by Avery Flynn
The phone rang, and she grabbed it before the second jangle. “Sweet Salvation Brewery, this is Miranda.”
Please, God, let it be a contractor.
“So how goes it in Podunk, Virginia?”
The sound of Patilla the Hun’s voice tore through her hopeful mood like a hacksaw mutilating a child’s birthday balloon. Hard, vicious, and total overkill. The boss from hell only called when he had last-minute assignments for her or wanted to gloat. She was too far away for his patented dump-and-dash, so he had to be about to rub something awful in her face.
“Everything’s fine, Pat. What can I do for you?” Cool. Calm. Collected. At least on the outside.
“Can’t a boss check in on an underling’s progress on a pipe dream?” Now that sounded more like the weasel she knew and despised. “I hear there was a workplace accident. I hope everyone is okay and that the federal workplace safety folks aren’t on your doorstep.”
Her stomach sank faster than a full keg in wet cement. “Everyone is fine, and the dock is in the process of being repaired.” If she could line up a damn contractor. “How did you find out about the incident?”
“That’s what you’re calling a potential injury lawsuit? Cute. You didn’t think I wouldn’t keep an eye out for you, did you?” She could practically see him twisting an imaginary mustache like a villain in a silent movie. “So, it looks like that corner office you’ve been drooling over will be filled by the time you get back.”
He paused for effect while she screamed NO in her head.
“Mr. DeBoer opened the position to outside candidates,” Patilla the Hun continued, a light lilt to his voice as if he was relating the cutest story about how his adorable pet snake swallowed the neighbor’s baby whole. “It really is too bad that you’re out of the office for the next few months. You know how important it is in this kind of volatile situation to have the big boss see you every day working to build the company.”
Because reaching through the phone and strangling him wasn’t an option, she closed her eyes and exhaled a deep breath all the way from her toes. “Thanks for the update.”
“Oh, any time. Have a great afternoon.” He hung up before she even had a chance to respond.
Staring at the phone in her hand, heat burning her cheeks, she fought the urge to scream.
“You look like you’re about to pop, big sis.”
Her sister Natalie’s familiar voice zapped the annoyance right out of Miranda, and she ran across the recently de-cluttered office. The middle of the Sweet triplets, her hair pulled back into a tight French braid, stood in the door wearing a goofy grin, her ever-present pearl necklace, the latest in a long line of nondescript pastel pink cardigans, and a tan, mid-calf length skirt from some academic-researchers-gone-wild catalog. Miranda hadn’t seen a more beautiful sight since she’d stepped foot in Salvation.
“Seeing you is better than Christmas morning.” Wrapping her arms around one of her two mirror images, Miranda squeezed. “Thank God you’re here.”
“How could I say no after that last text? I’m just sorry I couldn’t get here earlier.” Her sister rolled her eyes. “I swear, you’re almost as big of a drama queen as Olivia.”
“We both know I’m not that bad. Anyway, I knew threatening to hire another efficiency expert would get you.” She pulled back from the bear hug.
“True.” Natalie gave the office a less-than-approving perusal and pushed her thick framed glasses back into place. “Is it all as bad as this?”
“You should have seen the place before I cleaned it.” She laughed at her sister’s horrified expression. “Come on, let me give you a tour and get you up to speed on our progress.”
After showing off the newly clean and only slightly in-need-of-repair brewery, they ended up back in the front office where, behind closed doors, she paced from one end to the other while catching her sister up on the latest curve ball tossed their way.
“So, I have to get back and claim that promotion before someone else takes it, but that’s not going to happen until we make the brewery profitable. And we can’t do that until they can get enough local bars and restaurants to carry the beer. Of course, we’d have to be able to deliver the beer, which is pretty damn hard to load onto the delivery trucks without a proper loading dock that could stand up to scrutiny from code inspectors. And I’d bet Ruby Sue’s pecan pie recipe that Logan Martin is behind our inability to hire a qualified contractor.”
“The bastard.”
And he was, but still…her stomach did a weird fluttery thing. “He’s not all bad.”
“Are we talking about the same Logan Martin? How can you say that after what he did to you?”
“Number one, I was an active participant in that incident. I didn’t accidentally fall buck naked into the back of his truck only to have him trip and land with his dick in me.”
“Why you did, I have no idea.”
“Because I thought…well, I thought he was different from the rest of the people in this town. I was young, dumb, and thought I was in love. “ She rolled her eyes as Natalie clutched her pearls.
“Miranda—”
She cut her sister off. “Number two, it happened almost ten years ago. I lost my virginity, and when the gossips in town found out, they couldn’t let it go. It was like I’d stolen their prince from them.” Natalie opened her mouth to argue, but Miranda cut her off. “Can’t we just let it go? Do we really have to continue the Sweet family tradition of holding onto grudges as tight as if they were winning Lotto tickets?”
Natalie’s hard look softened. “There was more to it than just that, and you know it.”
Miranda flipped off her sister to cover the truth of her sister’s observation. There wasn’t a damn thing she could say to contradict her not about how she felt then…or now.
“Did you talk to Neland yet?” Natalie asked.
She stopped mid-step and slapped her palm to her forehead. “Of course, but he’s off the grid.”
