Enemies on Tap (Sweet Salvation Brewery 1)

“I won’t tell DeBoer Financial about this great little local bank ripe for takeover.” She sauntered over to the table, tracing a line down its center with her red-tipped nail, before she stopped just outside of his reach and hopped up on the table. Her long legs dangled in the air. “You have non-family member stockholders who only care about the bottom line. Imagine how they’d react to the opportunity to make more money by becoming part of a larger organization.”

“Good luck with that.” He closed the distance between them, anticipation vibrating up his spine. Being this close to her was like walking a tight rope—exhilarating, nerve-wracking, and above all, amazing. “The Martins own 60 percent of the stock.”

“True.” She tilted her head and gazed up at him through her thick lashes. “But do you want to spend your precious time on that industrial park you’re so determined to build or fighting off a takeover challenge?”

Her plan wouldn’t have any long-term effect on the bank’s ownership, but it would cause a headache he really didn’t need right now. The industrial park’s investors were already jittery.

“Tell me something, Miranda.” Giving into the need ready to eat him alive, he 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 cleav

age 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.

Here. Now. Miranda. 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.

Her tempting nipples pushed against the flimsy, see-through material, begging to be touched. He dropped his head, licked the lace covering her hard nub, then blew against the damp spot, eliciting another throaty moan that grabbed him by the balls and squeezed. “What do you want, Miranda?”

“You know what I want.”

Loving the breathy quality to her voice because it meant she was just as far gone as he was, Logan traced a circle around her nipple. He could see she wanted him, but he needed to hear it. “Tell me.”

“This.” Miranda raised her blue-eyed gaze to him, reached behind her, and undid her bra. The black lace fell from her skin, revealing two of the most perfect tits he’d ever seen. The sound of her amused chuckle told him she hadn’t missed the effect. “Please.”

It was all the answer he needed. Dropping his mouth to her heated flesh, he traced the outline of her light pink nipple before flicking it with his tongue and switching his attention to her other breast.

“God, yes,” she whispered as she writhed against him.

His hand dipped between them to the button of her jeans. It flicked open with only the slightest pressure, and as he lowered the zipper, she moaned his name, anticipation and agony heavy in each syllable. Desperate to touch her, but hampered by the angle, he slid his thumb into her lace panties and caressed her slick folds.

“Damn, you feel good.” He pressed lightly on the nub, and her thighs tensed as she arched into him. “So hot and wet for me.”

“It’s been so long, I’m sure just about anyone would get me like this.” She rocked against him, twisting her hips to increase the friction.

“You’re a lousy liar.” Withdrawing his thumb, despite her regretful moan, he used it to trace a wet line across her nipple, then licked the sweet juice away. Greedy for more, he sucked her other nipple into his mouth, tugging on the nub as she squirmed beneath him and moaned.

“Enough.” She shoved at his shoulders, pushing him back, and hopped off the table.

Dazed by her sudden rejection, his mind went blank. But then she reached for his shirt, yanking it out of his pants. She made fast work of his zipper and had her hand wrapped around his aching hard length before his slacks dropped to his ankles.