by Watson, Gina
SHATTER
St. Martin Family Saga
Gina Watson
Copyright © 2013 by Gina Watson
Shatter
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.
1
Logan St. Martin watched as his father finished up his half-pound burger with bacon and fries, and his Good Doctor brew of choice, Kidney. Cliff had been sneaking lunch at the bar for the past week, and Logan knew why. It seemed his mother was back for good. The consensus among the brothers was that she’d even moved back in. Catherine was still as breathtaking as ever with her dark silky hair, smooth olive skin, and gray eyes. She’d kept her figure and as she walked across the room, her long shapely legs were tastefully on display in the pearl-colored Armani jacket and skirt she wore. As his father sat oblivious, Logan warned, “Incoming, six o’clock.”
His father turned. “Shit.” He and Logan shared a knowing look.
As his mom approached the counter, Logan leaned over to kiss her cheek. “Mother, you look gorgeous, as always.”
“Oh, Logan,” she cooed, “you are always such the ladies’ man. That’s why I love you the most.”
He grinned, knowing she said the same thing to all her children.
She turned to his father. “Clifton Reese St. Martin, what is it you think you’re eating?”
His face tensed, and his shoulders hitched at her tone. “It’s a half-pound burger with bacon, fries, and a beer. Two beers now, actually.”
“Way to go all-in, pop.” Logan resumed wiping down the counter.
“When you’re caught with your hand in the cookie jar, you may as well fess up.” He nodded to Logan’s mom and looked her up and down, his eyes darkening by a shade. She raised a brow at him as she returned his assessing scrutiny. A sensual smile spread across her face, and her eyes lowered.
Logan cleared his throat as he watched his parents. It appeared they’d even rekindled the flame? He was happy for them but witnessing their intimacy was too much information. Besides, he was late for an appointment. “Excuse me, I, uh, have an appointment.”
Logan was scheduled to meet with the owner of Whiskey Cove’s only Italian restaurant to see about getting his special brand of brew an exclusive with the restaurant, and leaving now would save him from watching his parents make eyes at one another.
He was ready to place his products in places other than his own bar. The only snag he could foresee was that the restaurant didn’t have a liquor license, and he’d already told the owner that he’d help her overcome that hurdle. From what he’d gleaned from their one phone conversation, he suspected her business was hurting and could benefit from liquor sales. And he aimed to get his beer in before anyone else got the chance. Her prices weren’t exactly competitive, but the portions were enormous, and they served the best pizza he’d ever tasted. He’d yet to meet the owner in person, but looked forward to the partnership.
He checked the time as he headed for his office. Shit, he was running forty-five minutes behind. Cash had just gotten back into town after years of being away, and Logan had lost track of time as he was regaled with stories about the burning lights of Vegas. Cash was his favorite brother, and he’d enjoyed hearing about his antics as he took the strip by storm and cashed in at the poker tables.
Logan rushed into his office, changed his shirt, and grabbed up the documents and information packet he’d put together for Jessica Hunter, the restaurant’s owner. As he raced down the highway in his truck, he applied deodorant to his pits. He’d gotten sweaty unloading supplies at the brewery, but that was nothing new. He frowned. Though it didn’t happen as frequently as it used to, he still heard the questions from the people in town, wondering why he’d spent so much time in medical school just to throw away his education on a brewery.
But he loved The Good Doctor, was proud of what he’d created. How long would he have to justify his choices?
How long would the opinions of others direct his opinion of himself?
Honestly, he’d always felt like an outsider with his blond hair and green eyes. The St. Martins all had eyes like clean blue ice and sported brown hair. The others all had names beginning with C, and they all had campy nicknames. Logan had none of that since he’d been adopted.
His biological parents had been brutally murdered in their home when Logan was a boy. The St. Martins and the Heberts had been family friends. His adoptive family had always been accepting of him, but he felt like an outsider, an intruder forcing his way into their private lives like a grub worm burrows into tree trunks. He’d heard it said on more than one occasion from people in town that he was the weird one and whispers regarding his murdered parents could still be heard.
Logan was thankful for the St. Martin clan, but he still longed to have that deep blood bond with someone. Blood ran deep, he saw that firsthand. And he craved those deep ties.
Medicine was the only remaining bond he’d had with his biological father and so he’d enrolled in school and done well. When he’d taken his medical boards, he’d scored in the top five percent, and he’d completed his pediatric residency and obtained his state and national licenses. But medicine wasn’t his calling. He’d once thought it was. Or maybe he’d just wanted it to be his life’s purpose.
When he’d been young, his father—his birth father—had given him his old black medical bag to play with and furnished it with ointments, a stethoscope, thermometers, bandages, and faux syringes. Logan had used the kit to wreak havoc on his plush-animal collection. He’d treated his parents’ ailments as well. His father had asked him if he wanted to be a doctor and Logan had told him yes. Truth told, Logan had felt obligated to obtain his medical degree after his dad was killed. He just didn’t feel compelled to use it once he’d fulfilled his obligation.
