

  Just to check on her, he wasn’t interested in the slightest.

  Yeah, he’d just keep telling himself that.

  3

  Shelli

  If she just kept telling herself the wolf pack of starving men on the other side of the swinging door were in fact just hungry little puppies, then maybe she could get through the next hour. Shelli carefully plated up deserts, slicing pies and stacking cookies so she could start taking the final course out soon, before pausing to pick up a pitcher and do a quick round of refills.

  Most of the guides were in their early to mid-twenties and seemed harmless enough, at least going silent and stunned as she served them, at most “accidentally” grazing her leg or arm as she leaned over to pour. When one young buck got a little too into her personal space, she heard a low, almost growl from near the serving station and the young man jumped back as if burned.

  Her eyes rose to the man across the room, the one who stood out in her mind from the beginning. Instead of being lurid or lecherous, his heated stare felt attentive, possessive, as his gaze followed her path around the room. He was older than the rest of the guides, and if she were guessing correctly, slightly older than her, too. He carried a mature, competent air about him that made her feel comfortable and calm.

  Not to mention how ungodly hot his rugged physical appearance was. It had been years since Shelli allowed herself to admire the physical beauty of the male form, but Mr. Mountain Man over there was a prime specimen to jumpstart her interest. His slightly curly, longish sandy brown hair curled around his ears to graze his jawline, and his closely cropped beard only highlighted the burnished amber color of his warm eyes. The peppery gray at his temples and the slight wrinkles bracketing the corners of his eyes made him even sexier to her. His simple attire and rugged appearance eased her traumatized mind; he was so wholly unlike the men who once stalked her nightmares. His kind eyes and r
elaxed yet commanding posture instantly caught her attention.

  As she crossed the room to fill his cup, his gaze warmed her from within, hardening her nipples in her thin bikini top and giving her the urge to shift uncomfortably from foot to foot as she refilled his water. She looked up at his commanding gaze, their eyes meeting for the first time and in almost the exact same moment, one of the more enthusiastic young guides got a bite of the first piece of pie.

  “Oh my god, it’s so good. Uh. Ummmm. I think I just had an orgasm in my mouth. A mouthgasm? Yep. Holy shit! This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

  Shelli blushed, the young man’s surprisingly realistic sounds causing her to picture all the other ways an orgasm could happen with a mouth — specifically the ones too close to her breasts for comfort, bracketed by plump, smooth lips and a salt-and-pepper beard. For the first time in six long years, she felt the trailing drip of moisture trailing hotly down her center. Her eyes stayed connected to the older guide’s, dilating slightly and when his gaze drifted lower, she knew he must be taking in the telltale signs of her heightened state. Her chest was well endowed and the soft bikini top she was wearing did little to shield her from his view.

  “Do you need anything else?” she whispered, her voice coming out much more breathy than she remembered. Feeling the heat radiating off of him in their close proximity was scrambling her already-addled brain. She cleared it and tried again. “I have more desserts back in the kitchen, so let me know if you want something special.”