Neland was the best unlicensed, and mostly sober, contractor in Salvation. Best of all, he was a Sweet in everything but name, having married and divorced two Sweet sisters within the span of five years, which had always added an extra layer of awkwardness to family gatherings. After the divorces, the aunts had met and married a set of identical twins and moved to Tennessee. Still, even with the divorces, there was no way he’d be kowtowing to any Martin blackballing.
“I saw his truck in The Kitchen Sink’s parking lot as I was coming in. Go catch him before he heads out to his deer stand for the weekend.”
Miranda gave her sister a quick hug. “You’re okay hanging out here?”
“I do co-own the place.” Natalie straightened her pale pink cardigan, brushing away an imaginary piece of lint. “Anyway, I want to do some poking around so I can start formulating an efficiency plan.”
“You’re the best.” Miranda grabbed her navy blue trench coat and hustled out the door, mentally creating a to-do list of repairs that Neland could do now that he’d popped back up on the Salvation radar. Finally, things were going her way.
Chapter Eight
“Where. Is. He?”
Logan jerked his gaze up from the safety deposit box at the sound of Miranda’s voice as it bounced around the metal walls of the bank vault. Adrenaline ricocheted through his system. Judging by the vehemence with which she’d spit out the words, he’d give her a ten on the Richter scale. He’d known she’d show up eventually, but the wait and uncertainty of exactly when had driven him nuts. Logan’s life had been all about certainty and well-developed plans until Miranda had returned to Salvation. Now he couldn’t silence the nagging doubt that he might not win the most important bet he’d ever made.
Everyone in town had heard about the brewery’s dock collapsing. It had been the perfect time to dissuade local contractors from working with Miranda, throwing up one more st
umbling block in her path. He’d wondered how long it would take for her to show up mad as a wet cat with her claws out. His heartbeat kicked into high gear. From a war-of-wills perspective only, not because he couldn’t stop thinking about the way her blue eyes darkened when she was challenged or because he looked for her honey brown waves every time he left his house. This was strictly business.
Dude, you are delusional.
By the time he’d made it to the thick door leading into the safety deposit vault, Miranda stood with her hands on her full hips, staring daggers at his secretary.
He’d always thought of himself as primarily an ass man. However, Miranda Sweet had proven him wrong because her long legs encased in tight jeans and dark brown riding boots were enough to make a Catholic sprint to confession. Add in the way her chest was heaving and how her honey brown hair had gone wild in a way that begged a man to run his fingers through the mass of waves, and she was a wet dream—albeit an angry one. And somehow, that made it even better.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Sweet, Mr. Martin isn’t available.” Sharlene was doing her best to persuade Miranda to leave, but she was slowly folding under the pressure. Her shoulders had curved so far forward that Sharlene looked like a letter C.
Whether to protect the under-fire secretary or just to get a better vantage point to retell the story later, the bank’s sole security guard, Cyril, had positioned himself in front of Logan’s closed office door. The speculative grin on his face eliminated any intimidation factor offered by his uniform.
“I’m not going anywhere until I see that blackballing piece of—”
“Looking for me?” Logan’s voice carried across the lobby.
The customers and bank staff fell silent. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted George Hampton fiddling with his hearing aid, no doubt turning it up to full volume to catch what would happen next.
Miranda turned and hit him with a glare hot enough to spark a forest fire. “Bribing Neland with private hunting privileges on your land in North Carolina? That’s low, even for a Martin.”
“Honestly, I figured he’d hold out for a hunting trip to Canada. That man does love bow season.”
She stalked across the lobby, her hips swaying and her full pink lips flattened into a grim line. Damn if he didn’t want to kiss her until she forgot why she was pissed off in the first place.
God knew he could barely remember at the moment.
The locked, waist-high gate dividing the lobby from the teller area stopped her attack. “Dirty tricks.”
“Business negotiations.” He smirked just to see her blue eyes spark. She didn’t disappoint.
“You’re a pompous ass and a double-dealing scoundrel.”
“Such flattery.” He pressed his palms to his cheeks. “I do believe I’m blushing.”
She reached over the gate and flipped the lock before pushing the gate open with such force it banged against the wall. That got the tellers buzzing, but she ignored their surprised chirps as she continued on the warpath.
“I didn’t realize you were too petrified to fight fair.”
“A Martin scared of a Sweet? In your dreams, Sweetling.” The use of her hated high school nickname had her left eye twitching, just like he knew it would.
She jabbed her finger into his chest, right above his speeding heart. “I only see you in my nightmares.”
“Really, that’s the best you can do?” Damn, she looked amazing when her eyes snapped with fire.
Her spine went ramrod straight, forcing her breasts to jut out and her hard nipples to poke against the thin, red V-neck sweater. Were they a light pink or a dusky peach? The need to know hit him like a gorilla on the warpath. His hunger for her became an almost living force, pushing him, goading him into pushing her buttons. All of them. Until she lost control. God, he wanted nothing more at this moment than to see her right on the precipice of need and satisfaction, then watch her crash over into oblivion.
“I’m not here just to trade barbs.” A breathiness replaced her strident tone. “We need to agree to fair rules of engagement.”
