Enemies on Tap

by Avery Flynn

  It took everything he had not to lose it right then. He’d never seen anything as hot as Miranda Sweet in his entire life. He lowered his mouth again. Licking, tasting, and exploring her. Bringing her higher wasn’t just about an orgasm. He needed to show her he was no longer the boy in the back of the pickup truck all those summers ago. Now he was a man who knew what he wanted and who he wanted to be with, no matter what anyone else said.

  With excruciating slowness, he glided his hand between her curls and into the center of her wet heat. She mewled her approval. As he watched the ecstasy cross her beautiful face, he slid two crossed fingers deep inside her, twisting them so they rubbed against her walls. She arched against him.

  Her breath caught, and she opened her eyes wide, focusing on him. For a second, she didn’t move, then her back bowed off the table, whipping her head forward, and moisture flooded against his hand.

  He fisted his dick, wetting it with her juices, before grabbing the foil package and ripping it open. He rolled on the condom as her breathing slowed and lined himself up with her.

  “This isn’t just an itch we’re trying to scratch, Sweetling.” He slid just the head of his dick in her. His fingers dug into her hips in his effort not to surge forward and bury himself in to the hilt. “It’s not about our families or this shortsighted town.” He pulled out of her welcoming heat, the movement going against every instinct in his body. “This is about you and me.” He surged forward, stopping at the halfway point. “Us.”

  Her legs wrapped around his waist, her ankles locking together at the small of his back. The sight of her panting and wanting before him, her arms tossed over her head and fingers wrapped around table’s edge nearly undid him. So beautiful. So perfect. So his.

  She urged him forward, but he resisted. Instead, he leaned forward, taking one dusky nipple into his mouth, sucking and tugging until she writhed underneath him. She dragged her nails down his back, hard enough to leave a mark. Oh, he liked that. He playfully bit her nipple, and she arched off the table as she clenched around him.

  He licked the round underside of her tit. “You like that, do you?” He nipped her sensitive skin and dragged his prickly chin across the deep valley between her boobs. “What about this nipple? Should I try it here, too?”

  “Do it.”

  “Whatever you want.” He grazed his teeth across the hard nub, and she dug her nails into his ass, branding him with her passion.

  “More. I want more.” She lifted her hips, inviting him to plunge into her depths.

  “You want me, Sweetling?”

  “Yes.” The word tore from her throat in a frustrated groan.

  “Then tell me, does it stop tonight? Are you going to walk away again?”

  Her heavy-lidded gaze locked on his. “No.”

  “Good.” He pushed forward until his balls hit her round ass. His vision shorted out, leaving only a white haze as he tried to adjust to the heaven of being tightly sheathed inside her. He sucked in a deep breath and fought for his composure in the middle of all this bliss. He withdrew and immediately buried himself again. “You’re mine.”

  She sucked in her bottom lip as pleasure twisted her face. God, he loved being able to take her here, to make her forget about everything else and live in the moment. She swiveled her hips and he couldn’t think anymore. He could only love her.

  The aftershocks of Miranda’s orgasm pulsed through her as she took in Logan, tightening her legs to pull him deeper inside. She wanted him, all of him. Tonight. Tomorrow. She couldn’t bear to think beyond that. Her life was in Harbor City. Logan’s was here. As much as he declared her his, men made a lot of promises in the heat of the moment. It was best if this stayed between them, especially if that meant having him, if only for a little while. Until she had to leave town, she was his and he was hers.

  He gripped her hips, yanking them higher and changing the angle. She unwrapped her legs and planted her feet flat on the table. Her thighs trembled as she pushed her hips up to meet each of his thrusts, each one driving her closer and closer to climax.

  Logan leaned forward, sucking a nipple into his mouth. The move brought him in constant contact with her clit, rubbing against the sensitive nub with each inward stroke. Her fingers dug into his hair, holding him to her breast as the vibrations built in her calves and her chest, taking her up and away from everything except pleasure.

