by Avery Flynn
Logan swallowed his automatic response, pausing to give his buddy a chance to engage the former Hamilton County Miss Soybean in conversation, but the only sounds were from the other customers’ conversations. He waited another few beats, but Hud just kept shoveling food into his mouth.
“Looks like we’re good.” Logan handed Ellen two twenties. “Unless there’s pecan pie?”
She chuckled. “You wish.” She took the twenties and turned her attention to Hud. “How about you? Need anything else?”
Like a horny twelve-year-old boy faced with a Victoria Secret’s model, Hud clamped his jaws together and gave her a thumbs up. Ellen shrugged and weaved her way through the crowded diner to the front register.
Logan shook his head. “You are a moron with shitty taste in food.”
Hud flipped him off. “Not everyone wants to go all bam-chica-wow-wow in a bank vault, you know.”
How many times did he have to relive the same fucking gossip shit storm? “I already explained—”
“Yeah, yeah. You have bigger problems than small town gossip right now.” Hud leaned forward. “Tyrell Hawson brought his Caddy in for a tune-up this morning. I overheard him on the phone telling someone that if the meeting with the developers tomorrow night didn’t go well, he was going to pull his support.”
“Fuck.” Logan rammed his fingers through his hair. “If Tyrell backs out, so will the others. I’ll be left with letters of intent to buy property and no funds to purchase it with. The deal will crash and—”
“Trouble ahead.” Hud jerked his chin toward the diner’s front door.
Miranda stood with her sister and chatted with Ruby Sue, who sat in her regular spot behind the register. Though Miranda and Natalie were two parts of the nearly identical Sweet triplets, only Miranda made his palms sweaty and had him questioning his sanity on a regular basis.
The ass-hugging pair of black pants she wore today reminded him of the lacy black panties that had haunted his dreams since that afternoon in the bank vault. He’d bet the bank that the soft pink of her sweater would match the rose of her nipples that had hardened under his tongue. Part of him stiffened at the memory of the jasmine perfume she’d worn and how her body had responded to his touch. He shifted in his seat, unable to look away from her. If he didn’t get ahold of himself soon, he’d pop the zipper on his pants.
Ruby Sue said something, Miranda laughed, and the warm sound of her happiness spilled down his spine, warming his body. Then, she turned toward the full dining room and the total force of her blue-eyed gaze hit him straight on, slamming against his body like a linebacker with a grudge.
He knew the moment she spotted him, because the smile that curled up the left side of her mouth a little higher than the right dropped into a flat line. After a quick word with Ruby Sue, Miranda and her sister found seats at the counter at the far end of the diner. Natalie shot his table a quick, questioning look, but Miranda only showed him the iron of her spine.
“Damn, I don’t think she’s really happy to see you.” Hud chuckled. “That’s the first time I’ve ever seen a woman shut you down without even saying a word.”
“Glad you’re enjoying the show.” Logan threw back the last of the sweet tea in his glass.
“Suck it up.” Hud pushed back from the table and stood. “It’s just Miranda Sweet. It’s not like you care.”
He flinched. “Exactly.” Logan got up and made his way to Ruby Sue to collect his change.
In a small town like Salvation where everyone was always in each other’s business, the last thing he needed was to have the lunch crowd at The Kitchen Sink report that he’d been mooning over Miranda. Still, he couldn’t help himself from sneaking one last look at the woman who, despite his protestations, had stopped being just another Sweet more than a few summers ago.
Miranda gulped the sweet tea, downing the glass in a few seconds before carefully placing it on the counter. Salvation was too small to think she could avoid Logan forever, but damn, she was down with trying. It was better than drooling all over him every time they crossed paths—especially when he wore the shade of dark blue he’d had on today. And the way his pants clung to his ripe ass was enough to make her revert to high school when she’d driven slowly by his house, circled the block, and made another pass.
“Do that again and you’ll go into sugar shock.” Natalie took a dainty sip of tea, pressing a paper napkin to her lips to catch any drops that dared to stray. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were considering Olivia’s idiotic advice.”
