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She slid from her barstool and graced him with a dazzling smile that was just a bit menacing as she said, “My daddy taught me to shoot a gun, gut a fish and break a kneecap if need be. Strange men in bars don’t scare me.” She slung her pack onto her back and headed for the door. She graced him with a single questioning look, then kept walking. The message was clear: come or stay, it doesn’t matter to me.
He grinned ruefully and tossed a few bucks on the scarred wooden bar. Either he was about to make the biggest mistake of his life or he was going to have a heart attack from the wildest night of sex ever imagined.
He hoped it was the latter.
At least he’d die happy.
And he didn’t have to worry about where he was going to spend the night.
Things were looking up already.
Perhaps this gig in Homer was going to work out just fine.
CHAPTER TWO
MIRANDA FELL BACK on the bed, winded and sated, sweat dampening her hairline as her chest rose and fell with the same harsh breaths as her temporary lover. She was thankful he wasn’t a chatterbox—she just wanted to enjoy the blissful nothing, the wonderful blankness of her mind that was the aftereffect of a damn good romp in the sack. And oh, yes, it’d been good. Better than good, in fact.
A satisfied sigh rattled from her chest as the sweat drying in the chill air caused goose bumps to pop along her skin. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and padded silently through the darkened room to the restroom, where she slipped a robe over her nude body and made her way to the kitchen for water.
As she guzzled her glass, she leaned against the old fridge, listening as it clunked and hummed its way through the night as it always did. The wind whistled through the trees outside, whispering of the coming storm, promising a deluge with the season’s first snow. Her body hummed and tingled, even protesting with a show of soreness as muscles that hadn’t been put to use for a while reminded her that they were still there. But it was a good feeling, even if she had to suffer through the awkward conversation later. Perhaps with some luck he’d already crashed out. A smile curved her lips. The man had stamina, that was for sure. Gotta give credit where credit was due. Unwelcome, her mother’s voice in her head crashed her buzz and stomped her good feelings.
When you going to stop whoring around and settle down like a normal girl? Don’t you think your son needs a man around? It’s bad enough you chose to shack up with a criminal just to prove a point.
Jennelle Sinclair’s strident tone had dripped with disapproval and disgust, leaving no room for confusion as to where she stood on her remaining daughter’s choices. But that was nothing new. If disapproving of Miranda’s choices were an Olympic sport, Jennelle would win the gold.
Miranda closed her eyes and pushed away her mother’s recriminations just as she always did when they came back to jeer at her. Tonight would have been difficult no matter how many men she lost herself in or how many drinks she downed.
All because of one damn sweater. Hard to believe given her current penchant for wash-and-wear convenience that there’d ever been a time when she’d cared about something as frivolous as a cashmere sweater.
Miranda couldn’t even remember what it looked like any longer, which was a surprise given that it had ruined so many lives.
Simone and her flighty sense of responsibility, her ability to laugh off anything that didn’t adhere to her sense of fun and fancy... Miranda’s chest trembled with the repression of a sob that felt trapped behind her ribs. “Damn you, Simone,” she murmured, adding with a shake of her head, “Damn that sweater.”
Would there ever come a time when she didn’t obsess on the past? If the fact that she was standing in her darkened kitchen at midnight, rehydrating after a night of alcohol and one-nighter sex was any indication, the answer was distressingly obvious. She blew out a short breath as an ironic chuckle chased her thoughts, and she returned to the bedroom with quiet steps.
“Is that for me?” a deep male voice asked from the darkness. The only source of light, a pale sliver of moonlight shining through the partially parted window drapes, illuminated his profile and glanced off a powerfully built shoulder. She allowed her stare to linger over, savor even, the view and then handed him the water glass with a shrug. He downed it with a good swallow and returned the glass. “Thanks,” he said, his voice warm with a smile that she couldn’t exactly see but she could imagine. “You really know how to make a man work for his reward. I like that in a woman.”
