It's In His Smile (A Red River Valley Novel Book 3) Read online

  Her pebbled skin prickled even more.

  “I didn’t think you’d start without me.” His gaze dropped to her mouth, and it parted under his stare.

  Okay, so he had her there. “Well, I wouldn’t have if you’d left more detailed instructions.” She’d just wanted to do something to help herself. And maybe impress him a little.

  “Right. Because you’re so agreeable.” His voice had gone all husky, and his stare dropped lower, cascading down her neck, across the bare, wet skin of her chest, to where her hand held the towel in place.

  “I should get dressed.” It came out as a whisper.

  His gaze traveled back up to her collarbone, then anchored to her mouth again. “Probably.”

  “Well, then . . .” She tried to push past him. He didn’t move.

  Without a word, he let go of the doorframe and reached around her. His firm chest brushed against her breasts. They tightened and she sucked in a quick breath. But instead of enveloping her in his arms like she’d thought he would do, he snatched the strip-mining T-shirt off the counter and straightened.

  “Just not in this.” He turned and strolled down the hall, leaving her staring at the lovely way his faded Levi’s cupped his firm bottom. Leaving her wanting to feel his touch and taste him again.

  Leaving her dripping wet.

  Chapter Eleven

  Alone in her bedroom, Miranda dabbed the water off her tender skin and tried to tell herself she did not just want to drop the towel she’d been wrapped in and let Talmadge’s hard body rub her dry. She pulled on a pair of old jeans, but when she tried to put on a shirt, it scraped over her arms like broken glass. Finally she gave up and reached for a soft tank top.

  Her boots squeaked against the old wood floor as she trudged down the hall and out to the kitchen.

  Lloyd ran to her, a new mustache shaved into his snout, and a spiked leather collar around his neck.

  “What happened to you, little guy?” Miranda stooped to pick him up, but fire raked over her when his fur brushed against her arm. She flinched.

  “I tried to get his dignity back.” Talmadge rolled up the cord of the staple gun and set it on the workbench. “Didn’t work.”

  “He looks fine for a toy poodle.”

  “That’s what the groomer said.” Talmadge filled a bowl of water and set it next to the small dog bed. “I brought some things over from Bea’s for him. Hope you don’t mind.”

  Miranda smiled. An alpha guy like Talmadge putting together the doggy version of a diaper bag for a tiny poodle like it was his newborn baby—who would’ve thought?

  She rubbed the burning sensation on her arm, which sent another shockwave of pain racing through her. She ground her teeth and tried to get comfortable.

  Wasn’t happening.

  “I can help with that.”

  “With what?” Miranda kept staring at the floor.

  “The pain.” He grabbed a roll of masking tape from the workbench and pulled out a barstool at the counter, motioning for her to sit. “I’m pretty impressed with your tough way of handling the pain. How long did you work with the insulation?”

  She shrugged, and even that hurt. “Close to an hour. Give or take.”

  “Most men would’ve been screaming like a little girl after five minutes, much less an hour. Unfortunately, the prolonged exposure probably made the pain much worse.” He gave her an approving smile.

  That’s what she’d been after to begin with—his approval. And that made her both a badass and a dumbass.

  He pointed to the stool. “Sit.”

  It hurt too bad to argue, so she sat.

  “It feels like I’m being stabbed with tiny shards of glass.”

  “That’s because you are. Exposing bare skin to fiberglass is a mistake you only make once. Hold this.” He held up the jagged end of the tape roll, and Miranda gripped it. He unrolled a strip of tape and broke it with his teeth. “Hot water opens your pores and makes it worse. Cold water tightens the pores and helps work out the tiny pieces of glass.” He held up the wide strip of tape. “This will get rid of it completely.”

  A tiny seed of defeat sprang to life in her soul, and she wasn’t sure either one of them was up to the challenge renovating the inn presented.

  The way he was babying his shoulder didn’t inspire confidence. Plus, she was in a bear of a mood because of the pain. And because she’d acted like a fool and tried to wow him with her self-sufficient, hardworking initiative. And, dammit, because every minute that she was with him seemed to chip away at her resolve to keep it from becoming personal with a man who already had one foot out the door.

