It's In His Smile (A Red River Valley Novel Book 3) (18 page)

Which, at the moment, was Miranda and Talmadge.

Lorenda dug her smartphone out of her purse and pulled up the
Red River Rag
. She passed it to Miranda. “Have you seen the latest?”

Miranda didn’t want to see it.

She didn’t.

She pinched the bridge of her nose, then reached for the phone.

Her jaw nearly hit the table. “This was just taken!”

Our favorite architect makes progress with his latest project, but will he drive the nail home tonight? Miss Cruz is becoming Red River’s darling, but if she’s going to DATE him while he remodels her inn, she could at least let him stay the night.

Miranda scrolled to the picture under the caption. Her and Talmadge sitting at a booth just a few minutes ago, gazing into each other’s eyes, his hand on hers. Her looking at him like she wanted to eat him for dinner instead of the steak he’d ordered for her.

She tossed the phone back at Lorenda.

“Sweetie.” Ella rubbed her engorged breasts as though she were in the privacy of her own home. “They’re too hard to resist when they look that good.”

Angelique nodded and rubbed her bun in the oven. “Their six-pack abs are a weapon, and they know how to use them to wear us down.”

Yes, Talmadge’s body was unfair. And uncalled for. “You guys make me feel so much better. I joined you for some moral support.” She might just take up drinking after all. If she could ever get the damned waitress’s attention. She looked around the room.

“We’ve been right where you’re at, and if his near mythical good looks don’t get to you, his charisma will.” Angelique flashed a smile and winked. “And it’s worth it as long as you don’t end up brokenhearted.”

And that was exactly why Miranda couldn’t let her resistance falter. She was already on the verge of falling so head-over-heels in love with Talmadge that if she actually let it happen, she’d never stop tumbling.

“I can’t let it happen.” Miranda shook her head. This was her fault for falling into his arms at Bea’s wake and then letting him kiss her, not to mention letting him feel up her ass. His lips and his hands were just too hard to resist.

A shiver raced up her spine.

“Then just don’t let him take his shirt off in front of you, honey,” Ella warned, and Angelique snorted like she knew exactly what Ella meant.

“Come on, Miranda, can’t you pull some strings? I need a cranberry juice and something to munch on.” Angelique’s alpha-female personality was starting to show in her voice because a low growl rumbled through her tone.

Miranda blew out an exasperated breath. “All right.” Her tone was just as huffy as the voices of her frustrated friends, who were irritated because they either had joined the ranks of motherhood, or were about to.

“You better hurry. Their hormones are about to mutiny.” Lorenda took another swig of beer. “I’ve been there. Twice. And once the hormones take over, they’re not responsible for their actions.” She turned glazed eyes on Miranda and tried to focus like she might be seeing double. “Need help?”

“Um, no. I’ll take care of it.” Miranda started to get up but paused. “I’ll drive you home tonight, ’kay?”

Lorenda confiscated Ella’s untouched beer. “My brother’s picking me up later when he’s done with his shift. My parents took the kids to Santa Fe overnight to go to the movies, so I’m living it up with you ladies tonight while I can.”

Sliding out of the booth, Miranda smoothed her miniskirt with shaky hands. When Talmadge threw a look over one shoulder and did a double take, his eyes turned smoky. Miranda hardened her nerves.

With each step she took toward the bar, the electrical current swirling around her and Talmadge got stronger. So did the ringing in her ears.

She stepped up to the bar, keeping two empty barstools between her and Talmadge. “Dylan, can we get two cranberry juices for the mommy mafia over there, and I’ll take a water with lemon.” Talmadge didn’t look at her, but she knew he was listening to every word. “They ordered food too. Can you find out what’s holding up the order before anarchy breaks out and they start taking hostages?”

Dylan flashed her a grin, the diamond stud in his ear glinting under the dim bar lights. “We miss you here. You’re irreplaceable.”

Sure. She was the best damn waitress in the Southwest. What a compliment. Someone should give her an award. Maybe a waitress was all she was cut out to be. Why else would she be in this mess, indebted to Talmadge and ready to hump him like a dog in heat if he gave her another one of his lazy smiles?

Still sitting next to Talmadge, Joe leaned back to give her an apologetic look. “Your orders are on the house tonight, Miranda. Sorry for the wait.”

Wow. The new server must be really bad if Joe was giving out more free food and drinks.

Dylan filled a mug with ice water, plopped a lemon in it, added a straw, and slid it onto the bar. He dried his hands on a towel. “Have a seat, and I’ll see if I can track down your food.” He headed toward the kitchen.

