Real Good Man (Real Duet #1)

by Meghan March

  “You guys can call it a night,” I tell Jock and Rick at six thirty. “I’m just waiting for our next project to get dropped off, and that doesn’t take all of us sitting around.”

  Both men nod and head for the sinks to scrub away the grease and grime they’ve accumulated through the day.

  Rick disappears quickly, but Jock stops before he heads out. “You hear any word on Jeff?”

  I shake my head. “Hospital says there’s no change yet.”

  “So he could go either way?”

  “That’s what they’re saying. I’m heading up there tonight to get more answers.”

  “It’s a shame he got caught up in that shit. My cousin’s kid got picked up with some ice. I swear, it’s a fucking epidemic.”

  “It sure seems that way, doesn’t it?”

  “Between you and me, there’s a guy in my pool league who all of a sudden is driving a new truck and flashing a lot of cash. I think he’s dealing, but I’m not about to narc on him.”

  And that’s the problem with drugs in a small town. Ninety percent of people aren’t going to get involved, even if they know something’s not right. But then again, that’s how the gossip and finger-pointing actually stay at a minimum.

  “You got any idea who’s supplying it to him?”

  Jock shakes his head. “Nope. Not a clue, but he’s barely trying to hide it now. I’m hoping he figures his shit out and gets clear of it before something like this happens to him. He’s got two kids, man.”

  I wonder silently if that’s how Jock’s buddy justifies what he’s doing—making money to give his kids a better life than he had. Around here, there’s not much opportunity for jobs that pay well, aside from the furniture factory and the hospital.

  “I hope he gets clear of it too.”

  Jock nods and heads out the door while I wash up.

  A half hour later, a jacked-up black Chevy truck pulls in with a rusted-out 1969 Oldsmobile 442 on a flatbed trailer. The man who climbs out of the passenger seat is one I’ve only ever seen on TV, and I head outside to meet him.

  “Sorry I’m late. Got caught in some traffic outside of Nashville. Who knew Bumfuck, Kentucky, was so goddamned far away.” His voice sounds just as gravelly as it does when he’s onstage.

  “Shit. When I saw ‘B. Thrasher’ on the work order, I didn’t expect to see Boone Thrasher rolling up here.”

  The country singer holds out a hand. “We’ve got a mutual friend, and she says you’re the guy to fix up this rusted-out wreck for me.”

  Holly Wix is the only person he could possibly be talking about. Seems she’s sending a lot of interesting things into my life lately.

  “Oh, she did, did she?”

  “So don’t make a liar out of Holly, because I’ll be holding it against her and not you.”

  I can tell by his tone that he’s joking . . . sort of.

  “I don’t think we’ll have a problem. Let’s go inside, and I’ll grab a sketch pad. This is the kind of project I need to draw.”

  “I like you already,” Thrasher says, following me inside.

  We spend the next hour talking about his options as I sketch out a rough idea of the design. Black and red. Classic interior, but details unique to Boone, like brass knuckles and skulls. We both stare down at the pad when I finish.

  “It’s going to be slick as shit when it’s done,” I tell him. “You’ve got good taste, man.”

  Thrasher shrugs. “I got more money than taste, but I’m counting on you not to let it look like shit. You’ve got the reputation to uphold, and if it comes out like I’m thinking, you’re going to have a hell of a lot of business coming your way. I’ll get this beast into every classic-car mag out there, and then people will be bustin’ down your door.”

  If Boone Thrasher is true to his word, my business will be changed forever. Not just pushed to the next level, but into the stratosphere. I shove down my excitement because I’ve gotta prove myself first and see what happens.

  “Then I better make sure you’re in love with this car when it’s done.”

  “Fucking right.”

  “You turning around and driving back to Nashville tonight?” I ask as he crosses his arms over his chest and nods.

  “Yes, sir. I’ve got a tour kicking off in a couple days, and they get pretty pissed if I’m not on that bus when I need to be.”

