It's In His Smile (A Red River Valley Novel Book 3) (16 page)

“Wow.” Her foot waggling kicked into warp speed. “Do people always jump like that when you snap your fingers?”

He lifted a cocky brow. “In the architectural world, usually.” Then uncertainty flashed in his eyes. “Outside of the architectural world, it’s another story.”

“I don’t have any experience with interviews or cameras or microphones. You have to do it.”

He shook his head. “No can do. You’re the boss. If you want people to take you seriously as a leader with the festival and in the community, this is how you do it.”

“By making a fool out of myself for public record? I’ve already had enough of that from the
Red River Rag
.”

“By leading.” The corner of his mouth turned up, laughter glinting in his mesmerizing eyes. “You’ve already got the bossy part down like a champ.”

His legs eased around hers, framing her under the table. The fabric of his worn jeans rubbed against her thighs. Her thin leggings did nothing to stop the friction from igniting a slow burn that traveled straight to ground zero.

“Stop bouncing your foot. The whole table is shaking. Being a strong leader doesn’t mean you’re never scared.” He rubbed his inner thighs against hers. “It means you suck it up and do what you have to do even when you’re scared.”

And that’s why he commanded respect just by walking into a room, no matter the crowd. Leadership came naturally to him.

“I’m not like you,” she whispered. “I don’t know if I can pull this off.”

His gaze caressed over her. “Sweetheart, you’re far stronger than I am. Bea knew it. I know it.
You
just don’t know it yet. I’m staying behind the camera. This is your moment to shine.”

Oh.

She stared at him, and her lips parted. She didn’t know what to say except, “Let’s order.”

They both grabbed for the menus, and his hand landed on top of hers. It closed over hers like it was an automatic reflex, and for a second, everyone in the room disappeared except for him and her. And her stupid nipples stood at attention and gave a twenty-one-gun salute.

Maybe she was glad she’d worn a sweater after all. At least it would cover the evidence of how her body responded to him with enough voltage that she might as well have stuck her finger in a light socket.

She tugged her hand free, missing the weight of his. Missing the confidence and security she drew from such a simple thing.

Hating herself for it too.

She’d worked hard to make her own destiny. That path had gained her the self-respect that her mother never had. It had also landed her single and alone and wanting more, the same way her mother always had been.

Go figure.

And for the first time, Miranda’s resentment toward her mother eased the slightest bit. Her mom may have gone about trying to find companionship the wrong way, but Miranda was starting to see why she’d wanted it so badly. Being alone was better than being with the wrong person. She glanced at Talmadge, and her breath hitched. But when a person finally realized that the right person might be out there somewhere, being alone sucked.

Trying to refocus, Miranda looked around the room to see if anyone had watched that small moment of accidental handholding. Her thoughts cleared enough to notice that almost everyone wore green T-shirts with Talmadge’s company name and logo across the back and printed on the front shoulder.

How cute.

“Have you started a cult or something?” She opened a menu and studied it like she’d never seen it before even though it hadn’t changed since she started work there at fifteen.

“Uncle Joe asked me to donate the shirts for tonight’s fundraiser. I had my assistant send them from Seattle. It gave her something to do besides spa treatments and knitting at her desk since I’m not there to keep the company wheels turning.”

“Your assistant is a she?” Miranda kept studying the menu. Of course his assistant was a she. Women all over the Pacific Northwest probably lined up to do the job for free just to get the chance to look at him. Looking at him was payment enough.

“Jealous?” Talmadge cracked a peanut and popped it into his mouth with a smirk.

Yes.
“Of course not.”

He chomped on the peanut and dug another one out of the tin bucket at the end of the table. “Her name is Ellen.”

Ellen.
Did
Ellen
have long legs, blonde hair, and possibly stand to inherit a hotel chain at some point in her future? Miranda dropped the menu to pick at a callus on her work-worn hands.

“Ellen is almost old enough to be on Social Security. She’s also a loyal employee, and I don’t have to worry about her wanting our relationship to go beyond professional boundaries.”

Oh. “It’s none of my business.” Miranda picked up her menu again. “You can get back to work in Washington as soon as the inn passes inspection and the gazebo is unveiled at the festival.”