“Not in this lifetime.” Fantasized about Logan’s doctorate-degree-level kissing skills and hard body? Yes. Found excuses to do business on Main Street near the bank in hopes of catching a glimpse of Logan? Guilty. Considered paying him a midnight visit? No. Okay. Maybe a little. But only for a second—a long, hot second—before sanity resurfaced. The lust wasn’t the worst of it. No, that came after she’d brought herself to orgasm with her fingers when she’d lay in the dark, wishing they could be side-by-side, snuggled under the covers talking and teasing like they had by the riverbank all those years ago. Now that was dangerous territory.
“Good, because we all remember what happened last time.”
Miranda’s gut clenched at the reminder, and her heart slammed against her ribs. The eighteen-year-old her had been two breaths away from totally in love, and Logan had just been out for a little fun—something Miranda hadn’t realized until too late.
The sweet tea sloshed in her stomach. “Let’s change the subject.”
Natalie gave her a quick shoulder hug. “Tell me more about Marc Oberon.”
Now there was a safe topic. “Not much to tell. He’s with one of the top finance firms in Harbor City, and we’ve worked on a few deals together.”
Natalie deflated. “So, no romance?”
“Not unless I develop a few extra body parts overnight.” She giggled.
“Oh.” Her sister pushed up her glasses. “So why did he call you?”
“He’s in town for a meeting tonight. He didn’t say it out loud, but my guess is he’s looking into whatever deal Logan is cooking up for the industrial park.” She took a bite of spicy Mac ‘n Cheese. “He invited me to the dinner his group is having with Logan.”
“You didn’t say yes, did you?” Natalie slapped her pearls against her neck, then rolled her eyes. “Of course you did.”
“Never pass up an opportunity to learn more about your business opposition’s plans. Plus, I have an idea that could get Logan Martin to stop blackballing the brewery for good.”
“And that’s all this is for you…business?”
Miranda ignored the twinge in her chest. “Why would it be anything else?”
Chapter Ten
Miranda couldn’t decide. Red or black? Choosing between the two dresses spread out on her bed wasn’t the most important decision of her life, but it mattered. The simple black cocktail dress was the smart choice, the expected choice. But tonight was about impact, daring, and the power of surprise. How better to do that than with the vintage Ralph Lauren sleeveless cranberry silk dress? Men might not consciously accept—or admit to—the power of fashion, but they instinctively reacted to the signals clothing sent. She couldn’t make more of a power statement than red.
She ran her fingertips across the smooth material as she lifted it up and held it against her body. It hit an inch or two above her knee, borderline for a business dinner at the Hamilton River Country Club, but the high neck balanced out the slim flash of thigh. She’d skip the metallic stilettos she usually wore with the dress for a pair of nude pumps. Add in the cream, hip-length blazer that nipped in at her waist and voila! her subdued, pulled back hair and the dress would make a bold statement without screaming.
“We gotta jet in about ten. You almost ready?” The closed door muffled Marc’s voice, but she couldn’t miss the slight strain
. There were two things in the world that drove him crazy: people who didn’t balance their checkbooks…and being late.
“I can’t believe you’ve waited this long to say something.” She slipped the silk dress over her head. “What did you do, alphabetize the cans in the pantry?”
“Your sister beat me to it.” He laughed. “If she wasn’t a girl, I’d snap her up in a heartbeat.”
“Ha. She’d take one look at your shoe shopping bill and kick you to the curb.” Miranda grasped her thick hair, twisted it into a bun, and secured it with an elastic band.
“It’s always something. I talked to the big boys back in Harbor City. They’re on board with your plan.”
“Giving Logan’s group access to the interstate and river makes sense. Plus, it’ll eliminate Logan’s motivation for submarining the brewery.”
“What about this bet that your sister let spill?”
What she wouldn’t give to have never proposed that stupid bet in the first place. “Some things matter more than pride.” If she was willing to swallow a bitter pill to make the brewery profitable to show the people at DeBoer Financial that she could complete a corporate turnaround and finally get her promotion, then he could do the same.