  I can only imagine what his life must be like.

  “I’m kinda surprised you drove all the way out here yourself.”

  He gives me a shrug. “This isn’t the kind of project I can pawn off on a roadie or an assistant. I needed you to hear from me exactly what I wanted.”

  “Understood. I’m not going to let you down, man.”

  “Good. How long you think it’ll take?”

  “Give me eight weeks, just because I don’t know how long it’s going to take to get all the body pieces replaced, and I’ll see what I can do.”

  Thrasher looks at the car. “I’m on the road for six, and I really want it waiting for me at my last show in Nashville. I’ve been writing this new song that goes to the heart of everything I am, and the whole time we’ve been talking, I’ve been picturing driving the car out onstage to debut my new single. You think you could make that happen? I promise I’ll make it worth your while. Press, photo shoot, everything.”

  Shit, with that kind of incentive . . .

  “I can make it happen.”

  “Much appreciated, sir. Now, let’s get this beast off my trailer and into your shop.”

  Chapter 37

  Banner

  My phone dings from the counter as I shut my laptop in my makeshift office—aka the kitchen. I reach behind me to grab it, stretching my neck from side to side.

  How long have I been sitting here? A glance at the clock tells me it’s been hours. The ache disappears the moment I look down at the screen of my phone and see a text from Logan.

  LOGAN REAL MAN BRANTLEY: I’m finally cashing in that rain check. Sorry it took me so long.

  He’s telling the truth on that score. Logan has been working his ass off on a new restoration project that he’s crazy excited about, and I’ve been working night and day troubleshooting yet another design issue. Given our intense focus on our respective projects, we’ve reverted to texts as our primary means of conversation for the last seven days.

  Maybe other women would be annoyed, but I’ve been too busy to worry about it.

  With a smile on my face, I tap out my reply.

  BANNER: Don’t apologize. I’ve been busy too. Just tell me when and where.

  LOGAN REAL MAN BRANTLEY: My place. 8 p.m. I’ll grill those steaks from your freezer. Work for you?

  BANNER: I’ll be there. Can’t wait.

  LOGAN REAL MAN BRANTLEY: Good. I miss you, Bruce. It’s been too long since I’ve seen my girl.

  A shiver of something I can’t quite name travels down my spine at the words my girl. Even in his texts, Logan isn’t shy about making it clear where he stands.

  Nervousness starts to creep in about tonight. Like it’s going to be some big step in the relationship he says we’re in.

  I still haven’t gotten around to admitting to myself that I jumped at the chance to come to Gold Haven because I wasn’t ready for this fascination I had with him to be over. Or maybe I just did.

  BANNER: I agree.

  * * *

  I pull up to Logan’s house at eight, thawed steaks from my freezer in a bag on the passenger seat, along with two giant potatoes and a bag of premade salad I picked up. Piggly Wiggly isn’t as treacherous now that I’m a seasoned pro at small-town grocery-store encounters.

  When I knock on the front door, there’s a thirty-second delay before Logan pulls it open.

  My mouth goes dry. His dark hair is wet, and a water droplet slides from his shoulder over his pec and down the line between his abs until it soaks into the towel at his waist.

  That’s not the only thing that’s soaking.

  “My eyes
are up here.”

  When I finally drag my gaze back up to his face, a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

  “I know. But you’re wet.”

  “I am.”

  “What a coincidence. So am I.”

  Logan’s grin widens. “Is that right?”

  I nod. A week is way too long to go without getting naked with him.

  “Then you should probably get in here instead of standing outside all night.”

  “Okay.” I step over the threshold, and the scent of clean man hangs in the air as Logan reaches around me to close the door.

  “Sorry, I got caught up working on the 442—”

  I drop the bags to the floor, and my hands land on his pecs before I lean up to cover his lips with mine. Logan doesn’t miss a beat as his arms close around me, and both hands find my ass to lift me up. Apparently, he missed me just as much.

