So Wright: The Wrights

by Jordan, Skye

  “Or,” he added, “I guess heroine would be more accurate.”

  “As a woman, it’s my duty to spare my comrades-in-arms the irritation of guys like Cody.” Miranda sauntered toward him. “And, because I’ve known Cody since high school, I know his behavior deteriorates as his bar tab escalates.”

  His brows lifted. “Since high school, huh?”

  “He purposely burned me in chemistry and nearly took off a few of my fingers in woodshop.” She gave a shrug and smiled deeper at the memory. “But I evened up the score in welding class.”

  Mystery dropped his head back and laughed. The deep, rich sound of it wrapped around her stomach like a swarm of butterflies.

  At his table, Miranda crossed her arms and rested her shoulder against the wall. “You’ve got my coworkers guessing.”

  “About?”

  “Your profession, where you’re from, what you’re working on.” She glanced at the paperwork on the table. She saw lots of columns with numbers and notes. “I have to admit this is a strange choice as an office away from the office.”

  “When there are three boys under the age of four at home, this is serene.” He immediately added, “Nephews, not sons, in case you were wondering.”

  “I wasn’t,” she lied.

  His grin deepened, drilling a dimple into his left cheek and brightening his eyes. Miranda was glad she was supported by a wall.

  “What’s your guess?” he asked. “About my profession, where I’m from, what I’m working on?”

  “I’m not the bettin’ kind.”

  “Humor me.”

  “Not in my job description. But…” Miranda drew out the last word and pushed off the wall, slowly rounding his table. And while she surveyed him, he returned the gesture. The direct, appraising heat of his gaze made her whole body warm.

  He was trim, with the unmistakable definition of muscle pressed against a crisp white button-down. Open at the throat, rolled up at the sleeves. His black slacks were fitted. His dress shoes shiny.

  “Northerner, definitely, but I hear a faint lilt. You can take the boy out of the South, but not the South out of the boy.”

  “Amen.”

  The way he let his accent deepen with the Southernism made her laugh. “You’re a little slick for DC, but I bet you fit right into the Manhattan scene.”

  He sat back, openly smiling. “Well done. What else?”

  “Miranda,” Steve yelled over the noise. “Little help here.”

  “Sorry, handsome,” she told Mystery without acknowledging her coworker. “I don’t have time for guessing games tonight.”

  “Miranda,” he said her name, slowly, thoughtful, trying it out in a way that told her he liked it. “I’m Jack.”

  “Well, Jack”—she stepped back from his table—“it was nice to meet you.”

  “Do you ever get a break?” he asked before she turned. “I’d like to buy this hardworking bartender a drink.”

  Oh yeah. The chemistry was definitely bubbling. “Not on a night like tonight. You’ll just have to settle for one of the other women jonesing for your attention.”

  “I’d prefer to wait until last call.” His gaze flared with challenge. “Because I am a betting man, and I’m always willing to take a chance on the favorite.”

  3

  Despite Jack’s professed determination, he wasn’t sure he planned on sticking it out until last call. As interesting as Miranda was, his mood had been dampened by the forensic accountant’s report.

  The millions his father’s business partner had embezzled was clearly the main concern. But Jack had uncovered another insidious draw on the company’s resources. The supply costs on their current job, an office building on Nashville’s skyline, were way too high. It was possible that the cost of materials was inflated locally, but he doubted it.

  A more troubling and realistic problem was the possibility of theft. It wasn’t uncommon on construction jobs, but Pinnacle took steps to curb the loss with on-site surveillance, RFID tracking systems, and security guards. Unfortunately, those didn’t seem to be curbing things here. Someone was either ordering excess supplies and using them on projects outside Pinnacle or selling them on the side. There was also the possibility of a money laundering scheme lurking somewhere in the supply orders.