“You know you’re talking about a man and his ego, right?” Marc asked. “Wars have been fought over less.”
“Hopefully not tonight.” Sticking the final pin in place to hold her hair in the smooth knot at the nape of her neck, Miranda turned away from the mirror, slipped on her shoes, and then swung open the door.
Marc gave her look an up and down assessment. “I see we’re going as a predator tonight.”
“Exactly.”
“You need earrings.” He strode into the room, stopping in front of her jewelry travel case. He dug through the glittery contents for a minute before pulling out a pair of dangly gold earrings.
“No way, totally wrong for a business dinner.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “But you and I both know this isn’t just business.”
A flush heated her cheeks. “How—”
“Natalie doesn’t gossip, but the girl does love to talk.” He grinned and plopped the earrings into her palm.
“Damn.” Staring at the sparkling jewelry in her hand, Miranda drew in a deep breath.
“Suck it up, princess. It’s time to go dazzle the boys with your mind and my client’s deep pockets.”
“If only your clients were local and wanted to invest in a brewery.”
Marc tweaked her on the nose. “That would make things too easy, and where’s the fun in that?”
Logan hated sitting with his back to the door, but when Tyrell Hawson had decided that the corner spot was the position of power and asked Logan to switch, he didn’t argue. He needed Salvation’s mayor on his side, even if that meant his side was sitting in the worst spot at the table. Cordell Blankenship and Roger Knox sat between Logan and Tyrell, leaving two seats open for Marc Oberon and his associate. All three men represented the Salvation status quo and Logan was destined to join their ranks in due time. He’d been looking forward to it, more than ready to accept his destiny as a Martin. But then Miranda had come home.
“Sorry we’re late, gentlemen, but some people can’t be rushed.” Marc pulled out a chair, but instead of sitting down, he took a step back, revealing Miranda.
Two thoughts hit Logan at nearly the same moment. One: She was wearing a flowing red dress made out of some sort of silky material that left a man’s fingers itching to inch it up over her curves. Two: What in the hell was she up to now? After their meeting at the bank vault, she’d given him the cold shoulder every time they passed each other in town. Not too surprising considering their history. But still, why ignore him for the past week only to show up at the dinner that could make or break his plans?
The rest of the men at the table stood, but the sudden onslaught of lust and confusion left Logan tongue-tied and nailed to his chair.
“I hope you don’t mind me joining you, gentlemen.” Miranda sat down in the seat directly to Logan’s right, studiously ignoring his presence. He wished like hell that he could do the same.
Her bare knee brushed against his, setting off a jolt of awareness that ricocheted up his thigh and landed squarely between his legs. Maybe it was the Jim Beam and Coke he’d just slammed back, but the world took on a hazy quality, putting her in soft focus. The sparkle of her gold earrings caught his attention as they brushed against her neck, partially exposed by her tightly pulled back hairstyle. Staring at the delicate column of her throat, he could almost taste the salt of her skin on his tongue. How a woman could confound him and make him harder than dirt in January, he had no earthly idea. Normally, he didn’t like being off-balance, but he’d developed an appreciation for it when it came to Miranda.
“I take it you all know my associate, Miranda Sweet.” Marc either didn’t see the smoke starting to pour out of Tyrell’s ears, or he didn’t care, because the Harbor City financier settled into his seat and flipped open his menu. “So what do you recommend?”
“I don’t believe this. You really expect us to believe she is your associate?” Tyrell’s voice turned dangerously low, bordering on a growl.
“Yes, Miranda and I have worked together on several deals.” Marc cocked an eyebrow and closed his menu. “When I heard she was the owner of the one parcel of land you gentlemen still needed, I knew we could come to some sort of agreement.”
“I’m sure you did.” The good ole boy twang in Tyrell’s tone spelled out exactly what kind of cooperation he imagined Miranda had given Marc.