  He groaned against her skin. “Miranda.” Straightening, he increased his speed. His face twisted, and he thrust deep inside her a moment before she felt his whole body turn rigid.

  She was close, and he seemed to sense that, because though he’d climaxed, he continued to pump into her. Once, twice, three times until her orgasm exploded inside her and wiped away the rest of the world.

  She came back to herself when he pushed away from her and disposed of the condom in the trash.

  Halfway caught up in a post-coital coma, she didn’t want to move. “A girl could get used to that.”

  “You’ll have to give me a minute, but you can count me in for an encore performance.” He grabbed her hands and pulled her into a seated position. “In the meantime, I’m thinking camping out naked in your kitchen may not be the best choice.”

  Reality hit her as soon as her bare feet hit the cold hardwood floor. “Natalie.”

  Logan’s eyes widened. “Tell me she’s not behind me.”

  Laughing, Miranda bent down and grabbed her clothes. “No, her room is way in the back, but if she were to wander down for a midnight snack, she’d get more than she bargained for.”

  “Sure, now you think about that.” He smacked her playfully on her butt and gathered his clothes.

  “What can I say, you have a wonderful way of distracting me.”

  Clothes clutched to her chest, she tiptoed up the stairs with Logan right behind her. At the landing, she turned left and hurried into her bedroom. Once inside, she dropped her clothes and dove onto the bed, flipping over so she could watch him strut to the bed in all his naked glory. The man was just as good coming as he was going. Her heart lightened in her chest, threatening to float right out of her body, tethered only by the string of uncertainty and doubt.

  His fingertips traced up her stomach, making her shiver. She grabbed his hand and pulled him into the bed. Laughing, he rolled her over to her side and spooned against her. “I could stay like this forever.”

  “Now that would get the town talking.”

  “Let them talk. I don’t give a damn.” His whispered words blew a strand of hair against her ear. “So what happens now?”

  Her eyelids fluttered closed. “We sleep.”

  His arm tightened around her waist, and he tugged her back so the curve of her ass fit snug against him. “Sounds like a plan, Sweetling.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Miranda hummed along with the dance-pop tune filling the interior of Natalie’s rental car, bopping her head along to the beat as they turned into the Sweet Salvation Brewery parking lot. The overcast sky blocked out most of the morning sunlight, but a ray beamed down through a break in the clouds, bathing the Sweet Salvation Brewery sign in a golden glow.

  Natalie put the car in park, but she didn’t turn off the engine. Instead, she swiveled in her seat and pierced Miranda with a no-nonsense look. “Your good mood wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with the truck that pulled out of our driveway this morning?”

  Damn. She’d hoped Natalie had still been sleeping. “You saw that, huh?”

  “Judging by the pair of men’s underwear I found stuffed in a corner by the broom in the kitchen, I’m just glad I didn’t see it last night.”

  A heated flush burned Miranda’s cheeks. “Sorry about that.” She and Logan had looked everywhere for his boxers, but wandering around naked in the dimly lit kitchen had only led to more naked fun upstairs.

  Natalie tugged on her pearl necklace, run
ning her finger across the milky white ovals. “Miranda, I know you’re a grown woman but are you sure this is smart? He’s a Martin. You’re a Sweet. This is Salvation.”

  “Don’t you think it’s time we moved beyond all of that?” She couldn’t completely obliterate the nugget of doubt in her tone, something her all-knowing sister no doubt had picked up on.

  “Just be careful.” Natalie pulled the keys from the ignition. “At least it’s only until DeBoer buys the brewery. Then you can return to your real life in Harbor City, and I can get back to my research.”

  Miranda crossed her arms in front of her chest and rubbed the sudden chill from her upper arms. The plan all along had been to make the brewery profitable, get the hell out of Salvation, and move into her own corner office in Harbor City. Now that she was so close to accomplishing her goal, her plan left the taste of skunky beer in her mouth. Sean and the rest of the crew were growing on her. She couldn’t imagine walking away and leaving them floundering for economic security.

  “What if we didn’t sell?” The idea was insane, but part of her grabbed hold of the possibility and refused to let go.

