It's In His Smile (A Red River Valley Novel Book 3) (19 page)

“Bea obviously wanted you to have it, Miranda. The inn was a part of my grandparents, a part of me, but I don’t want it back. I can’t run an inn from Washington.” If he had to sell the place to someone who had no connection to his grandparents, someone with no appreciation for the place it once was . . . well, he didn’t think he
could
. Miranda was the only person who seemed right to own it . . . the only person who fit there. “The inn would be nothing to me except a sentimental memory.”

Several creases formed between her beautiful brown eyes, and her shoulders sagged. “That’s the difference between you and me. It’s
everything
to me. And Bea knew that.”

And that was the reason the money he stood to gain from this whole venture was prickling his conscience more and more with each passing day. In the beginning, it was business—renovate the inn that his grandmother had already sold to Miranda, then collect his inheritance. Clean and easy.

He ran a hand through his hair.

Not so clean and definitely not easy anymore. It was all muddied up now, and somehow, his priorities had become entangled and entwined until he didn’t know what was more important—Miranda and the inn or his life back in Washington.

Actually, he did know. He just didn’t know what to do about it. “Why not accept Bea’s gift from me? It would’ve meant so much to her.” It would mean a lot to him too, and give him some peace of mind after he went back to Washington.

Miranda scoffed. “You really didn’t know her at all, did you?”

His head snapped back at the insult. “Excuse me?” Of course he knew his own grandmother. A hell of a lot better than Miranda did.

Miranda swiped at another tear.

“When I turned down her generous offer, she understood it was because I needed to gain the confidence that only comes from a person working hard and earning what they have. The inn will either be a success or a failure because of me alone. And if it fails, it’ll be
my
failure. Not because of my mother. Not because of gossip. And damn sure not because of a man.”

She pushed out of his arms and backed away.

Damn but he didn’t want to let her go. Being with Miranda here in Red River was the
only
thing in his life right now that felt safe and right. He couldn’t help the pull of desire every time he saw her, heard her purring voice, breathed in her flowery shampoo every morning when he walked into the inn. Fending off the squeeze in his chest when she worked alongside him, putting forth more effort than any construction worker he’d known, was getting harder with each passing day.

“I’m walking home.” She held his shirt to her chest. “Alone.”

He shouldn’t let her. But somehow he didn’t think him “letting” her do anything was an option. “Call when you get there? Just so I know you’re safe.”

She didn’t answer. Just bit her lip and looked up at the stars blanketing the clear night sky.

Talmadge shook his head. He respected Miranda’s work ethic, but there was a good work ethic and then there was foolishness. “At least tell me what I can do to help you besides the renovations because I don’t know.” Dammit, he’d never figure women out. At least not this woman. But all she had to do was ask and he’d try to give her the moon. He’d do anything she wanted, except the one thing that was beyond his control.

“Don’t want me.” Her voice shook.

He let out a deep, dismal sigh.

He was so screwed.
Because that was the one thing beyond his control.

C
hapter
S
ixteen

“Dammit.” Miranda realized her purse was still inside the bar as she walked up to the outside entrance of her suite.

No way was she going back to Joe’s to face the snickers and stares because she’d acted like a cat in heat in front of the entire town. Because
daayum
, when Talmadge had taken off his shirt, she’d lost all reasonable thought and dragged him outside with the full intention of getting it on in his truck. She would’ve if he hadn’t been smart enough to stop it.

One of her friends would realize she wasn’t coming back and grab her purse.

It took some time to find the hidden key in the pitch dark. She felt under a clay pot, hoping something furry didn’t greet her with fangs. Where was her mother when she needed her set of unique skills? Boyfriend number six hundred and sixty-six had done hard time for breaking and entering. Before he hit the road in the middle of the night with their only television, stereo, and the game system Miranda had worked all summer to buy from a friend, he’d taught her mom how to pick locks.

Two more pots, one slimy unknown creature slithering across her hand, and several
oh shit
s later, Miranda found the key and let herself in.

The first thing she did was strip out of her wet clothes and into a cozy robe. Shuffling down the hall to the main kitchen, she grabbed an entire carton of Ben and Jerry’s from the freezer and plodded into the great room, where she plopped down on the antique sofa in front of the fireplace.

She tore off the lid and dove in with the biggest spoon she could find. The place was coming together. She looked around as she munched her comfort food. The insulation was finished and so was the drywall. The bathrooms were almost done, and new kitchen cabinets and countertops would go in soon. They’d even started hanging new wallpaper.

She swallowed and shoveled in another bite.

Wallpaper was outdated, but she wanted to keep the same historic feel. The mahogany molding that trimmed the arched doorways and rimmed the walls where they met the ceiling looked tired and worn, but a fresh coat of varnish would make it look bright with character again.