Joe pulled his rotund girth off the stool. “I better go see what the problem is.” He shook his head, his double chin waggling, and followed Dylan.

Easing onto a stool three down from Talmadge, she squeezed the lemon into the mug and swished it around with the straw.

She pulled her lip between her teeth right about the time Talmadge turned his gaze on her, and it dropped to her mouth. “Do I smell?”

Heck, yeah. Pretty darn good, actually
. “Beg your pardon?”

“I figured maybe I didn’t shower well enough if you’re sitting way down there.” He got up and came to her. Reclined his long, lean body against the bar and faced her. A beer in one hand, he took a sip and bent one knee so that it rested against hers. “We were getting along so well, and now it’s like I have an awful body odor that I’m not aware of.” He smiled down at her, that boyish grin growing a little more apparent with every day he stayed in Red River. He set his beer on the bar and traced the water droplets on her glass, his fingertip grazing hers. “It seems we had a misunderstanding seven years ago.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “But we’re going to straighten that out. Soon. So stop avoiding it.”

She should’ve let the mommy mafia launch a hostile takeover. Because her pulse kicked, and instead of pulling her hand away from his, she let the current of warm lust seep between them. He reached out and fingered a lock of her hair.

“Another storm must be coming,” she blurted, and then wanted to slap herself. “Um, my hair gets a little wild when it’s wet.”

His pupils expanded to black marbles.

“Moist!” she blurted again.

Good God.

“When the humidity rises, my hair gets curlier.” She bit her lip again.

“I love your curly hair.” His gaze traveled down her length all the way to her boots and up again. “Having fun with your friends?”

“Um.” Her throat was as dry as the desert in the middle of summer, and she cleared it. “Yeah. Fun. All the hormones are a little scary actually.”

He laughed. Deep. Edgy. Sexy.

“So I have to bring my Jeep in for service on Monday. I might not be at the inn for a few hours.” She tried to change the subject.

“If you need to borrow a vehicle, Bea’s Subaru just sits in her garage,” he said. “I prefer the old truck. Reminds me of home and how much I miss”—his sultry look skimmed over her face—“some things here that I can’t have back in Seattle.”

Her pulse revved into a low roar like the engine in his old Dodge pickup.

Heads turned in their direction. She and Talmadge being the center of attention should’ve made her uncomfortable. Instead, Miranda fixated on the way his fingertips kept brushing back and forth against hers. The way his breath whispered across her cheeks when he spoke and made her heart thud against her chest. The way his eyes told her how much he wanted her.

An ache exploded at her center and spread through her until both of her breasts and the spot between her thighs throbbed. She had to remind herself to breathe.

Talmadge’s look grew more sultry like he could read her mind. Or her body. Maybe it was that pheromone thing she seemed to have a problem with. Hell’s bells, and here she was spewing them around food again.

At this rate, she’d never get through the health department’s inspection.

A slow, sultry country-and-western song started up, and more couples took to the dance floor.

“I’d ask you to dance, but I’ve never been very good at it.”

“Me either,” she whispered. She should step away. Go back to her table where the mommy mafia would protect her from making a terrible mistake. Where she couldn’t breathe in his luxurious scent of timber and masculine soap. Instead, she leaned into him, and before she could get her double-crossing body to obey, she kissed him. In front of the whole damn town.

It was soft and sensual, but his lips moved on hers and he let out a breath like he’d been holding it. Or maybe he was shocked. But his mouth took charge, even though he kept the pressure of his lips gentle against hers. Her lips parted and his tongue slipped in to brush hers.

Miranda sighed against his mouth, and a wave of tension receded like the tide. At that moment not one other person in the world existed, and she rested a hand against his chest. His heart thrummed under her touch.

A throat cleared, cutting through the fog of lust that churned around them. Miranda snapped back to reality and jerked away from Talmadge.

“Uh, sorry. But, uh . . .” Joe’s newest waitress stood beside them with two glasses of cranberry juice and a strained expression.

Miranda smoothed her hair and tried to look composed. Wasn’t happening.

“Dylan said to bring this to you,” the waitress huffed.

Miranda was about to tell her to bring the drinks to Angelique and Ella, but then the poor woman might actually get the tables mixed up during the twenty or so steps it would take to walk the drinks over. Miranda stood. “I’ll take them over.”

She reached for the drinks, but Clydelle and Francine walked past—Francine’s ginormous purse swinging—and bumped into the server. Who proceeded to tip both glasses of cranberry juice over and drench the front of Miranda’s white sweater. She gasped as the cold liquid soaked through to the skin.