  My skirt, the one I picked out especially for tonight, slides up my thighs as I wrap my legs around him.

  Nothing has ever turned me on as much as the sight of Logan Brantley dripping wet in a towel.

  His hands slip under my skirt as he presses my back against the door. He tears his lips away from mine. “Fuck, you’re not wearing any panties.”

  I shake my head.

  “Jesus, woman. I was going to wait until after dinner, eat your pussy for dessert and then fuck you in front of the fire, but—”

  “Now’s better,” I say, interrupting him. “We can do all that later.”

  I reach down and shove the towel off his hips. As soon as my fingers wrap around his cock, Logan lets out a groan.

  “Fuck . . .”

  “Yes, that. Let’s do that.”

  He presses me harder against the door as the head of his cock finds my entrance. “Are you on the pill? I didn’t ask before.”

  I shake my head. “The shot. And I’m clean.”

  “You want my cock?”

  “Hurry.”

  “Answer me, Banner.”

  “Yes!”

  “You’re gonna take it every way I wanna give it to you tonight?”

  My inner muscles clench at his words. “Yes.”

  “That’s right. You’re my naughty fucking girl.”

  “Please.”

  He buries his cock inside me in one thrust and I throw my head back, not caring that it connects with the door.

  “Careful, baby.” One of Logan’s hands releases my ass and cups the back of my head. “Careful.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “Hold on tight.”

  I wrap both arms around his shoulders and grip the solid muscles as he starts to move. With every deep thrust, my clit rubs against him and my orgasm rises. He never slows, just fucks into me over and over until I’m thankful his hand is blocking my head from slamming into the door, because I can’t control my movements.

  Suddenly, Logan steps back and carries me to the couch, laying me over the arm and arching my spine. He grips my hips with one hand as he presses down hard on my clit with his other thumb, and he varies his speed from fast strokes to long, slow ones. It’s my undoing.

  His name is on my lips as my fingernails dig into the couch cushions, and my climax shreds my control.

  But Logan isn’t satisfied. “Again.”

  I’m liquid. Boneless. I’m not even sure I can speak, but my body is on board with his command. I’m not sure if the first orgasm continues or if there’s a second one, but I’m arching against it as his face twists with pleasure.

  I close my eyes, trying to gather myself as my lungs heave for breath.

  Holy. Shit.

  Logan leans forward and presses a kiss between my breasts. “Next time, I’m going to play with these nipples until you’re begging for me.”

  A laugh escapes from my lips.

  After we’ve cleaned up and I shimmy my rucked-up skirt back down around my hips, I turn to Logan, who’s now wearing a worn pair of jeans and nothing else.

  “I’m pretty sure you can’t top that appetizer.”

  Chapter 38

  Logan

  Banner tried to tame her hair, but I like the just been fucked by Logan Brantley look on her. No woman has ever made me lose control the way she does. I felt it in New York, and I feel it here. Eventually, I’m going to get a handle on myself, but part of me doesn’t want that to happen anytime soon.

  She looks good in my house too, even if all she’s doing is stabbing potatoes with a fork to pop in the microwave, or shaking some shredded lettuce into a bowl. The rest of my life might be chaos, but there’s something about Banner that makes me forget about all of it.

  I’m probably fucked, and I don’t care.

  After I pull the steaks off the grill and the potatoes are on our plates with the salad, we take seats at my bar because I still don’t have a kitchen table.

  One thing has been nagging at me all week, though, and she promised me an answer tonight.

  “You’re finally going to tell me what you’re working on.”

  Banner almost chokes on a piece of steak before washing it down with half a glass of water. “That came out of nowhere.”

  “I’m cashing in the whole rain check. You promised me an explanation tonight, and I gotta know. I’ve been driving myself crazy trying to figure it out.”

  She sets her water down and meets my gaze. “You really want to know that bad?”