The roofing supplies she could probably cover with what was left in her bank account. The outside of the inn still needed to be scraped and painted, and she hadn’t bought the paint yet. The plumbing and electrical might also be a problem. Maybe she could find someone to do it on credit until the inn opened, because she wasn’t about to ask anyone to do the work for free.

Sounded like a solid plan.

And then Talmadge could go. Of course he still hadn’t discussed how he planned for them to pull off building a rec center, but maybe he intended to come back to Red River more frequently to see that project through.

A seed of hope sprouted in her heart, but she plucked it right out by the root. Didn’t matter how many times he came back to Red River. He wouldn’t stay. And she wasn’t leaving. Not when she was so close to her dream. And especially not for a man who hadn’t offered her anything beyond a guarantee that her inn would pass inspection and the gazebo would be ready for the festival before he left town.

Her eyes slid shut in appreciation as the generous mouthful of butter pecan slid down her throat.

Thanks to Talmadge, most everyone in town was behind her, except the Wilkinsons and their pew-warming band of friends. Even so, she was tired of trying to prove herself. What had it gotten her? She was closing in on thirty years old and had already walked Red River’s chalk line so tight that it would probably keep her single for the rest of her life. Or, at the very least, extremely sexually frustrated.

Sadly, she’d throw all of her hard work and clean living away to be with Talmadge if it wouldn’t mean getting her heart trampled on like a stampede of cattle going to slaughter. She sensed the danger the same way those poor cattle did.

Owning a business in Red River was risky. Heck, as much as she loved it here, life in this little town was risky.

A thought zinged to life and took shape in her mind. She couldn’t stop the broad smile that spread across her lips.

Why not have a little fun now? By herself, since she was likely to be alone most of her life anyway. Unless by some miracle another straight, single guy who wasn’t secretly a serial killer moved to town. And yeah, she wouldn’t hold her breath on that one.

Miranda jumped from the couch, darted toward her rooms, dropping the ice cream in the kitchen as she scurried past, and emerged a minute later with an iPod, a speaker dock, a hairbrush, and wearing a pair of socks and Talmadge’s white dress shirt, which simmered against her skin because of his woodsy, musky scent.

The only thing she’d gleaned from her mother’s years of hanging out in honky-tonks and biker bars—a taste for old rock and roll—often came in handy when she needed to cheer herself up.

She shuffled through her iPod until she got to one of her favorite retro songs and popped the device into the speaker dock. With a flip of both wrists, she flicked the collar of Talmadge’s shirt up. The front flapped open, revealing her matching yellow polka-dot and lace bra and panties. She turned the speaker volume to the highest level and hit Play, then ran into the hall.

When Bob Seger banged out the first chords of “Old Time Rock and Roll”
on the piano, Miranda took the hairbrush firmly in hand.

This inn was a risky business indeed.
And Cruz
was
her last name, even if it was spelled a little different.

With a running start, she slid into the arched doorway between the dining room and parlor. And then good ol’ Bobby started hammering at his keyboard while belting out something about old records and being by himself.

Miranda spun around and danced to the music, mouthing the words into her hairbrush while Mr. Seger’s whiskey voice and piano skills filled the inn. She danced over to the fireplace and planted her feet firmly apart while Bobby scorned discos, and she tossed the brush to the side and grabbed the poker.

With a shimmy that would’ve made Tom Cruise proud, she jumped onto the couch and bent her knees, playing the air guitar like she was channeling Eddie Van Halen. Bobby’s fans cheered through the speaker, and Miranda decided to go for it. She jumped off the sofa and did the half splits in the air. When she landed and twisted to the music, her soul definitely felt more soothed than it had in the parking lot at Joe’s with a half-naked man pushing her away.

Pfft
. Who needed a man when she had Bobby?

She wiggled her butt to the music and moonwalked backward, the socks making her slide across the wood floor like it was glass.

Someone clapped once. Then twice. Then again. And it wasn’t one of good ol’ Bobby’s fans on the recording.

Miranda spun around, and the poker clattered to the floor.

Talmadge’s long, hard body lounged against the arched doorframe, her purse dangling from one of his hands. A wide, dazzling smile graced his perfect face and made his eyes twinkle.

Oh. My. God.
He’d just witnessed her doing something no one else had ever seen. Except Jamie. And he was still blackmailing her with it, the little ratfink sibling that he was.

“What are you doing here?” she yelled, her heart and her pride dropping to her toes.

The song lilted to its inevitable end, and they stood in silence staring at each other. Him smiling like the smart-ass he was. Her probably looking as horrified as she felt. And as ridiculous.

He held up her purse. “You forgot this.”