“Oh, dear,” said Clydelle, and leaned on her cane. “Francine, you should really be more careful with that purse.”

“What’s in that thing anyway?” the waitress asked. “It’s as big as a suitcase.”

Francine clutched it to her chest.

Talmadge grabbed some napkins and tried to dab at Miranda’s chest, which only embarrassed her more because the wet fabric had instantly become transparent. Arms out, jaw gaping, she stared down at the white lace and pale yellow polka dots showing through the soaking wet fabric.

Francine stepped around Clydelle. “Well don’t just stand there, Talmadge. Give her your shirt so she can cover up.”

“That would be the gentlemanly thing to do,” Clydelle agreed.

His lips parted, and his expression blanked.

Miranda panicked.
No! Don’t take off the shirt!
She’d be doomed for sure.

Talmadge pulled the shirttail from his jeans and had the buttons undone before Miranda could stop him. He shrugged out of it and draped it over Miranda’s front.

The entire room went quiet.

Every woman above the age of twelve stared at Talmadge without a shirt on and all but salivated. Miranda included.

“Glad to see you’re staying fit.” Clydelle gawked at Talmadge.

“Yessiree,” agreed Francine.

Miranda did a double take when Francine gave Clydelle a satisfied look that communicated, “Mission accomplished.”
Oh. My. Gawd
. Those two old ladies set him up! To take off his shirt. In a public place.

Miranda wouldn’t even have to look at the
Red River Rag
tomorrow. She already knew what would be in it.

She turned to give her table of girlfriends a silent plea for help, but all three of them shook their heads like they had just lost all hope for her. Because like they’d warned her . . .

She looked back at Talmadge’s shirtless upper body. The ladies were right on target. His washboard abs, muscled arms, and well-defined chest with a dip in the middle crumbled the last ounce of her willpower.

“Let’s get out of here.” She grabbed his arm and towed him toward the door.

C
hapter
F
ifteen

Talmadge let Miranda tug . . . no,
drag
him out of Cotton Eyed Joe’s, the freezing night air stealing his breath. When he offered her his shirt to cover up the sexy polka-dot bra showing through her drenched white top, he hadn’t thought of the scene it would cause. Or that raw desire would blaze to life in her eyes and she’d tow him outside for a make-out session. Because the swirling fog from her heavy breaths and the lusty glaze in her expression left no doubt in his mind that Miranda wanted to make out. Right now.

And walking down Main Street naked from the waist up wasn’t the least bit awkward.

A chatting couple walked toward them, but their conversation stopped when they glanced up and saw Talmadge without a shirt. If Miranda noticed, she didn’t show it. She just kept dragging him along, still clutching his shirt to her front.

“Where are we going?” he clipped out through chattering teeth.

“To your truck.” She didn’t slow.

Thank God, because he needed to get a jacket.

She threw a look over her shoulder like she was making sure he was getting with her program.

He couldn’t hold back a smile. He’d seen the same sexually determined look on her pretty face once before. Seven years ago. And he knew what came with it. Getting naked with her was what he’d fantasized about since he walked out onto the back porch at Bea’s wake and found Miranda on all fours, cracking a smile with her backside. Even though it had ended badly once before—he had enough bad juju going on in his life right now, and God knew he didn’t want to add Miranda to that list of screwups too—being with her seemed right. He just had to make sure she knew what she was getting into first, before they took off any more of their clothes.

But at the moment he didn’t want to be the one to tell her that. Her sweet ass swayed a few steps ahead of him as she pulled him around the corner of Joe’s with her fingers threaded in his. Though she was just over five feet tall, her personality was large and in charge at the moment, and Talmadge was enjoying the show.

So was the rest of Red River who happened to be out and about on a Saturday night. A Jeep lumbered past and honked. Talmadge waved. Miranda didn’t seem to care.

Instead she headed straight to Talmadge’s truck in the parking lot behind Joe’s. She stopped at the driver’s door, clamping his shirt to her soaking chest, and held out her hand. “Keys.”

He smiled down at her. Even though he was freezing, she was adorable as hell like this. “It’s not locked.”

“Oh.” She whirled and jerked the door open. Leaned way inside the truck and rummaged around for his jacket.

