Enemies on Tap (11 page)

“You forget who’s mayor here. I can and I will make it happen.” Tyrell yanked open the door of his shiny black Cadillac and slid into the front seat.

“You’re not even on the county council.”

“But who do you think helps the council members get elected? Who finds the fundraisers? Who sweeps their troubles under the rug?” Tyrell slammed the door shut and rolled down the tinted window. “You were doing fine to bet against her, boy. But if you want to bet against me now, you’d better be prepared to lose. I’m the guy that brings a fifty-caliber machine gun to a knife fight. You’d better make sure you’re on the right side when I pull the trigger.”

The mayor peeled out of the parking lot, leaving a pair of jet-black lines on the driveway and the scent of burnt rubber hanging in the air. The man was dangerous, devious, and determined to get his way. Tyrell had stewed over the perceived humiliation caused by that YouTube video for years, and now he was on a single-minded mission to finally get his revenge. And for the first time in his life, Logan was considering putting his chips in with the underdog.

Concentrating on keeping a neutral expression on her face was the only thing that stopped Miranda from exploding into a million pieces in the middle of the sedate dining room.

“Now that did not go as I’d expected.” Marc finished the last of his white wine and toasted Miranda with his empty glass. “You do things a little bit differently in Salvation. I’m used to less…emotional reactions in Harbor City.”

Harbor City stood as one of the global capitals of c
ommerce and fashion, while Salvation represented every small town in America. To say there was a difference in cultures was an understatement, but that didn’t excuse the mayor’s cut-off-your-nose-and-ears-and-yank-out-an-eye-to-spite-your-face reaction to her proposal.

“Tyrell Hawson is a fool to even consider flushing this compromise down the drain, because a camera crew caught him dancing like no one was watching with his horse.”

Marc grabbed his phone. “Is it still on YouTube?”

“Put that away before someone sees you.” She laughed and some of the tension seeped out of her spine. “Salvation is different, no doubt about it. But the people here work hard. They’re good people.” She thought of Ruby Sue. The Franklins. Hud Bowden. Owners of some of the best businesses in Salvation. “They deserve the economic boost the industrial park would bring.”

“If it’s that good for the community, why not let them build the road for free?”

“Because it wouldn’t matter. You saw how Tyrell acted. It wasn’t the percentage that made him have a conniption. It was the idea of being connected—
or indebted
—to the Sweet family.”

Marc squeezed the bridge of his nose between his finger and thumb. “I can’t put my clients’ money into this deal without that road.”

What happened in Salvation didn’t mean a damn thing to her. She was here to flip the brewery and finally get her corner office. She’d worked too hard and put up with too much shit from Patilla the Hun to veer off her plan now. Salvation’s future viability shouldn’t be any of her concern. It’s not like the town ever cared about her. And yet…none of that mattered. Because the truth was that she cared. Miss Linda’s chicken threatened to make a return visit.

The wine glass shook in her hand, and she shot back the rest of the chardonnay in one big gulp.

“Good, you’re still here.” Miranda jumped at the sound of Logan’s voice, which held a haggard edge that matched his appearance.

Gone was the cocky air of an alpha man here to close the deal of a lifetime. In its place was a bone-deep determination that rolled off him despite the weary droop of his broad shoulders. He’d pulled his navy tie loose and popped open the top button of his white dress shirt, revealing a few inches of the muscular chest she’d spent a good number of hours fantasizing about since their hookup in the vault. In real life and her imagination, Logan always appeared put together and in control, but seeing him a bit undone and rough around the edges sent her pulse skyrocketing. Damn, what was it about Logan that made her react this way?

“I hope like hell I’m not going to regret this, but I’m betting on a Sweet’s plan.” Logan shoved a hand through his already rumpled thick brown hair, the dining room light glinting off his gold cufflinks. “We can make this happen.”

“Two weeks and no more.” Marc stood up and pushed in his chair. “If there’s not interstate and river access agreement by then, I’m going to have to tell my clients it’s a bad investment.”

Ten minutes later, she and Logan stood at the valet station waiting for their cars to be brought to the front. Marc’s taillights shrank in the distance as he hit the highway for the drive back to Harbor City. The city of eight million people was her home, yet she didn’t have even the slightest twinge of regret that she wasn’t headed down the highway herself. Maybe Olivia was right; she may have started drinking the Kool-Aid.