Logan pulled into the gravel lot of La Bella Luna and jumped out of his truck. It was between lunch and dinner, so not much was shaking inside the restaurant. He walked toward the bar, where a young woman, her back to him, was filling salt and pepper shakers.
“Excuse me. I’m looking for Jessica Hunter.”
“You’re late,” the woman responded with a terse voice.
Logan leaned in closer. “How’s that?”
Louder she repeated, “I said you’re late.”
She had spunk. Or maybe she was majorly crabby. He hoped it was spunk. He didn’t want to partner with some bitchy woman. Whistling and studying the near empty restaurant, he said, “Shall I come back at a less busy time?”
He saw her neck tighten. Or maybe it was her back straightening into a board as she forced herself to curb her response. Whatever it was, he noticed the movement. And he noticed because he was focusing on the rust-colored hair that was tied into a thick knot at the nape of her neck. Pretty hair. Too pretty to be knotted tight—
She turned, and his breathing hitched. She was incredible. Truly breathtaking. And he immediately knew he was in trouble. Logan was a sucker for redheads, and with her milky skin and sizzling blue eyes melting into him, his heart started racing. Her lips were parted. Her top teeth peeked out and landed on her thick bottom lip as she began to nervously chew at it.
His mouth instantly wanted to do the same, to nibble and taste and explore her lips and the heat of her mouth.
She took him in with equal curiosity, scanning him from head to toe as her long dark lashes created shadows across her pink cheeks. He wanted to run his fingers through the lustrous hair so thick she had to double clip it. There was a
n abundance of it, and he thought he caught a scent of apple cinnamon. She was wearing black shorts and a white T-shirt with a nametag that read Jessie. She untied the black apron from her waist and motioned for him to follow her. He had no problem following those twitching hips.
Her office was full of file cabinets and everything needed to run her business. In the corner were stacks of T-shirts, shorts, and aprons. Logan assumed it was the standard uniform. A box of invoices and a ten-key adding machine sat on her desk next to an accounting log. The space was considerably messy, given how clean and organized the restaurant was. He took the chair next to her desk while she let out a grunt and dropped into her desk chair. A bare light bulb screwed into the ceiling was the only light in the office.
Jessie cleared her throat. “Under the circumstances, I don’t think this partnership is a good idea after all.”
Logan leaned back into his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Is that so?”
She raised a dark copper brow. “Yes, I do believe it is.”
She was certainly cute the way she asserted herself, restrained and calm. He wondered if she held herself back like that in the sack. He smirked and allowed a laugh to break free.
≈
Jessica thought Logan St. Martin couldn’t possibly think she would enter into a business partnership with him. The man looked like a bum. A cute bum, but a bum nonetheless.
He wore cargo shorts and a green T-shirt bearing an image of a frothy mug of beer. The T-shirt’s caption read The Drinking Games, only one will be left standing. His leather sandals had flopped—no flipping, just flop, flop, flop—all the way down the hallway to her office. To top it off, he was late and sarcastic. She knew his type. Nothing was as important to him as his fun and games. He’d be out of business within the year. Well, he could forget joining up with her—there was no way she’d have him add dead weight to her existing financial problems. She worked her ass off to make this place work and still her efforts might not be enough.
Women probably threw themselves at him because of his long sandy blond hair worn in fashionable disarray and his immense green eyes. He was tall and slim, with all-over facial hair clipped close to his square face. Damn, why’d he have to look the way he looked? Whiskers were Jessie’s weakness.
So yeah, damn him and his sexy smirk.
“This may be a joke to you, Mr. St. Martin, but this is my life. I won’t have you traipsing in here whenever the spirit moves you. If I can’t rely on you to be on time or to at least give me a courtesy call, then I won’t be able to trust you in a partnership.”
She stood to leave, but he caught her by the wrist.
“Sit down.” His voice was authoritative, and his smirk had been replaced with a piercing stare.
“Excuse me?”
“I know you need this opportunity to make your business thrive. You won’t find another distributor willing to provide the product up front for no cost until you deliver the goods. I understand sweat equity, but I assume you’re out on the floor filling salt and pepper shakers and napkin dispensers because money is tight. I take it you wait tables all night as well, that’s why you’re behind on paperwork in here. Look, I know business. It’s only my first year, but I’m operating considerably in the black. You need my help. And call me Logan. I’ll be calling you Jessie.”
She straightened her posture and tilted her head high at his words, but she was smart enough to keep her mouth shut. After all, what he’d said was true. She did need his stupid beer.
“Are you prepared to hear my proposal?”
“I’ll hear it.” She’d extend him that courtesy, at least. She sat back at her desk.
“I’m looking to expand my distribution into certain socioeconomic markets. Your restaurant fits my criteria. I plan to use this place as a beta site for the restaurant marketability of my products.”
“A beta what?”
“Beta site. I haven’t distributed in restaurants before; yours will be the first. I’ll use La Bella Luna as a test site to iron out any kinks that may arise.”
“So essentially I’m your guinea pig.”