  The fact that the company’s expediter was Alex Fischer, the corrupt partner’s son, created an even darker level of concern. Tasked with both the flow of all building materials and the negotiation of prices for those materials, Alex held a great deal of power, both financially and managerially. An extroverted wheeler-dealer, Alex had proven himself perfect for the position. But in light of Bruce’s betrayal and the sky-high supply costs, Jack wondered if this apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree.

  He sat back and rubbed his eyes. Clearing his head of the company turmoil, he allowed the rowdy combination of music, laughter, and celebration around him to filter in. The familiarity of it settled him a little. As a college student, he’d spent his summer days drafting for a local architect and his nights in this very bar.

  He found Miranda spinning bottles and pouring drinks. Their gazes met in the mirror-lined wall holding liquor. She tossed him a sultry smile before returning to her work.

  His waitress stopped by the table. “Can I get you anything, hun?”

  She was pretty, blonde, and built. He had no doubt she raked in enough tips to rival a stripper and enough phone numbers to fill multiple little black books. But it was still Miranda who tugged at something inside him.

  “Miranda’s phone number?” he asked with a smile.

  The waitress laughed. “Good luck with that. She’s stubborn and rarely dates customers.”

  “I guess I’ll have to settle for water, then. Can you tell me if she has a boyfriend?”

  “She’s not the kind who wants anything tying her down,” she said as she moved to another table. “A free spirit for sure.”

  Miranda was openly watching him now, as if interested in his conversation with his waitress. Jack couldn’t pin down the reason he was so infatuated with her. Yes, she was unique and beautiful and strong. She was also a wickedly entertaining vision behind the bar, whipping around bottles and trays. But…she wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before.

  This whole chemistry thing was annoyingly elusive. Jack was a math and physics man. He liked the known, the stable, the dependable, the conventional. Dating before sex. One relationship at a time. Marriage, then kids. But when Miranda looked at him like that, as if she was already thinking of what he would do to her in bed, all conservatism flew out the window.

  Miranda’s attention returned to her work and reality seeped in for Jack. She lived in freaking Nashville. Not exactly around the corner from New York. And Jack couldn’t even make a relationship with a local woman work. Besides, she had guys hitting on her all night.

  He’d almost convinced himself to snuff this ridiculous fantasy before it burned him from the inside out. Then the band played Luke Bryan’s “Country Girl.” The crowd urged Miranda and the other female bartender out from behind the bar and into a quick-stepping country swing. The customers created a circle to clap and stomp and cheer while the women twirled each other around with effortless moves right in the middle of the saloon floor.

  This was clearly a thing. Regulars obviously knew they could coax the women into dancing if hounded enough. Either Miranda and her coworker were both excellent country dancers, or they’d practiced the show often enough to play out the high-energy moves effortlessly.

  Of course, he could have been distracted from a misstep by the sheer mouthwatering way she moved. She was long and lean. Her jeans hugged slim hips. Her simple steel-blue tank exposed tanned, toned arms and sleek shoulders. Her dark hair had fallen out of the clip and dropped past her shoulders, swinging as she moved.

  It all happened so fast, he hadn’t fully processed the sight before it was over. Way too soon.

  Jack was now cemented to his chair. Any thoughts of leavi
ng evaporated. All the reasons to end this before it began, gone. Even the sliver of a chance to experience that vitality on a more intimate level put everything else in his life on the back burner. At least for tonight. He was definitely taking his chances—however slim they might be—on getting closer to her. Even he deserved a break. And Miranda already felt like a long drink of cool water on a steaming hot day.

  Jack tucked all the business papers away long before last call and let himself indulge in a rare moment of escape, enjoying the simple pleasure of watching this woman who had so easily captivated him. By the time one of the male bartenders boomed “Last call,” Jack felt like he’d gotten to know a lot about her. And he liked what he’d learned.

  The lights rose. The drunk, die-hard partiers made their way to the exits. And staff started the cleanup process, clearing tables and restocking supplies.