He gripped his hands together in front of the hard-on pushing against his zipper so much so that he worried his dick would have an impression. “Why?”
“Because I’m a Sweet. Do you really want to see what it’s like when I don’t fight fair?”
He thought back to the generations of her family who’d practically built the county jail with all the bail money they’d paid. Miranda didn’t seem the type, but he’d been wrong about her before. Logan swept one arm back toward the vault. “After you.”
She brushed past him into the vault, leaving a trail of jasmine in her wake.
Pushing aside the worries of what the googly-eyed witnesses were about to spread all over town, he grasped the cool metal handle and swung the door shut behind him, the automatic lock clicking into place. Now it was just him and Miranda in a locked vault with one waist-high table and no windows or cameras. Just him and the woman who made his dick beg for mercy every time he even thought of her. And he’d thought of her a lot since the other night at the river. Too often. And usually it involved her naked and panting in ecstasy. He hadn’t jerked off so much in two days since high school.
Miranda got to the far wall of the ten-foot narrow room and turned around. “I don’t expect you to go down without a fight, but let’s at least make it a clean fight.”
“It seems I’m holding all the cards.” Good to have, but that wasn’t what he wanted to be holding at the moment.
Triumph flickered across her face. “I know you’d like to think so.”
He loved seeing her like this. Confident. Powerful. Assertive. Even all those years ago, she’d carried herself like she owned the town. And now? Shit. She was a queen who wasn’t about to give even an inch of hard-fought ground. He loved that about her. The woman was just as fascinating fully dressed as she was naked.
“And what am I going to get from agreeing to rules of engagement for our little bet?” Logan asked.
“I won’t tell DeBoer Financial about this great little local bank ripe for takeover.” She sauntered over to the table, tracing a line down its center with her red-tipped nail, before she stopped just outside of his reach and hopped up on the table. Her long legs dangled in the air. “You have non-family member stockholders who only care about the bottom line. Imagine how they’d react to the opportunity to make more money by becoming part of a larger organization.”
“Good luck with that.” He closed the distance between them, anticipation vibrating up his spine. Being this close to her was like walking a tight rope—exhilarating, nerve-wracking, and above all, amazing. “The Martins own 60 percent of the stock.”
“True.” She tilted her head and gazed up at him through her thick lashes. “But do you want to spend your precious time on that industrial park you’re so determined to build or fighting off a takeover challenge?”
Her plan wouldn’t have any long-term effect on the bank’s ownership, but it would cause a headache he really didn’t need right now. The industrial park’s investors were already jittery.
“Tell me something, Miranda.” Giving into the need ready to eat him alive, he positioned himself between her open legs and placed his palms flat on either side of her luscious hips. The pulse in her neck kept pace with his own rapid heart rate, and his body throbbed with want. He couldn’t help but inhale a deep breath of her teasing scent. If he didn’t watch it, he’d be falling for the enemy. Again. “What counts as fair?”
Her teeth raked across her bottom lip before she sucked it in. “Stop bribing contractors not to work with me.”
He shouldn’t just say no, but hell no. That squirrelly guy from the brewery had been right. Logan hated to lose. Hated. It. But he didn’t give a rat’s ass about all of that right now, not with Miranda so close he could count each one of the freckles decorating her cleav
age until they disappeared beneath the V of her sweater. Even with the bet and their personal history hanging over them, he needed to count the freckles hidden by the soft cashmere. Could there be a way if they fought fair? Was he ready to take that bet?
Miranda’s tongue swiped across the center of her very pink bottom lip, but her hooded gaze never wavered from his eyes.
Logan slid his hands over her jeans until his palms lay across her firm thighs, thumbs against the raised inseam of her jeans. The feel of her against him heightened everything except his sense of self-preservation. Fuck it. He was all in. “I’ll stop bribing contractors not to work with you.”
The single sentence hung in the inch of air between them. Tension pulled his balls tight, and need swirled at the base of his spine. Primal. Bone deep. All-encompassing. Worlds were created or destroyed in moments like this.
She flexed her muscles beneath his touch, leaning forward as her lips parted. “I don’t want to want you, and this doesn’t change anything.” Her words brushed against his parted lips, taunting him with their nearness. “I still hate your guts.”
“Liar.” His mouth crashed down to hers, and he surrendered to the combustible cocktail of frustration, lust, and something too new to define drowning them both.
She moaned into his mouth, opening fully beneath him and inviting him to plunder her sweet depths. But this wasn’t a surrender. It was challenge for control, and the last threads tying him to where he was began to unravel. When her legs circled his waist and locked him into place, the last vestiges of Martin-bred propriety fell in a tattered heap to the vault floor.
Here. Now. Miranda. Nothing else mattered.
Leaning into her, he moved his hands across the worn denim of her jeans to grasp her hips and pull her even closer, eliciting a soft mewl of pleasure. Abandoning her mouth, his lips traced across her arched neck, licking his way down her throbbing pulse until he stopped at the spot where her neck met her shoulder. Drunk on the taste of her skin, he paused to inhale the rich, sensual scent of her perfume as her pulse fluttered against her throat.