  “Hold out your arm.” With a gentle touch—much more gentle than she’d expected—he smoothed the tape along her forearm.

  “Ready?”

  Before she nodded, he ripped the tape off, which also tore a small cry from her.

  “Sorry, but it’s the quickest way to get the glass out. It won’t hurt as much on your neck.”

  “Jeez.” Miranda’s eyes teared. “Maybe I should bite down on a stick or something.”

  Talmadge chuckled and kept working the tape, having her help tear off a new strip each time. A few more torturous rips and pulls and her arms were fiberglass free.

  “Next time listen to me. I do actually know what I’m doing here.” He tossed the used strips of tape into the trash.

  She let out a heavy breath that seemed to deflate both her shoulders and her confidence. “I’ve always taken care of myself. I wanted to do some things for myself instead of sitting around like a powerless girl.”

  “Woman.” He moved to work on her neck. With gentle fingertips under her chin, he tilted her head to one side and exposed the length of her neck. “You’re definitely a woman, Miranda.” His voice dropped to a throaty rasp, and her insides did a dance.

  Yes, she was all grown up. Seven years, three months, and eighteen days ago, he’d helped her take that final step in becoming a woman. That one magical night during Lorenda’s reception had been one of the only times he’d noticed Miranda. But he was definitely noticing now, and her girl parts liked the attention.

  She cleared her throat. “Where’s my T-shirt?” she asked, as he worked the tape around her neck.

  “In the trash Dumpster.” His hard chest brushed against her. He was close. So close that the steady rhythm of his breaths caressed over her ears, soothed her aching skin.

  No wait. That was the tape, right? The tape took the glass and the pain away. But the tape couldn’t have been responsible for the balmy glow that washed through her and made her breasts ache for his touch.

  “I spent a lot of money on that shirt,” she protested, but the look on his face told her he couldn’t care less.

  “I’ll get you a new one. A better one. From a fancy store.”

  “This is Red River. I don’t wear a lot of fancy clothes.”

  “Then one of my company shirts.” He smiled, smoothing the tape over her neck again. “Unless wearing something of mine is repulsive to you. Then how about I call the Red River Mercantile and you can pick out anything you like.”

  Repulsive wasn’t anywhere close to the feelings that rushed through her every time she saw his name in the news or his company logo on coffee cups and recycled notecards and refillable water bottles scattered around Bea’s place. The twinge of excitement that rushed through her every time she thought of their one and only time together . . . her one and only time . . . caused her heart to knock against her chest and her pulse to spur into a gallop.

  When he was finished, he balled up all the tape and sunk it into the trash with a swoosh. He didn’t move away from her, though, and she looked up into his eyes. Even on the tall barstool, he was still more than a head taller than her.

  “The truth is, I thought Bea would be around to offer her guidance.” The words tumbled out against her will. She shouldn’t bring it up. If she let one crack show in the dam of uncertainty and grief that she’d built up since Bea died, her whole wor
ld might crumble into a pile of rubble.

  His brows came together, and she looked straight ahead at his chest. And Gawd, but didn’t he make a plain white Fruit of the Loom T-shirt look sexy.

  “When Bea suggested I open the inn again, she planned to teach me the ropes. I figured she’d be around for years to lend advice.” Tears sprang to Miranda’s eyes.

  “Bea was a rock for me too.” He kept a poker face, but he couldn’t hide the grief in his eyes. He bent and placed a hand on the counter on each side of Miranda, framing her in like one of his solid, efficient designs. “But I know she had faith in both of us. So we keep going forward no matter how hard it is. That’s how we honor her memory.” His eyes slid shut for a beat, several creases forming between his brows like he didn’t believe his own words.

  When they opened, Miranda found herself biting her lip and staring at his. “This is a bad idea.”

  “Terrible.” He studied her from under thick lashes, his eyes heating to nuclear disaster level.