Heat blasted up from Logan’s toes, and he crushed the linen napkin in his fist to keep from smacking the lewd look off Tyrell’s jowled cheeks. He’d sat silent before when he was a boy, but, as a man, he couldn’t let the same old story keep repeating. But before he could jump to her defense, Miranda spoke.
“I’m glad you’re confident in my abilities.” There wasn’t a strained note in Miranda’s voice, but the tension in her straight back showed she hadn’t missed Tyrell’s dig. She turned toward the waiter. “But before we discuss business, I have a question. Is Miss Linda still running the kitchen here?”
“Yes ma’am.” The waiter nodded.
“Wonderful. I’ll have the brown butter chicken breast.” She laid her hand on Marc’s forearm and leaned close, the move pulling her skirt up to show another inch of creamy thigh. “You have to try it. It is amazing.”
Pinpricks of jealously marched hand-in-hand with desire up Logan’s spine. Not that he could do a damn thing about either one. He had to figure something out, or she was going to get the better of him. Again.
“You picked another winner there, Miranda.” Marc laid his fork on his now empty plate.
Just the way the other man said her name made Logan twitchy. It was too friendly and too familiar for someone who was only a business colleague. And the way she laughed at the other man’s jokes, touched his arm to emphasize a point, and looked up at him with her ruby lips parted in an almost continual crooked smile…had Logan seeing red—or more correctly, green.
He’d spent the entire dinner shifting in his seat and wondering what she wore under that silky red dress. The tantalizing flashes of thigh that had appeared when she twisted in his seat had him in a nearly constant state of tortured arousal.
Good thing Tyrell had kept his foul suggestions to himself during dinner, because Logan, in a frustration-induced black mood, would love to be able to work out his aggression.
“No one makes chicken like Miss Linda. When I worked in the kitchens one summer, I begged and begged for the recipe. She gave it to me, but I can’t even come close to her masterpiece.” Miranda folded her napkin in three precise turns. “But enough of memory lane, I think it’s about time we get to the reason for this meeting.”
Now she had the attention of Logan’s big head and his li
ttle head. If this deal fell through, more than just the Martin family fortune would tank. The industrial park would attract new business to Salvation, bringing jobs and a much-needed uptick in the small town’s economy. The Sweet Salvation Brewery was all that stood between the industrial park and success.
“My sisters and I are willing to grant you river access and allow you to build a road through our land between the interstate off-ramp and the industrial park ramp.”
“In exchange for what?”
“In exchange for a two percent cut of your profits.”
“That’s highway robbery.” Tyrell’s voice jumped an octave.
“No, it’s smart business. Seeing as how the next closest interstate off-ramp alone is twenty miles down the road. And even then, drivers would have to go an hour down a two-lane highway to get to you. Transporting goods to and from the industrial park will be at least twenty percent higher without interstate and river access.”
Logan leaned forward. This could be just the break needed to seal the deal with the investors. Not only would the town and his family benefit, but without the land dispute between them, maybe there was a chance to make up for his multiple fuck-ups with Miranda. To show her he wasn’t like Tyrell, that he’d changed from the idiot he’d been before. He wanted that more than he wanted to win the bet. The truth of it lifted a decade’s worth of guilt from his shoulders and replaced it with a sense of hope—of purpose.
“I’d rather Velcro myself to the devil than tie myself to a Sweet.” Tyrell sat back, crossing his arms and smirking at the rest of the table.
It took Logan a second to scoop his jaw up off the table. “You don’t get it. This could be a win-win situation. No one has to lose.”
Tyrell said, “No one wins when a Sweet’s involved. Do you remember that so-called documentary her sister did? A supermodel comes home for Christmas or some such shit? They made fools of us, made the whole town look like a live-action version of Honey Boo Boo on stupid pills.” Tyrell’s chubby cheeks burned with fury. “And then some fool high school kid recorded the damn thing and posted a YouTube clip of my rendition of ‘Boogie Shoes.’ That was supposed to be a private moment, just a man singing to his horse and dancing on a starry night. Instead, it went viral. I still get mail from prisons.” His glare encompassed everyone at the table before zeroing in on Miranda. “From. Prisons.”