Talmadge took in the view.
Sweet
. Her denim miniskirt rode up, and through the skintight leggings, the nice curve of the bottom of her cheeks greeted him. Miranda wasn’t the vegan-skinny type. She had nice full hips and a round ass that was perfectly shaped. Shapely legs disappeared into the boots just below the knees. And when she turned around with his jacket, her nice rack was apparently ready and waiting for him because she’d lowered his shirt and two proud nipples strained through the wet fabric of her clinging top.

“Put this on.” She shoved his jacket at him.

As soon as he had it on, she launched herself at him like she had to have him right that instant. In the parking lot.

Her full breasts pressed against his bare chest. She felt so good wrapped around him that his arms instinctively closed around her waist and smoothed up her back. One hand threaded into her hair, and he tugged her in so that she stood in between his wide stance. He stared at those lips, the ones he’d been fantasizing about all night, and took her mouth with such force it nearly bowled him over. She whimpered when his hand slid south and found the hem of her miniskirt, then slid up the soft, silky leggings to cup her ass—the other thing he’d been fantasizing about all night—and she shuddered, making those magnificent breasts with their rock-hard nipples brush against his bare skin.

He let out a tortured moan, and his kiss grew more urgent, drawing another whimper from deep inside her.

He wanted to bend her over the seat of his truck, hike up her skirt, and give her a whole lot more to moan about, but it was for her own good that they stop, so he broke the kiss and nipped at her lower lip. By the look on her face and her aggressiveness, if he didn’t stop it, they
would
end up doing it right there in his grandpa’s old truck, and it would be all over the Internet before they could get their clothes back on.

And she’d hate him. And she’d hate herself. But worst of all, her reputation would be forever ruined in this town because of him. The gossip would follow her around for the rest of her life, like it had her mother.

She angled her head toward her shoulder to study him, and one of her hands still fisted the shirt he’d given her at the bar. He guessed he didn’t look too convincing about wanting to stop, because she went up on her tiptoes and pulled him into another hot, wet kiss, her hand roaming under his jacket against his bare skin. Damn, he didn’t want it to end. He wanted what she was trying to give him. But not at the price it would cost her.

He broke the kiss and pulled back to look at her. Lips swollen from their kiss, eyes glazed with lust. Ah, hell. “Miranda, this is a mistake.” The misty fog of their heavy breaths spiraled into the air.

Had he lost his mind?

Her lusty expression turned to hurt. “I depend on you for everything. Every single part of my life is in your hands. I’m even ready to get it on with you in the parking lot. And now that I’m willing, you’re pushing me away.” She tried to push out of his arms, but he wouldn’t let her go. “At least you were man enough to reject me before we had sex.”

“Miranda, you’ll regret it by morning. I don’t want to sleep with you and then have to leave you.”

Something kicked inside his gut. Leaving her was the last thing he wanted, but that’s pretty much what he’d done the first time, and it was likely what he’d have to do this time.

Her lips parted for a second like she was stunned. Her hand, still fisting his shirt, pressed to her chest. She tried to pull out of his embrace again, but he was not going to let her go like this. Not again.

She huffed out a hollow laugh. “I’ll regret it, Talmadge? Or you’ll regret it?”

“That’s not what I meant. We could work something ou—”

“You know what? You’re right. I would regret it.”

“Can I finish a damn sentence, please?”

For once, she seemed to acquiesce.

With the pad of his thumb, he traced her bottom lip. “I want you, Miranda. I won’t lie.” And he did. He wanted her so damn much it hurt to look at her. Plus he wasn’t crazy, or dead, or gay. She was a great catch. “But not like this. If we ever sleep together again . . .”
If?
He was surprised he’d managed to keep his dick in his pants around Miranda this long. “We’re going to spend all night together . . .” He gave her a soft, sweet kiss. “We’re going to wake up together.”

She drew in a breath and held it.

“And I’m going to spend hours . . . days, showing you how much I really do want you. Because that’s what you deserve.”

He placed a finger under her chin and lifted her gaze to his. And hell, he didn’t mean to make her cry, but a tear spilled over and ran down her soft cheeks. He pulled her into his arms and caressed the back of her head.

“What can I do?” Besides take her home where they could have some privacy, make love to her, and kiss all of her tears and worries away.

Her crying got harder. “That’s the problem. You want to help me with everything.” She hiccupped against his chest.

Okay. Helping was what he did best. And that was a bad thing? “I know your situation with the inn is difficult.” He could relate, because his situation sucked balls.

“Not the inn.” She hiccupped again. “Well sort of the inn, I mean”—hiccup—“
you
at the inn, and now the gazebo, and Jamie looks up to you and doesn’t need me anymore, and the way you look at me, and the sound of your voice that makes me want to call you in the middle of the night and have phone sex.” Hiccup.