A valet jogged up to the covered awning, a sheen of sweat dampening his forehead. “Ma’am, there’s a problem with your car.”

Her stomach sank. “What’s wrong?”

The valet gulped in a few breaths. “Your tires have been slashed.”

Chapter
Eleven

After Miranda’s second call to Natalie went straight to voicemail, Logan offered to give her a ride home.

It made sense to accept Logan’s offer. Of course, that was before she was locked inside the cab of Logan’s truck, the tempting scent of cedar, musk, and a dangerous-to-her man heavy in the air. Despite her better judgment, she couldn’t ignore the way Logan’s hands lightly grasped the steering wheel, reminding her of what it had been like together in the vault. How soft yet intense his fingers had been on her hips. The roughness of his thumbs teasing her nipple to an almost painful pleasure point.

Miranda sat with her hands clasped in her lap. “Thanks for the ride.”

Logan shrugged his shoulders, having abandoned his jacket to a hanger in the truck’s minuscule back seat. “I couldn’t leave you cooling your heels at the country club for half an hour, waiting for your sister. You’ll be able to pick up your car tomorrow morning. Hud said the shop would be able to outfit you with a new set of tires right away.”

“Thanks.” This single word fought its way out of her throat, tight with emotion.

H
e turned left off the highway at the sign for the Salvation Marina. “I know just the thing to set you to rights.”

She eyeballed the full moon hanging low over the yachts lined up at the dock. She couldn’t spot the security guard, but she knew he was there keeping a watchful eye on the expensive toys bobbing gently on the river. The place had closed hours ago, and all of the yachts were shut up tighter than a Mason Jar after canning season. “You planning on breaking in?”

He rattled a small set of brass keys. “It’s the captain’s annual vacation to Bermuda. You feel like playing with the devil?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?”

He laughed. “Not a question. It’s the name of my private escape vessel.” He pulled the truck to a stop in front of a sixty-four-foot yacht, the white and stainless steel sparkling in the moonlight. The words “Playing With the Devil” were painted in swirling letters on the back.

“Of course it is.” She giggled, the stress of the night finally hitting her breaking point. “You are after all the prince of Salvation.”

“You keep saying that, but you need to know that crown doesn’t always fit. That’s when I take her out.” He flashed a wicked grin that did funny things to her stomach. “Come on.” He swung open his door and they both got out. “Let’s go see how you like her.”

Reaching down, he untied the ropes tethering the boat to the dock, then took her hand. Together, they hopped from the dock and onto the yacht, which swayed slightly in the breeze. His firm grip anchored her body, but even that small touch sent her mind off in a million directions, all of which involved him holding much more than her hand.

What Miranda knew about boats could fit into a shot glass, but even she couldn’t help but notice the luxury around her. The immaculate gleaming teak deck. A sun deck with two flush hatches leading, she presumed, to the cabin below.

“Do I call this a boat or a ship?”

“I just call it a relief.” He leaned back against the stainless steel railing around the deck but didn’t release her hand. “Whenever this town gets to me, whenever I’ve had enough, this is where I come. I figured you could use a little escape tonight. What do you say?”

“Can you do that without the captain?”

His eyes darkened. “You wouldn’t believe all of the things I can do.”

But damn her, she wanted to find out.

He curled his fingers around hers and led the way through the deck chairs to the wheel. Warmth snaked up her forearm, curved around her elbow, and traveled upward until her entire arm tingled.

“So I take it we’re in the middle of a truce again?”

He stopped and turned so quickly she bounced off his strong chest. His other arm reached out, helping her to steady herself on her own two feet, even though her pulse was on a roller coaster ride. The charged silence enveloped them as they stared at each other. His gaze lowered from her eyes to her mouth before traveling back up again. The heated look in his eyes nearly turned her thong to ash. Her heartbeat stumbled.

He traced his thumb across her bottom lip before turning away, making the ache building in her core that much more intense.

“After tonight, I think we could both use it.” He released her hand. “Is it always like that?”

“What do you mean?”

“The way Tyrell reacted to your offer just because of who you are.”

