What’s a girl to do when the only person who can help her is the man who betrayed her? After years away, Miranda returns to Salvation, Virginia to save her family’s brewery, but her fate is in the hands of her first lover turned enemy, Logan Martin.
Logan, Salvation’s de facto prince, can’t believe his luck when the woman who smashed his heart to smithereens walks into his bank asking for his help. What she doesn’t know is he needs the land is on.
An Irresistible Combination
But soon it’s a battle between their attraction for each other and their determination to win. With the town dead set against the Sweet Salvation Brewery’s success, Logan has to choose between what’s expected of him and what he really wants.
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“Tell me something, Miranda.” Giving into the need ready to eat him alive, Logan positioned himself between her open legs and placed his palms flat on either side of her luscious hips.
The pulse in her neck kept pace with his own rapid heart rate, and his body throbbed with want. He couldn’t help but inhale a deep breath of her teasing scent. If he didn’t watch it, he’d be falling for the enemy. Again.
“What counts as fair?”
Her teeth raked across her bottom lip before she sucked it in. “Stop bribing contractors not to work with me.”
He shouldn’t just say no, but hell no. That squirrelly guy from the brewery had been right. Logan hated to lose. Hated. It. But he didn’t give a rat’s ass about all of that right now, not with Miranda so close he could count each one of the freckles decorating her cleavage until they disappeared beneath the V of her sweater. Even with the bet and their personal history hanging over them, he needed to count the freckles hidden by the soft cashmere.
Could there be a way if they fought fair? Was he ready to take that bet?
Miranda’s tongue swiped across the center of her very pink bottom lip, but her hooded gaze never wavered from his eyes.
Logan slid his hands over her jeans until his palms lay across her firm thighs, thumbs against the raised inseam of her jeans. The feel of her against him heightened everything except his sense of self-preservation. Fuck it. He was all in.
“I’ll stop bribing contractors not to work with you.”
The single sentence hung in the inch of air between them. Tension pulled his balls tight, and need swirled at the base of his spine. Primal. Bone deep. All-encompassing. Worlds were created or destroyed in moments like this.
She flexed her muscles beneath his touch, leaning forward as her lips parted. “I don’t want to want you, and this doesn’t change anything.” Her words brushed against his parted lips, taunting him with their nearness. “I still hate your guts.”
“Liar.” His mouth crashed down to hers, and he surrendered to the combustible cocktail of frustration, lust, and something too new to define drowning them both.
She moaned into his mouth, opening fully beneath him and inviting him to plunder her sweet depths. But this wasn’t a surrender. It was challenge for control, and the last threads tying him to where he was began to unravel. When her legs circled his waist and locked him into place, the last vestiges of Martin-bred propriety fell in a tattered heap to the vault floor.
Nothing else mattered.
Leaning into her, he moved his hands across the worn denim of her jeans to grasp her hips and pull her even closer, eliciting a soft mewl of pleasure. Abandoning her mouth, his lips traced across her arched neck, licking his way down her throbbing pulse until he stopped at the spot where her neck met her shoulder. Drunk on the taste of her skin, he paused to inhale the rich, sensual scent of her perfume as her pulse fluttered against her throat.
He slipped his fingers beneath the hem of her red sweater, raising the soft material until he had to relinquish the taste of her creamy skin so he could pull her sweater off. With the tip of his finger, he followed the trail of pale peach freckles across her collarbone and over the upper swells of her breasts, a wave of goose bumps following in his finger’s wake.
When his finger disappeared into the deep valley of her cleavage encased in a lacy black bra, Miranda closed her eyes and dropped her head back, her hair cascading down to the polished wood table. It had been so long since he’d seen her like this—warm, inviting, devastating in her willingness to go after what she wanted wholeheartedly. The unfinished business between them snapped from the past to the present, and he meant to finish it here and now.
Avery Flynn loves a hockey-addicted husband, has three slightly wild children and is desperately wishing someone would invent the coffee IV drip. Find out more about her on her website (www.averyflynn.com), Twitter (@AveryFlynn) or Facebook (facebook.com/AveryFlynnAuthor). She posts all sorts of fashion, reading and hero inspiration pictures on Pinterest (pinterest.com.AveryFlynnBooks).
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