Enemies on Tap (Sweet Salvation Brewery 1)

Larry stood with his back to her at an open file cabinet, his fingers flying across the many folders jammed inside. He seemed taller and with broader shoulders than she remembered, but it had been a decade since she’d last seen him. He still had a thick head of mahogany brown hair, which had to be the envy of most of the men in his age group.

She strode into the room and laid her briefcase and purse in one of the two chairs opposite his desk. “I hope you don’t mind that I came in Carl’s place today, Mr. Martin.”

He jerked to a stop.

Unease curled into an iron ball in Miranda’s belly. At this close of a distance, she picked up on some of the small details that had eluded her from the doorway. The lack of any gray hair and the tight cowlick at the back of his hairline. The deep tan coloring the back of his neck. The thickly muscled forearm revealed by his rolled up shirtsleeves.

Then he turned around.

Realization tingled across her skin, teasing her senses into a heightened level of awareness that left her body yearning for something it had no business wanting. Not then, and definitely not now.

It was just her luck. Logan Martin hadn’t moved away.

“Miranda Sweet.” The words came out like a whispered curse, and Logan crossed his arms across his broad chest. “I never expected to see you in Salvation again.”

Oh, God, she was really and truly screwed now.

Forbidden fruit had never looked so good to Logan Martin as Miranda Sweet. Not when they were teenagers. Certainly not now.

For as long as Logan could remember, he’d chased after the fairer sex like his father had gone after the last drops of bourbon in the bottle. And Logan had caught just about every one. Even Miranda Sweet. But she’d been the only one to walk away from him—scratch that—run away from him. She’d taken his heart and his virginity and left him more bitter than sweet.

Judging by the guarded look in Miranda’s sea blue eyes as she shielded herself behind one of the creamy leather office chairs, the years hadn’t changed her opinion of him. Checking out her still-made-for-sin body, he had to admit to himself that he hadn’t changed his mind, either. Miranda Sweet was still the most delicious woman he’d ever laid eyes on, and as bad for him as his favorite powdered sugar donut. West Virginia had the Hatfields and the McCoys. Shakespeare had the Capulets and the Montagues. Salvation had the Martins and the Sweets.

“So what brings you back to Salvation?” He kept his arms folded across his chest, squashing the plans in his hand for the Martin Industrial Park, scheduled to break ground as soon as the Sweet Salvation Brewery closed its doors for good.

“I didn’t expect to be back.” Miranda shrugged her delicate shoulders. The late morning sun filtering in through the large window gave her light brown hair a golden halo. If half the stories about the Sweets were true, she’d never get the angel wings to go with it. “But life doesn’t exactly work out according to plan.”

He nodded toward the empty chair. “True.”

When Miranda glanced down, Logan dropped the plans in a drawer and settled in behind his desk.

She crossed her long, tan legs that went on forever and clasped her hands together in her lap.

At first glance, she appeared to be every inch the proper business woman—albeit the Hollywood hot version. But Logan couldn’t help but notice the little hints of the Sweet hidden behind the corporate exterior presented by her navy skirt. The sloping curve of a purple tattoo peeking out from the edge of her black heels. How the dewy pink of her lipstick accentuated the fullness of her bottom lip. And the leopard print interior of her otherwise stodgy gray briefcase.

“You know that my Uncle Julian passed away six months ago.” She tapped her shoe against the carpet.

Logan nodded. “I was sorry to hear about that.”

“He left the Sweet Salvation Brewery to my sisters and me.” She took in a deep breath, and her curves threatened the top button on her conservative white shirt. “I need a loan.”

He relaxed back in the chair. The old familiar want was still there, but he wasn’t falling for it again. This time, he was in total control. “You need funds to fix things up so it’s more appealing to potential buyers.”

It was a logical move and one that would work right into his plans.

“No, I’m not selling. I have a plan to make the brewery profitable again, but I need a loan to keep us open long enough to make that happen.” Miranda pulled a single file folder out of her briefcase and handed it to him. “I’ve outlined my proposal, the timeline, and the loan request in these documents.”

Logan flipped open the report and discovered enough red ink to soak the floor of a butcher shop. Letting out a long, low whistle, he scanned the rest of the documents.

“Wow. It’s a miracle Julian managed to keep things running this long.” He should have pressed his case to buy the brewery’s land parcel years ago.

“He wasn’t exactly known for his business skills.” Her clipped reply told him everything he needed to know about the state of affairs her uncle had left behind.

Any member of the Sweet family was completely unsuitable for a loan, even if it weren’t for something as risky as Sweet Salvation Brewery. And exceedingly unsuitable if the loan would impact his plans for the Martin Industrial Park. Maybe once upon a time he’d thought Miranda was an exception to the Sweet rule, but she’d shown her true colors when she left Salvation—and him—without a second look back.

“I’m sorry, but we’re not going to be able to offer you a loan.” Logan closed the folder and pushed it across the oak desk toward Miranda.

If she wouldn’t sell, he’d just wait her out. It was only a matter of time before the brewery sank underneath the sea of red ink.