She looked up about the time he popped another peanut into his mouth and chewed, slow and languid, his eyes never leaving her mouth.

“I’m sure it will be a relief,” she blathered on. “You know . . . the unveiling . . .”

His eyes went all smoky and caressed down her neck to the drooping cowl neckline of her sweater. Flaming heat licked at the exposed skin just above her breasts when his gaze lingered there.

“You can unveil anything, anytime, boss. No argument from me.” His voice was low and husky.

Her lips parted, her mouth turning to cotton.

Joe came over to their table and shook Talmadge’s hand. “What can I get you two lovebirds? It’s on the house.”

Miranda’s mouth fell open. Seriously? “We’re not lovebirds, Joe.” And he rarely gave anything away for free.

“Thanks, Uncle Joe. We’ll both have a rib eye. Medium well. Your famous coleslaw and two beers. And bring Miranda one of my T-shirts. I promised her one.” He shot a cocky smile at her. A sexy-as-hell smile that made her insides melt to liquid.

“Ordering for me isn’t exactly letting me lead.” She lowered her voice.

“Knowing you and your frugal ways, you would’ve ordered a side salad instead of a real meal.”

Joe shrugged. “He’s right, Miranda. You never want to impose.”

She exhaled. Loudly. “All right. Since you insist, Joe.”

“I’ll put that order in.” He turned to Talmadge. “But Miranda doesn’t drink. Never has. I’ll bring water for you, hon,” Joe said and disappeared.

Talmadge’s expression blanked, and he stared at her. And then the confusion in his stare turned to suspicion as he narrowed those beautiful eyes.

Beads of sweat broke out between her shoulder blades and trickled straight down her spine. Seven years ago she’d told him their two hours of tender, passionate lovemaking were a big mistake because she’d had too much to drink, which had been the first excuse to pop into her stuttering brain after they returned to Lorenda’s reception and Momma Long Legs had clamped all four limbs and both Botoxed lips around Talmadge tighter than her tiny designer dress had clung to her size-two figure.

Miranda zeroed in on the menu and refused to look up. Refused to look at Talmadge, because she was afraid of what she’d see. She didn’t plan to explain that she’d lied as a desperate attempt to salvage some self-respect and deflect her humiliation that night.

“Miranda.” Just one word that said he
expected
an explanation.

“What if I didn’t want a rib eye?” Miranda demanded, tossing her menu aside. “Maybe I’m a vegetarian.”

“Miranda,”
he growled.

Her mind zinged to find a way to redirect the conversation. “So what kind of after-school rec center did Bea have in mind?”

A muscle beside his eye twitched. “Stop changing the subject every time the night we spent together comes up.”

“Shhh!” she hissed, and the next table looked over with curious expressions.

He leaned in, his teeth clearly gritting together. “It’s time we get a few things straight about that night.”

“Not now.” She leaned in too and dropped her voice. “Not here.”

A muscle in his strong jaw tensed. “Fine. But we
will
talk about it later.”

Jamie walked up wearing an apron, grabbed an empty chair from the next table, and turned it around to straddle it. His arms propped on the chair back.

“What are you doing here, Jamie?” Miranda nearly choked at the sight of her intelligent little brother wearing one of the aprons that Joe gave to his dishwashers.

“Joe gave me a job here, thanks to your boyfriend.” Jamie gave Talmadge a knuckle bump.

Miranda’s blood started to sing like a boiling teakettle.

“He’s not my boyfriend, and you’re too smart to wash dishes.” She spoke to Jamie but stared at Talmadge.

“He wanted to work.” Talmadge shrugged. “It’s an admirable quality, so I helped him get a job.”

“Not as a dishwasher,” she said through gritted teeth. She’d worked too hard to give Jamie the opportunity she never had. She wasn’t about to see it wasted over a sink of soapy water.

“Joe’s renting me one of his apartments too.” Jamie pointed overhead to the three loft apartments located directly above the bar. “I already moved my clothes, so I’ll be out of your hair.”

“You’re not in my hair, Jamie. You need to stay with me. It’ll save money, and you won’t have to work.” How could he . . . how could
they?
Her anger rising, she leveled a hot glare at one and then the other. She wasn’t sure which one she was more pissed at.

