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“If only your clients were local and wanted to invest in a brewery.”
Marc tweaked her on the nose. “That would make things too easy, and where’s the fun in that?”
Logan hated sitting with his back to the door, but when Tyrell Hawson had decided that the corner spot was the position of power and asked Logan to switch, he didn’t argue. He needed Salvation’s mayor on his side, even if that meant his side was sitting in the worst spot at the table. Cordell Blankenship and Roger Knox sat between Logan and Tyrell, leaving two seats open for Marc Oberon and his associate. All three men represented the Salvation status quo and Logan was destined to join their ranks in due time. He’d been looking forward to it, more than ready to accept his destiny as a Martin. But then Miranda had come home.
“Sorry we’re late, gentlemen, but some people can’t be rushed.” Marc pulled out a chair, but instead of sitting down, he took a step back, revealing Miranda.
Two thoughts hit Logan at nearly the same moment. One: She was wearing a flowing red dress made out of some sort of silky material that left a man’s fingers itching to inch it up over her curves. Two: What in the hell was she up to now? After their meeting at the bank vault, she’d given him the cold shoulder every time they passed each other in town. Not too surprising considering their history. But still, why ignore him for the past week only to show up at the dinner that could make or break his plans?
The rest of the men at the table stood, but the sudden onslaught of lust and confusion left Logan tongue-tied and nailed to his chair.
“I hope you don’t mind me joining you, gentlemen.” Miranda sat down in the seat directly to Logan’s right, studiously ignoring his presence. He wished like hell that he could do the same.
Her bare knee brushed against his, setting off a jolt of awareness that ricocheted up his thigh and landed squarely between his legs. Maybe it was the Jim Beam and Coke he’d just slammed back, but the world took on a hazy quality, putting her in soft focus. The sparkle of her gold earrings caught his attention as they brushed against her neck, partially exposed by her tightly pulled back hairstyle. Staring at the delicate column of her throat, he could almost taste the salt of her skin on his tongue. How a woman could confound him and make him harder than dirt in January, he had no earthly idea. Normally, he didn’t like being off-balance, but he’d developed an appreciation for it when it came to Miranda.
“I take it you all know my associate, Miranda Sweet.” Marc either didn’t see the smoke starting to pour out of Tyrell’s ears, or he didn’t care, because the Harbor City financier settled into his seat and flipped open his menu. “So what do you recommend?”
“I don’t believe this. You really expect us to believe she is your associate?” Tyrell’s voice turned dangerously low, bordering on a growl.
“Yes, Miranda and I have worked together on several deals.” Marc cocked an eyebrow and closed his menu. “When I heard she was the owner of the one parcel of land you gentlemen still needed, I knew we could come to some sort of agreement.”
“I’m sure you did.” The good ole boy twang in Tyrell’s tone spelled out exactly what kind of cooperation he imagined Miranda had given Marc.
Heat blasted up from Logan’s toes, and he crushed the linen napkin in his fist to keep from smacking the lewd look off Tyrell’s jowled cheeks. He’d sat silent before when he was a boy, but, as a man, he couldn’t let the same old story keep repeating. But before he could jump to her defense, Miranda spoke.
“I’m glad you’re confident in my abilities.” There wasn’t a strained note in Miranda’s voice, but the tension in her straight back showed she hadn’t missed Tyrell’s dig. She turned toward the waiter. “But before we discuss business, I have a question. Is Miss Linda still running the kitchen here?”
“Yes ma’am.” The waiter nodded.
“Wonderful. I’ll have the brown butter chicken breast.” She laid her hand on Marc’s forearm and leaned close, the move pulling her skirt up to show another inch of creamy thigh. “You have to try it. It is amazing.”
Pinpricks of jealously marched hand-in-hand with desire up Logan’s spine. Not that he could do a damn thing about either one. He had to figure something out, or she was going to get the better of him. Again.
“You picked another winner there, Miranda.” Marc laid his fork on his now empty plate.
Just the way the other man said her name made Logan twitchy. It was too friendly and too familiar for someone who was only a business colleague. And the way she laughed at the other man’s jokes, touched his arm to emphasize a point, and looked up at him with her ruby lips parted in an almost continual crooked smile…had Logan seeing red—or more correctly, green.
He’d spent the entire dinner shifting in his seat and wondering what she wore under that silky red dress. The tantalizing flashes of thigh that had appeared when she twisted in his seat had him in a nearly constant state of tortured arousal.
Good thing Tyrell had kept his foul suggestions to himself during dinner, because Logan, in a frustration-induced black mood, would love to be able to work out his aggression.
“No one makes chicken like Miss Linda. When I worked in the kitchens one summer, I begged and begged for the recipe. She gave it to me, but I can’t even come close to her masterpiece.” Miranda folded her napkin in three precise turns. “But enough of memory lane, I think it’s about time we get to the reason for this meeting.”
Now she had the attention of Logan’s big head and his li
ttle head. If this deal fell through, more than just the Martin family fortune would tank. The industrial park would attract new business to Salvation, bringing jobs and a much-needed uptick in the small town’s economy. The Sweet Salvation Brewery was all that stood between the industrial park and success.
“My sisters and I are willing to grant you river access and allow you to build a road through our land between the interstate off-ramp and the industrial park ramp.”
“In exchange for what?”
“In exchange for a two percent cut of your profits.”
“That’s highway robbery.” Tyrell’s voice jumped an octave.
“No, it’s smart business. Seeing as how the next closest interstate off-ramp alone is twenty miles down the road. And even then, drivers would have to go an hour down a two-lane highway to get to you. Transporting goods to and from the industrial park will be at least twenty percent higher without interstate and river access.”
Logan leaned forward. This could be just the break needed to seal the deal with the investors. Not only would the town and his family benefit, but without the land dispute between them, maybe there was a chance to make up for his multiple fuck-ups with Miranda. To show her he wasn’t like Tyrell, that he’d changed from the idiot he’d been before. He wanted that more than he wanted to win the bet. The truth of it lifted a decade’s worth of guilt from his shoulders and replaced it with a sense of hope—of purpose.