His hand stilled against the back of her head. “I should’ve been calling you every night.” He couldn’t keep the amusement from his voice. “I’ve never had phone sex.”

She gripped his shirt, which she still held in her hand, and gave his chest a soft thump. “Neither have I.” Hiccup. “That’s my point. I think of doing a lot of things with you that I’ve never done with anyone else.” That elicited a sniffle and two hiccups. “It’s just too hard to keep being with you all the time when I really can’t
be
with you. Not for long, anyway.” Another hiccup. A cute, sweet one that tore at his heart. “And then after you look at my mouth like I’m dessert, you push me away and tell me it’s a mistake.”

Double hiccup.

He caressed the space between her shoulder blades and waited to make sure she was finished. When she sniffed but didn’t keep talking, he pulled back. “Feel better now?”

She shook her head, and her hands eased up his chest, her killer body rubbing up against his.

“Why did you pick me?” What the hell? He might as well take the plunge while she was clinging to him and acting so vulnerable.

She seemed to stop breathing, and for a moment, the swirls of fog came only from him.

With a gentle finger under her chin, he tilted her face up. “Seven years ago. You obviously weren’t drunk, like you said. So why did you pick me to be your first? And don’t change the subject this time.” His tone had an edge to it as he whispered into her hair.

She clung to his jacket and quietly breathed against his chest like she was afraid to tell him the truth.

He’d walked away from her once without making her listen to him. Actually, she’d pushed him away, and he’d let her. He wasn’t going to make that mistake again. “Bridget and I weren’t together when I made love to you. I’d made that clear, but she showed up after finagling my whereabouts out of my assistant. I wanted to spend time with
you
that night, but then you said it was a mistake because you’d had too much to drink, so I left you alone.”

Miranda stared up at him, her plump lips parted. “Oh,” she finally whispered.

“Why me? I want to know. I’ve wondered for seven long years, and I’m not leaving you tonight . . .” He stumbled.
I’m not leaving you.
That’s the part that sounded so right, even if it wasn’t. “Until I know the truth.”

Another tear fell, and she swiped at it. Drew in a breath like she was about to confess the secrets of the universe. “Because you were leaving to go back to Seattle, and I figured it would stay a secret. I didn’t want it to get around because I didn’t want the same reputation that my mom has.”

That wasn’t the answer he was hoping for. He actually wasn’t sure what he’d wanted to hear. He pulled back to look at her.

She closed her eyes tight, like she was gathering courage. Like there was something more she wanted to say. Her lashes fluttered up, and she stared him straight in the eye. “If I had a do-over, I’d pick you all over again.”

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.

“If you think that’s going to push me away, you obviously don’t know how fucking sexy it is.” He brushed his mouth across hers to get another taste of her, and nipped at the same spot she’d just been nibbling on.

“Bridget not being your girlfriend, and me not letting you explain,” she whispered, her voice small and desperate, “didn’t matter then any more than it matters now, Talmadge. Your life isn’t here, but mine is. You’re right, sleeping together would be a mistake that we both might regret.”

He exhaled. Hard.

He couldn’t argue with her logic. Even though the bulge in his pants was trying desperately to do so. Yeah, that bulge that didn’t want to admit how starting a physical relationship with Miranda would catapult him to number one on the Top Ten List of Worst Assholes Ever. Unfortunately, he already deserved to be on it, because he’d lied to her about his grandmother’s will. Yep, he was at the top of that list, along with a crooked contractor who would steal a woman’s life savings.

“I’m invested here and I’m in too deep with the inn. The inn is my only chance to be something more than Red River’s star waitress.” She said it with sarcasm. “And it all depends on you, if the renovations don’t break me first.” Another tear fell.

“You know I’m not going to repossess the place. It’s yours,” he said.

“That’s even worse. I won’t take your charity, and don’t you dare pity me. If I can’t pay my own way, then it’s not worth it.”

Talmadge scrubbed a hand over his face. “That pride of yours is going to ruin you. I get it that you want to earn your own way and not be like your mother. But this is different.” He waggled a finger between them. “We’re different.”

“If I can’t make this place work, then I’m giving it back to you, Talmadge. You can keep it, you can sell it, you can dismantle it piece by piece and move it to Washington if you want.” Her voice seemed desperate. Hopeless. And it stabbed at Talmadge’s chest. “I’ll accept your help with the renovations because I have little choice, but I won’t let you give me anything.”