  “Very funny.” Natalie giggled before her eyes grew wide. “Oh, my God, you’re serious.”

  A new plan started forming in Miranda’s mind. Expanding distribution beyond Virginia. Building a beer garden. Hosting brewery tours. Launching an online class about beer and food pairings, maybe even branching out to hands-on classes in Harbor City. “It’s the family business.”

  Natalie rolled her eyes. “Yeah, our crazy family.”

  “Exactly, our family. Rebels, entrepreneurs, and mavericks. People not afraid to cross boundaries and veer away from the established path. Our family helped settle and build this town. Isn’t it about time we reminded folks of that and added to that legacy?” Miranda glanced at the brewery, a squat, nondescript building that could use a fresh coat of paint and a landscaper’s loving care. Still, the possibilities were there, hidden behind the bedraggled exterior, and she wasn’t ready to give up now. “It’s our brewery. We can make it into something to be proud of. We can make being a Sweet in Salvation a positive thing.”

  “And just how are you going to do that?” Natalie asked.

  Now that was the one million dollar question. “I have no idea, but we have a week until the county council meeting to figure it out.”

  Caught up in the excitement of a shiny, new project, Miranda wanted to rush out of the sub-compact and dance in the parking lot. After a lifetime of watching her family’s out-there antics and feeling like she and her sisters must have been adopted, she finally understood the rush of standing on the metaphorical cliff, ready to dive off into the unknown. Her pulse clocked in at one-hundred miles per hour in a twenty-five-mile-per-hour zone, and she had never felt better.

  “Where exactly does Logan Martin fit into all this?”

  Just his name added a few watts to the giddy electricity buzzing through her veins. “Honestly? I’m not sure.”

  “You know I’m always there for you, no matter what. If you think holding on to this place is for the best, I’ll back you on that with Olivia.” Natalie’s hand wrapped around hers and squeezed. “Just be careful.”

  “Always.” But this time, being cautious meant betting on her future.

  Like a condemned man after a pardon, the whole world looked brighter to Logan as he strolled inside the Heaven Sent Bakery for a donut and a coffee before a day at the bank. It would be a long day, not because his calendar was packed with meetings, but because he’d be constantly checking the clock, counting down the hours until he could see Miranda again. Just the idea of her lightened his footsteps as he approached the counter.

  A pair of older men sat at one of the corner tables, talking in the kind of hushed tones only used when the gossip was really good. When one of the men spotted Logan, he dropped his gaze to the table and folded up a newspaper.

  “Morning, Mrs. Franklin. How are you today?” Logan handed over a five-dollar bill to the bakery owner. Usually, his opener started a ten-minute chat about the weather, her grandkids, and the family’s pet pig that thought it was a person.

  “Doing fine. Here’s your coffee and blueberry cake donut.” Mrs. Franklin practically shoved the steaming cup, donut, and his change at him. When he didn’t move right away, she leaned closer and her voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m real sorry about your dad. I knew he had been…unhealthy…a while back, but I didn’t realize he’d had a stroke. A real bit of yellow journalism it is. I have half a mind to write a letter to the editor about it.”

  Logan’s appetite disappeared, and the donut crumbled in his hand. “What are you talking about?”

  “The story. In the newspaper.” Her cheeks flushed scarlet. “Oh, God, you haven’t seen it yet.”

  Mind a blank, he shook his head.

  Mrs. Franklin rummaged around in the shelves under the counter for a minute before slapping The Salvation Gazette down on the counter. A story on the new water processing plant was the lead story with a picture of the local 4H group’s upcoming fundraiser taking up most of the top half of the front page. Below the fold, next to an article about an emergency county council meeting, a photo of his father holding up a glass filled with amber liquid caught his attention. Though undated, it had to be decades old. His father hadn’t had that much hair since Logan had been in high school. Maybe it was just because he was looking for it, but he couldn’t help noticing that the old man’s eyelids were droopy and his sloppy smile listed to one side.