  Miranda sauntered toward him, a smirk tipping her mouth, a rag swinging in one hand. She wiped down a few tables nearby. “You weren’t kidding. I thought you would have bailed a long time ago.”

  “I don’t imagine many men bail on you.”

  “You’d be wrong. I’ve had nothing but a lifetime of men bailing on me.”

  There was a story there, and despite his aversion to baggage, he would be interested in hearing this tale. Somehow, he was sure it would be as unique as the woman.

  When she reached his table, she swiped the rag across the surface, then gripped the edges and met his gaze directly. So directly, his entire body buzzed to life as if she infused him with energy.

  Her eyes narrowed. “What’s your story, Jack?”

  He lifted his brows. “That’s a big bite. Maybe you could break it down into nibbles for me.”

  She straightened, shrugged. “You know, what everyone’s been trying to figure out. Why you’re in town. What brought you into the bar. But what I’d really like to know is why you waited for me when you could have taken the offer of an easy lay from any one of a dozen women. I sent seven drinks to your table tonight. Seven. You didn’t accept one. That’s a record.”

  “I didn’t get one from you.” Something about the underlying message behind her words nagged at him. As did the assumption that all he wanted was an easy lay. Did he want to sleep with her? Hell, yes. He just didn’t care for the cheap way she’d phrased it. He also disliked the fact that he wasn’t in a position to get to know her better. “It’s amazing how much you can learn about a person from watching them work.”

  Her hip listed against the table. Her tank rode up an inch, teasing him with a split-second sliver of skin. “Oh, yeah? And what do you think you learned?”

  “You’ve got a hard-core work ethic. You’re a good friend. You enjoy pleasing others. You’re an extrovert, fun loving, high energy.” He paused and scanned her face. Her dark brown eyes. Long black lashes. Edible full lips. The way her hair fell in careless waves around a face. He could look at her for hours. “And you are so fucking beautiful.”

  He hadn’t meant to say that quite the way it came out, with a heavy hint of desperation, but when her smile deepened and a little of the suspicion faded from her eyes, he decided it had been worth the risk of embarrassment. Then, hallelujah, she slid into the chair across from him, propped her elbow on the table, and rested her chin in her hand.

  “What brought you to town?” she asked.

  “Family.” He didn’t want to get into the details of his father’s illness or his mother’s death and most definitely not the state of the company. But he really wanted to know more about her, and he felt his opportunity dwindling. “Are you up for a cup of coffee?”

  Confusion darted through her eyes. “Coffee?”

  “I’m sure we could find a café that’s open all night. We could sit and, you know, talk.”

  Her head tilted, and she laughed. A throaty sound that flared through his body like liquid fire. “Oh, handsome, if we go anywhere after this, it won’t be to a café for coffee.”

  Her candidness blasted heat through his body, making him shift in his chair.

  “That’s what this is about, right?” she said. “You didn’t stay here all night for the opportunity to chat in a café at two a.m.”

  “Is that a trick question? I’m not sure I could win with either answer.”

  She laughed. The light, carefree sound he’d heard from her during the night. One she used with friends, coworkers, and regular customers.

  “Or we could meet for dinner this week if you’re free,” he offered.

  “Dinner.” Her eyes danced with humor. “You don’t do this much, do you?”

  Dammit. He was blowing this. “Again, I don’t think I have a winning answer.”

  “You’re a little clean for my usual taste.” She tipped her head and scanned him, her eyes hot. “Are you good at getting dirty?”

  Images flashed in his head. Miranda on her knees, his hands tangled in her hair. His fingers dipping into her sweet heat. Sweat dripping off his jaw and sliding down the indention of her spine. “If dirty is what you like.”

  Slowly, a serious, intense quality came over her. The transition was mesmerizing and hinted at a depth to her character that he couldn’t begin to understand. “Are you married?”

  “No.” He’d known that question was coming. Everyone who didn’t know him asked. He was, after all, at the age when most men were married with a kid or two. “Not married.”

  “Girlfriend?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  She hesitated, thinking something over, then put her hand out. “Phone.”