Had he grown up in a Twilight Zone version of Salvation? “Yeah, but in a way I understand. My family is firmly on the crazy side of the mountain.”

He put the key in the boat’s ignition and turned the engine over before steering them out into the wide river. “They must have done something right for you and your sisters to turn out like you did.”

“Are you flirting with me, Logan Martin?” Bubbles fizzed through her system like her blood had become carbonated with lust and longing.

She couldn’t pinpoint the moment when the fussing and fighting had developed into something far more interesting and important, but it had happened. She was done denying it anymore.

“If you have to ask…” His voice lowered to a sexy timbre. “I’m not doing it right.”

“And here I thought the Martins never did anything wrong.” She stepped closer, oh so close, but not yet touching anywhere besides their hands.

He stayed still, except for the vein in his temple that had gone into overdrive. “Oh, there’s plenty hiding inside our closets.”

“Like what?”

“Do you remember when someone spray painted the Col. Reeves statue on the town square?”

“No way.” She gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth.

“Even a Martin breaks off course every once in a while,” he said, laughing.

He lowered his free hand and curled his pinky finger around hers, the innocence of the gesture hotter than if he’d sailed them right into third base. Salvation disappeared behind them as they sailed downriver, away from the rules and the expectations about who and what they were. There were only the two of them underneath a blanket of stars so bright she couldn’t hide the truth from herself any longer. She wanted to be here. With Logan. Shit, she’d never stopped wanting that.

He pulled back the throttle until they stopped moving and pushed a button with an anchor printed on it. “This looks like a good spot.” Standing close enough that their hips brushed, he let go of her hand and snaked his fingers around her hip. His hooded gaze dropped to her mouth. “You willing to risk it?”

Her heart skipped a beat, and she glanced out at the empty shoreline. From their spot in the middle of the river, they were hidden from prying eyes, but not from her doubts. Logan had hurt her before. Could she really trust him again? Could she live with herself if she didn’t take a chance?

She tilted her chin up. “Let’s go for it.”

Logan’s eyelids lowered, and he pivoted a half turn toward her.

Body buzzing from the palpable sexual attraction as potent as a twelve percent alcohol imperial ale, Miranda fiddled with the gold cufflinks at his wrists. Temptation nearly overwhelmed her. Temptation to say to hell with propriety. With other people’s expectations. There was no denying she wanted this man. She could fuck him silly and walk away from this small town in a few weeks after selling the Sweet Salvation Brewery to DeBoer Financial at a tidy profit and return to her real life, this time with a corner office. After all, she’d left him in the dust before and been just fine. That’s all this would be. A fuck and some fun. Nothing more. Nothing binding. She ignored the little voice inside her head that mocked her rationalizations.

He dipped his head, his mouth frustratingly close to hers. “You are trouble with a capital T, Miranda Sweet.” A desperate need tinged his whisper.

She rubbed against the bulge in his pants. “Come on, Mr. Perfect, walk on the wild side.”

He moaned then took a half step back, the sudden onslaught of air cool against her overheated skin.

Immediately missing the warmth of his strong body, she stepped between his open legs. She was playing with fire, but she couldn’t seem to resist his draw.

For a second, he just looked at her, his brown-eyed gaze locked on her mouth, and his eyes went wide. Miranda forgot to breathe. Her nipples hardened against the lace of her strapless bustier bra and she yearned for his mouth against her sensitive flesh.

The heat pooling in her belly spread through her body, melting away any doubts or second thoughts.

Tonight, Logan was hers and she was his. The rightness of it spread through her like molten gold.

“We’re in the middle of nowhere
,” he whispered. “No one can see us.”

A secret. Just like their first time together. The parallel slid between her ribs like the sharpest of knives, but she pushed past the pain. She wasn’t a lovestruck girl anymore. Time had cured her of that.

She stepped closer and inhaled the woodsy scent he wore like a sexual promise. She teased her fingers down over his hard pecs, noting his heart’s rapid beating against her palm. “There’s no one to interrupt us here.”

“Thank God, because I plan on tasting and touching every inch of that delectable body.”

Her fingers snuck his shirt’s top button through the buttonhole. “Do you have a condom?”

“I have three.”