  “As long as you’re not selling drugs,” I start, but then cut myself off. That hits too close to home right now to be funny, considering Jeff is still in the hospital and by no means in good shape.

  Banner shakes her head. “Definitely not drugs.”

  I wait for another minute before she finally tells me.

  “I have patents pending on two new vibrators, and I’m going to sell sex toys.”

  I lower my fork to my plate as a smile stretches my lips. “Is that right? And you, the bluntest person I’ve ever met, don’t want to tell people this . . . why?”

  She bites her lip. “I don’t think anyone will take me seriously. I can’t exactly explain that I did my market research all by myself, and narrowed it down to what I believe are the two best and most efficient ways to get yourself off. And then I created two new vibrator designs that are basically idiot-proof so more women can finally have regular orgasms.”

  Her passion comes through loud and clear, and it’s a good look on her.

  “You haven’t told anyone?”

  “Two lawyers, a freelance engineer, the factory that created the prototypes and is getting ready for the first full run, and a marketing firm.”

  “You’ve got some coming here?”

  She nods. “Yep. A box of dicks, if you will. Actually, that’s how I got fired.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I screwed up and had my prototypes sent to my office. The boxes got piled up outside my cube, and a coworker of mine decided she had to know what was in them, so she opened one. Apparently she wasn’t used to being wrist-deep in dicks because she freaked and dropped one on the floor, which of course turned on and vibrated its way just far enough into the hall for a senior VP to trip on. He landed face-first on the floor, broke a wrist and chipped a tooth, and I had to explain that my dick was the culprit.”

  I’m holding my sides laughing by the time she finishes the ridiculous story. “You’re fuckin’ with me. You have to be.”

  Banner shakes her head, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I’m really not. I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried.”

  “Jesus Christ. You don’t do anything halfway, do you, Bruce? So, when is this box of dicks coming to Gold Haven? Do I need to warn the post office?”

  “In a couple weeks, if everything works out the way it should with production. And you better not warn them. I’m not taking the blame for any heart attacks over this.”

  “All right, deal. No warning. But I gotta say, it’s hard to be sad you got fired, because this is all really fucking cool, Banner. I’m proud of
you.”

  Her smile wobbles. “You’re probably the only one, because I can guarantee my parents won’t be anything but humiliated when they find out.”

  “So screw them. If they can’t handle the fact that their daughter is talented in her own way, then they don’t deserve to share in it.”

  The wobble disappears from her smile. “And here I figured you’d offer to help me test them out.”

  “You don’t have to ask me twice about that. But I mean it, Banner. This is really fucking cool, and you should be proud.”

  “I’ll be proud when I get the products and they work. I’m already working out teaser marketing campaigns, and I hope to God it all comes together. I’ve sunk so much into this that if it doesn’t work out, I’m going to be broke for a while.”

  There’s no doubt in my mind the incredible woman in front of me can accomplish anything she puts her mind to. “It’s going to work. I have faith in you.”

  “Thank you. That means a lot. You probably didn’t realize that I was a little jealous of the fact that you’re a successful business owner, and I’m just sitting over here with a fake dick and a dream.”

  My laughter echoes off the vaulted ceilings of the house. When I finally can catch my breath, I tell her the thought that’s been playing on a loop in my head all night. “I like having you here.”

  She lowers her water glass to the bar. “I like being here.”

  “Then it’s a good thing I’m not planning on letting you leave for a while, isn’t it?”

  Her eyebrows go up. “You did make some promises about my pussy being on the menu for dessert, and something about fucking in front of a fire?”

  “I’m glad you didn’t forget. I fully intend to keep my promises.”

  She pushes her plate away. “I think I’m finished.”

  “Oh, hell no. You finish that steak. You’re going to need your energy, babe.”

  Chapter 39

  Banner

  When one-nighters are your gig, there’s no chance of falling into any kind of a routine with someone. But Logan Brantley and Gold Haven are changing all of that for me.