“You should’ve called!” She pressed her fingers to her eyes for a second.

“I tried.” Talmadge pulled his cell out of his back pocket and dialed a number. Her purse started to vibrate and Bob Seger began wailing the same tune from the depths of her handbag.

Miranda closed her eyes, cursing her mother for the years she’d spent playing old rock albums. Why not Brahms or “The Wheels on the Bus” like any normal mother would do?

“Then you should’ve knocked. Or buzzed. Or something! You’re breaking and entering.” Her mother would really love Talmadge.

“Tried that too. The music was so loud you probably didn’t hear it, and I thought something might be wrong because, well, the music was so loud.” He tried to give her a deadpan expression, but the twinkle in his eyes still made him look like a smart-ass.

His gaze turned all smoky as it took a nice long trip down the front of her open shirt, lingered on her panties, and then caressed back up to her mouth.

She pulled the shirt closed at her breasts.

“You’re wearing my shirt.” His voice was gravelly.

“I’ll give it back. Let me go change,” she whispered. Unfortunately, he was between her and her room. She had no choice but to walk past him.

His eyes smoothed along her bare legs as she approached. When she tried to step around him, his arm snaked around her middle to stop her. “Keep it. It looks better on you than it does on me.” He licked his lips, and an electric shock gripped her below the belly button. He tugged her gently until her front grazed his. And holy lip-smacking moly, no switch in the world could turn off the electrical current that jolted through every nerve ending in her body when she felt the firmness under the front of his jeans.

“Talmadge, you can’t keep doing this to me.” Her tone wasn’t desperate. It was disheartened and unsated. Okay, maybe just a tad desperate. “You show up every seven years or so—”

“I’ve been back a few times more than that, Miranda. You avoided me.”

“You lure me in with your killer smile—”

“I’ve never killed anyone, not with a smile or anything else.” The corner of his mouth quirked up.

“You flirt just enough to get me to fall for you—”

His smile widened. “You’ve fallen for me?”

“Can I finish, please?” Huh. That sounded vaguely familiar. No idea why. At least none that she would admit to at this moment in time.

The sensual purr of his voice smoothed down her neck and pulled at her nipples. “Not until you hear me out.” He settled against the wall and dropped her purse to pull her closer. “I’ve never regretted being with you seven years ago. My only regret was not seeing where it might lead.”

She started to speak up, but he put a finger to her lips and tutted. “I should’ve come back for you.”

She pulled her lip between her teeth, and his eyes turned almost purple with lust.

None of that changed the fact that Talmadge had gone back to his life in Washington then, and he had to do the same now.

“But—”

“Uh-uh.” He shushed her again. “You’ve never been like your mother, which is why I didn’t want to get it on in my grandfather’s beat-up truck behind Joe’s. I wouldn’t do that to you, Miranda. Especially not with the
Red River Rag
stalking us.”

“Oh, Talmadge.” She leaned her forehead against his chest. “It’s just that you smell so good, and I love the way you look at me with those sleepy eyes and long lashes, and I’ve been letting myself get drawn in by your sexy smile and your brilliant plan and your skilled lips and your big hammer . . .”

He laughed, his hand sliding down her back to her ass.

Her cheeks turned so hot, she let go of her shirt and put both hands over her cheeks to cool them. He took full advantage and slipped one hand inside the gaping shirt. It brushed across her stomach and settled around her hip. Every inch of her skin from burning cheeks to curling toes exploded into tingling pebbles.

His other hand slipped inside the shirt and slid over her ribcage. Brilliant move.

Her girly parts burst into flames.

He did it again, and her eyes slid shut. When a soft gasp escaped through her lips, he pulled her into him and buried his face in her hair. And oh good God in heaven, the man was rock hard. All over. But especially where it counted most.

She shouldn’t. It might be too late to save her reputation after the near X-rated show she’d started in Joe’s and almost finished in the parking lot, but it wasn’t too late to save her heart.

Or was it?

“I want something with you, Miranda. I don’t know how or what right now. I just know that you’re important to me.” He whispered against her ear and slipped his fingers under the elastic of her panties.

Oh good Lord, she’d agree to just about anything with him touching her and whispering such delicious words in her ear. Was he asking her for something more permanent? Something with a future?

“I . . . I . . . don’t know, Talmadge,” she all but whimpered. His sweet words were too vague, and she’d seen her mother stake too much on vague promises.

He pulled her earlobe between his teeth and worked it with his tongue. Sank his hand all the way inside her panties to cup her ass and press her flush against his magnificent package.

She almost orgasmed right there.

She needed to think this through. But thinking was a little difficult at the moment with his tongue and lips and hands and package making her brain malfunction like she’d been sniffing one of the cans of varnish sitting on the back porch.