Surrendering to the madness of it all, Miranda pushed two more buttons through the small openings. Her enemy. Her lover. Maybe something more. It no longer mattered. “You’re either very optimistic or I’m in for a hell of a night.”

Logan reached around and busied his hands with the string holding her silk dress’s top in place. “Both. I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind since the vault, but you’ve been avoiding me.”

Her heartbeat ratcheted up to Mach five when his fingers brushed the bare skin at her nape. “Not avoiding, just keeping a distance.”

He tilted his head and kissed the sensitive spot where her jaw met her ear. She nearly came unglued in his arms.

“What about how you backpedaled the moment you saw me in the grocery store?” He punctuated the question by nipping her earlobe.

“I forgot something in another aisle.” Her voice sounded so far away to her own overheated ears, so lost was she to the tiniest stroke of his fingers and lips.

“And at The Kitchen Sink?” He pulled the loose end of the tie holding her dress in place. It swung across her back and she clenched her thighs together against the yearning building deep within her core.

“Didn’t want to interrupt your lunch with Hud.”

“You’ve got an answer for everything.” If only he could ask the question that mattered: Why had she left before? His fingers grasped the knot and paused as if to give them a last chance to back out. The attraction between them was as crazy as it was doomed, but her breath caught in fear that he’d changed his mind.

The fabric knot behind her neck slipped free, and silk poured over her sensitive skin, revealing the pink upper swell of her areola peeking out from the cups of the black bustier bra. With a shimmy of her hips, the dress glided over her ass, down her thighs, and landed in a pool of scarlet at her feet.

Logan glided the backs of his fingers down her throat, across her collarbone, and between the swell of her breasts. “You’re beautiful.”

She spread open his shirt, reveling in the expanse of sinewy muscle on display. “You’re not bad yourself.”

Everything about the moment felt perfect and right. Being with Logan was like coming home.

Skimming her fingers across his flat nipples and continuing south down his washboard abs, she found her next target: the buckle of his black leather belt. As her fingers took care of the buckle, she ran her tongue against his peach nipples. She unfastened the top button on his pants and inched the zipper down. His hard length strained to break free from the confines of his navy boxer briefs, twitching beneath the pressure of her palm and rubbing against it through the ribbed underwear.

His moan vibrated against her cheek while she followed his dark happy trail until it disappeared behind the elastic waistband.

Bracing her hands on his strong thighs, Miranda looked up at Logan’s hooded gaze. “I need you naked.”

“Whatever you want, you get.”

While he flipped off his shoes, Miranda twisted his gold cufflinks so she could tug his starched white dress shirt off his arms, revealing thick biceps and corded forearms. Next, his pants fell to the deck, followed a moment later by boxer briefs. Once again he stood as naked as a proud Adonis before her, and the sight of him made her mouth dry while other parts went molten. He rubbed against her lace-covered folds, slick with desire and aching with want. In this, if in nothing else, they were perfectly aligned in purpose and plan.

Logan ran his palms down the black satin bustier covering her ribs until his long fingers curled around her hips. He slipped his hands behind her, lowering them to her ass and tucking a finger underneath the lace of her thong. In one swift motion, he yanked her against him. Desire pulsed deep within her core, and she twisted her hips, the delicious friction teasing her and hinting at the sweet relief only he could provide.

“If you don’t want me to rip these in two.” He twisted the back of her thong around his finger and pulled the material tight against her sensitive clit. “You’d better take them off now.”

The rough edge to his voice made her quiver. The underlying affection underneath made her breathless. It gave her hope that she wasn’t the only one losing herself in this madness of something so wrong being so right on so many levels. And that realization took her higher than even his skilled touch.

She captured his mouth with hers, sucking his bottom lip into her warmth and nipping the tender flesh. Confident in her control of the situation, she ignored his words, teasing him a bit longer by cupping his balls and gently squeezing. In the next heartbeat, the unmistakable sound of tearing material broke through the lust fogging her brain, and what was left of her lace thong fell down one leg.

Before she could protest, Logan spun her around, his lips caressing her shoulders as his hands unfastened her bustier’s hook and eye closures with the ease of a man who knew her body as well as his own. He kissed and licked his way down her spine, hitting each inch of revealed skin. Her thighs were quaking by the time the bustier fell to the floor, and when he stood, she leaned against his steady form.