  Financial Troubles Plague Proposed Industrial Park read the headline. In the sentences that followed, certain phrases jumped out. Financial mismanagement. Lack of disclosure. Alcohol addiction treatment facility. Multiple stays.

  Logan grasped the countertop with both hands, anchoring himself to its cold reality. Tyrell had promised he’d make Logan pay. It looked like the small town Napoleon had made good by hanging the Martin dirty laundry on the town square. The report made it look like the Martins were bumbling idiots attempting to fleece the community. Instead, they were fighting to bring more jobs as well as right their own family’s financial ship. His throat tightened, and each heartbeat pulsed through his body. He’d let this happen and opened up his father to public humiliation. The old man was a giant pain in his ass, but he was still his father, and that meant something.

  “Has my father been in yet today?” The seven words scratched their way out of his raw throat.

  Worry lines deepened Mrs. Franklin’s forehead. “About an hour ago.”

  Not giving a shit about the way it must look, Logan tore out of the bakery, intent on finding his father before he found a bottle.

  A Hamilton County deputy’s patrol car sat parked in front of the house when he pulled into the driveway. A deputy stood on the front porch, his hands clasped behind his back in military fashion. Logan didn’t see his father or an ambulance, and fear shook him like a rag doll. He was too late. His dad had gotten drunk and something had happened. Judging by the dark look on the deputy’s face, maybe the worst—a car accident that left his father’s car wrapped around a tree, a fall down the stairs while his father had been drunk, or even fatal alcohol poisoning. Every bone in Logan’s body ached with regret and grief. He’d always known this moment would come. He just hadn’t thought it would hurt this fucking bad.

  Holding on to the last threads of Martin-bred propriety, Logan forced himself to get out of his truck and walk the stone path connecting the driveway to the house. Each step was closer to a place he didn’t want to go.

  “Logan Martin?”

  His gut contracted, and he climbed the steps to the front porch. “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry to do this, but—”

  The screen door flew open with such force it banged against the house, and his father burst out. Confusion and relief tugging at him, Logan sank down against the porch railing as his h
eart rate returned to normal. “You’re okay.”

  “I most certainly am not.” Larry glared at the deputy with stone-cold sober eyes. “He’s here to arrest you.”

  Now that stopped Logan in his tracks. Shock numbed him to the absurdity of it. “For what?”

  The deputy sighed and unhooked the handcuffs from his belt. “Logan Martin, you’re under arrest for assault and battery in relation to an attack on Carl Brennan.”

  Miranda settled in behind her desk at the brewery and opened her e-mail. One name stuck out: Patrick Bason. Shit. And there went the rosy hue to her late afternoon good mood. She chewed on her bottom lip as the cursor hovered over the Update Needed subject line. Where were the Internet blackouts when she needed one?

  A sharp rap sounded, jerking her attention away from the screen. Sean stood in the open door with a rolled-up newspaper in his hands and a twisted grimace on his face. The dread weighing down her shoulders evaporated. Even a something-else-is-broken delay was better than opening that e-mail.

  He peered around her cramped office, slapping the newspaper against his opposite palm. “You alone?”

  “Yeah, but Natalie is out looking for you. She wanted to get your input on an operations flowchart.” She grabbed her cell phone from where it leaned against the pencil holder. “Let me text her and let her know you’re here.”

  “Wait.” The intensity in his tone gave the single word enough weight to sink a ship.

  Her shoulders curved forward, and her chest caved in like a condemned coal mine. “What’s wrong?”

  Miranda’s gaze skittered over to her laptop screen. That e-mail from Patilla the Hun started looking better with every labored step Sean took toward her desk.

  “Seen the paper?” He held out the offending document.

  She shook her head, her mouth too dry to form any words. Sean plopped it down on her desk and pointed to the headline stating: County Council Calls Emergency Meeting. She scanned the story, the twitch in her left eye speeding up with every word she read. By the time she got to the end of the column, she needed a bottle of extra-strength aspirin, a stiff drink, and an industrial-sized can of whoop ass.