  “What?”

  “Phone. Unlock it and let me see your messages.”

  He had nothing to hide, so he did.

  She scrolled through the names in the message list. “Krystall?”

  “With a K and two L’s, yes. My ex. Read it if you want. She broke up with me over text.”

  Miranda made a face. “Cowardly, bitchy thing to do.” She scrolled some more. “Jen?”

  “Sister.”

  “Felice?”

  “Secretary.”

  “Kelsey?”

  “A colleague at my firm.”

  Seemingly satisfied, she returned his phone. “What kind of firm?”

  “Architecture.” When she only lifted a brow, he added, “Mostly commercial. You know, shopping centers, office buildings.”

  “Huh. Really.” She seemed to see him with fresh eyes. “Yeah. I guess I could see that. Pretty cool.”

  That was the most cognizant response to his profession he’d had from a stranger in a while. “Sure you don’t want to get coffee?”

  “Can I see your driver’s license?”

  He pulled his wallet from his back pocket, wondering why he’d never heard of this kind of interchange among his friends who played the field.

  She studied his license. “Where are you staying, Jack Jonathan Taylor of Manhattan?”

  “The Fairlane.”

  “Ooo.” She shot him a sultry smile. “Fancy.”

  He laughed.

  “Here’s the deal,” she said. “I’m going to text a photo of your driver’s license and the name of your hotel to a very good friend of mine to let him know where I am. Are you cool with that?”

  “Him?”

  “He’s a friend. Call him the father I never had. It’s a safety thing.”

  “You’re going to tell the father you never had that you’re going to a stranger’s hotel room?”

  “Oh my God.” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t overthink it.”

  “You sure you don’t want to do dinner first?”

  She took a photo of his license and tapped out a quick text, all while saying, “I don’t date. No room for men in my life. It’s tonight or nothing.”

  That was disappointing. But was he really going to turn down a hot one-nighter with this woman?

  “Did you drive or walk?” she asked.

  “Walked.”

  She sent the text and handed him back his license. “Then we’ll take
a nice, slow stroll to the hotel, and if we don’t hit it off by the time we get there, I’ll head home. No big deal. Yeah?”

  God, this was weird. So…transactional. “I thought we’d already hit it off.”

  She stood and leaned over the table. The neck of her tank dipped, and the hint of ink teased his gaze. Miranda tipped his head back with a knuckle under his chin. She eased close. Her lips parted. Instead of kissing him, she ran the tip of her nose down his. The move made his breath catch. Made his stomach lift. Her lips hovered over his as she feathered her fingers across his jaw, leaving fire on his skin.

  There were moments in life that lived vividly in Jack’s memory. Some big, like holding his nephews for the first time or earning an award for excellence in architecture. Some small, like a surprise birthday party or attending the Stanley Cup.

  Jack knew this magical moment would stay with him for a long time.

  “Feel that?” Her quiet words barely registered.

  He managed a lust-drunk “Been feeling it since I first looked at you.”

  “You’re right. We have already hit it off.” She pressed the faintest whisper of a kiss to his lips.

  Hunger struck Jack like a lightning bolt, sharp and hot. He slid his hand around the back of her head, tilted his own and deepened the kiss. He felt the surety of their connection like a snap in his chest. A solid, certain knowing this wasn’t just right, but somehow fated. Destined. The right woman, the right place, the right time.

  He could laugh at his romanticizing in the morning. Right now, he needed this. Needed her. He gently pulled her lower lip between his, sipping her taste. Sultry. Illicit. Delicious.

  She murmured before easing back. Her lids were heavy, her eyes soft. “Hold that thought, Jack. I’m going to grab my things.”

  He watched her wind around tables, swing a jacket and purse out from underneath the bar, and say goodbye to her coworkers. Jack still couldn’t quite believe this was happening. But she returned to him with bright eyes and a sexy smile. She took his hand and led him out of the bar.