Talmadge lowered his voice so only she and Jamie could hear. “Let him be a man and earn his way, Miranda. You know as well as anyone that Joe is a good person to work for.”

That was beside the point. She hadn’t just been a sister to Jamie. She’d been more like a mother. Jamie should have come to her before making a decision like getting a job washing dishes. Talmadge already had way too much control over Miranda’s future. Now he was usurping her authority to control Jamie’s too?

Over her dead, sexually frustrated body.

“You look pretty tonight, sis.” Jamie tried to lighten the mood by using his I’ve-screwed-up-so-now-I’m-going-to-suck-up tone.

“Okay, what do you want?” Miranda asked with a raised brow. “Just my approval to work a job so far below your IQ level that it doesn’t even register, or is there something else?”

“What? Can’t I pay my big sister a compliment?” He feigned insult.

“You’re just trying to get on my good side.”

“You have a good side?”

Talmadge snorted.

“You two make a cute couple,” Jamie said.

“We’re not a couple, Jamie, now get lost. We’ll talk about you working here in private.” She shot a searing glare at Talmadge.

“You look like a couple. Everybody in town thinks so.” Jamie drummed the chair back.

And this time, Talmadge didn’t try to correct Jamie’s misunderstanding of their relationship. Talmadge just crossed his arms over his chest, leaned back casually against the booth seat, and took in the freak show.

“Stop talking, Jamie, before I stab you with my fork,” Miranda ground out.

“Okay, okay.” Jamie held up both palms. “Jeez, loosen up. Good thing you have a boyfriend now. Maybe you can work off some of that tension and testiness.”

A smile slid onto Talmadge’s lips, and her ears started to ring.

Miranda picked up her fork and held it like a weapon.

Jamie scooted his chair closer to Talmadge. “I talked to Mom this morning. She mentioned your affair.”

Affair?
The ringing got louder.

“I tried to do damage control, but Mom keeps wailing about how all your troubles are over now that you’ve found a rich guy.”

Miranda’s eyes slid shut. When her grip tightened around the fork, Jamie scooted all the way over to Talmadge’s side of the table. “Just thought I should warn you. You know how Mom is. Plus, I’m just sayin’ that her latest round of rants about you are an improvement.”

Miranda pinched the bridge of her nose.

He spoke to Talmadge. “Mom decided Miranda must be a lesbian when she turned twenty-eight and still hadn’t shown an interest in any of the men around here.”

Something shifted in Talmadge’s eyes and they turned a darker shade of blue-gray. Then they caressed over her face.

“I’m going to kill you in your sleep.” She gave her little brother a sweet smile.

Jamie returned it with a mischievous look. “Now see, you’re proving Mom right. This kind of attitude is why she thinks you can’t find a boyfriend.” His gaze shifted to Talmadge. “Until now.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” She tried to keep her voice low and her anger in check. “And I do not need nor do I want a man.” Her hand gripped the fork so tight her knuckles turned white.

Jamie nodded toward Miranda but still spoke to Talmadge. “Precisely the reason Mom thought she was a lesbian.”

“Go. Away.”

Jamie stood. “That’s the thanks I get for giving you the heads-up about Mom?”

“I haven’t stabbed you yet. That’s thanks enough.” Then her smile softened at her kid brother and she tugged him down to ruffle his hair. “Okay,
now
go away.”

“Hey!” Jamie complained. “I’m not eight.”

“See ya around, buddy.” Talmadge held up his fists again for another fist bump.

The waitress delivered their drinks. Miranda’s was wrong. Before she could ask for water instead of beer, the waitress was flagged by another table that wanted to complain about their food order.

“Jamie’s a good kid,” Talmadge said.

“Jamie should’ve come to me. I could’ve helped him decide what kind of job to get.”

“He’s old enough to make his own decisions.” Talmadge wasn’t backing down. “And sometimes a young guy wants advice from another guy.” His voice softened and slid over her like the damned butterscotch she loved so much. “That’s a good thing, Miranda. It means he’s trying to stand on his own two feet, like his big sister. If you keep clipping his wings, he’ll never fly.”

Well. Dang. Her throat grew all thick as she thought about how good Jamie had turned out in spite of their upbringing. And now he didn’t need her much anymore. He wanted guidance from someone else. A man. A strong, successful man like Talmadge.