Logan smiled. “Exactly. But what you’ll get out of the collaboration is worth it. As I said before, I’ll not charge you up front and only cost after. It’s a win-win for you, but I might suggest changing your marketing and distribution avenues.”
“Oh, I don’t think I have much of those things. We exist on word of mouth and if people want to eat, they just walk through the door.”
“That may have worked before but in this climate, you need what works today. And that means changes. For example, how much profit do you make from home delivery?”
“We don’t deliver.”
“How many calls would you say you get per day for delivery inquiries?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Hmm, you might want to keep track and consider offering a delivery service. It would be another market to expand into with next to no startup costs. And the market has started to turn, with people spending more on takeout food. You need to capitalize on that upshift. A radio blurb doesn’t cost that much, and it would do wonders to alert the public that there is an Italian restaurant tucked down this dead-end road. Tracking how customers hear about the restaurant is also a good idea.”
Jessie exhaled a deep breath. She clumsily plopped her head on her forearm and rested it on the desk in utter defeat. She sniffled.
Logan was on his feet immediately, “Are you okay?”
Her head rose, her eyes flooded with tears. “No, I’m not okay.” She sobbed. “You come in here with your aggressive eagerness and start throwing your big words around and picking apart everything I’m doing.” She was crying harder now, huge tears streaming down her face and falling to her lap. “And the thing of it is, you’re exactly right. I’m completely out of my element here. Since Brandon died, everything’s been steadily deteriorating, and I’ve been powerless to stop the slide.” She sagged in her chair on a sniff.
Logan squatted between her legs and looked up at her. She supposed he was trying to be comforting and non-threatening, but he was in her space. She eased back a bit.
“Who’s Brandon?” he asked.
“Brandon was my husband. He died five years ago. We’d had the restaurant for a while, and it was thriving. Then things started to change.”
Logan used his index finger to lift her face so they were eye to eye. “How about I help you and you help me? I’ll track a few things, see if there might be some sensible changes you can make to yield a higher profit. In turn, you’ll let me sell my brew. What do you say?”
Jessie nodded. They were so close she could feel his heat and smell his scent. He smelled of the outdoors, of grass, gasoline, and leather. And hops. She imagined she smelled the scent of honeyed hops on his skin.
His eyes were like jewels, their color a pure, clear green, and his sincere demeanor was reassuring. He was very masculine, and her stomach fluttered as she imagined how his body would feel above hers. Her attraction to him was immediate, and she wondered what it would be like to kiss him. She didn’t have to wonder long—he leaned in and placed his lips on hers, slowly sucking her bottom lip into his mouth. His tongue slid past her lips and teeth as he tasted her mouth. Her tongue tentatively twined with his. He tasted of yeast, and she idly wondered how much beer he drank on any given day. With a smooth move, he sucked on her tongue. Without warning, she became wet with desire.
It had been too long—way too long—since she’d felt passion. Of their own will, her hands slid under his shirt until she was touching his warm skin. He was smooth and slim, and with her fingertips she traced the long lean section of his torso. Needing to see him, she pulled his shirt over his head. His shorts hung low on his hips, so low she could see his pelvic muscles and the light trail of hair that led into his shorts. Had she thought him cute? A colossal understatement. He was bronzed male perfection. She was entranced, and in response, her body beckoned for his touch.
She wasn’t the only one admiring and touching. His hands caressed her breasts through her shirt until he growled and tugged it out of her shorts, pulling it over her head. She immediately reached around to her back and unclasped her bra, sliding it down her arms. Her nipples hardened at the waft of cool air from the vent behind her. His head lowered and he sucked a nipple into his mouth, rolling it between his teeth. She moaned low in the back of her throat, holding tight to his shoulders. He laved and sucked until she thought her knees would give out, and then he moved to the other nipple and repeated the pattern.
Unwilling to stand motionless and wanting to touch more of him, Jessie cupped the erection clearly visible through his shorts. God, she didn’t think the man was wearing underwear. She gasped her surprise and pleasure. He pulled back from her and looked to where her hand was stroking him. He cocked his head and rocked against her. When he looked back at her face, a slow and very masculine smile stretched his lips. Immediately they were attacking each other’s shorts—unbuttoning, unzipping, sliding and pulling. Clothes and shoes went flying. His hands fisted in her hair, tugging, and it all came down. He planted his face in it before he rubbed his stubble across her jaw and neck, down to her chest.
Goose bumps ran down her arms as his hands tantalized the nerve endings in her scalp. The soft abrasion from his facial hair had her sex on fire.
They stood naked in her office. Anyone could come in, and the possibility made Jessie burn with excitement. She shifted, wanting to see him again, but his hands weren’t idle and he slid one down her body until he pressed his palm against her damp curls. He moaned when he discovered her wetness. One finger slid through her folds, and he pushed inside. The fingers of his other hand were in her mouth, mimicking the movement from below. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, could only feel. She sucked at the fingers in her mouth, rocked against the one insider her body, the one making her needy, the one that had her body clenching, craving release.