  “I don’t . . .” Just say it! Tell him you don’t sleep around except for that one time. With him. Right before his Barbie girlfriend walked in and reclaimed him. But then she’d have to admit she’d lied about it being a mistake because they’d had too much to drink.

  She hadn’t had a drop. And she’d never regretted sleeping with him.

  But she might regret it now, once he left her brokenhearted.

  So she said the only thing that came to mind. The only thing that made sense to her in a world that was spinning off its axis because of his amazing scent and those eyes that made her pulse go thumpity-thump. “You’re leaving eventually.” Even she could hear the defenselessness in her tone because of her mind telling her, So what if he’s leaving. Enjoy it while it lasts, just like the first time.

  “I am.” He didn’t deny it. Never had, and she had to admire his honesty.

  “Um.” Her lips had gone chalky dry from her quick, shallow breaths. She wet them with the tip of her tongue.

  His low growl made her pulse shift into high gear, and it drove her restraint right over a cliff. She meant to lean back, but instead she swayed right into him.

  After a beat, he placed the edge of an index finger—so powerful yet so gentle—under her chin and angled her face up to meet his. Leaning in, he brushed his nose with hers, then captured her mouth in a kiss.

  Getting involved with Miranda Cruz was a mistake. Big, big mistake. At the moment, however, exactly why eluded him. Because holy hell, she was wearing another one of those skimpy tank tops, and the cold shower made it obvious that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Again. The braless tank top streak she was on and the damn dimples overrode every bit of rationale he possessed.

  He tried to kiss her as gently as he could, but when her hand slid up his chest, caressed over his neck, and wound into his hair, instinct took over, and the kiss became more urgent. He probed her softness with his searching tongue. Devoured her like a hungry wolf until a sensual sound came from the back of her throat, communicating her approval.

  Her tensed posture relaxed, and she molded against him, soft everywhere he was hard. She sank into the kiss, her fingers doing a dance through his hair while the other hand slowly caressed up his arm, then down his chest. Her touch set him on fire.

  Common sense told him this was a mistake. He should keep his damned hands to himself. She’d obviously suffered enough because of her mother’s notorious romps. This would be history repeating itself, because he’d already started something with Miranda seven years ago that he hadn’t been able to finish. He’d do the same now.

  But common sense didn’t always register in the male brain when a man wanted a particular woman so bad it hurt. Damned if he couldn’t stop wondering how holding Miranda Cruz in his arms with her hands and lips turning him on was so wrong, when he’d never felt anything more right.

  He pressed in on her, sliding between her legs, nudging them apart.

  So this wasn’t exactly what he had in mind when it came to keeping his hands to himself.

  He tried to pull away, but she tugged him back, fisting his T-shirt into her hands.

  He broke the kiss and went to the window to pull the curtains closed. He was right back between Miranda’s legs before the warmth of her skin could fade. With a hand on each of her thighs, he flexed his fingers up the length of her legs, wishing the barrier of her jeans were gone. When his fingers wedged between her bottom and the barstool, he slid her forward, pulling her against the evidence of his desire. She squeaked. But instead of pulling away like he expected her to, she laced one of her legs around his and clamped her warm, lush body against him.

  Nice.

  With one hand, he caressed the small of her back through her thin top, then eased his fingertips under it. When his hand connected with bare skin, she shuddered. Her small gasp and tiny moan drove him on. He kneaded up her spine, his other hand finding her breast. He cupped and massaged, and it peaked into his palm, sending flames through him.

  He couldn’t stand it another second. With little more than a flick of his hand, the top was gone and she stared up at him with eyes the color of bronze all glazed over with lust and desire.

  She was even more beautiful than he remembered.

  He took in her flaming cheeks, her slender neck, which was just as red, and her full breasts and firm nipples. Then he locked his gaze with hers. The same uncertain look that had filled her eyes seven years ago was back.

  “Are you sure?” Was he stupid? She certainly looked sure. Until she didn’t.

  She hesitated, then nodded.

  “Really, really sure?”

  “Talmadge,” she ground out just like the first time they were together.

  He leaned down to capture a pink bud between his teeth and suckled it until she whimpered.

  Just as he released it to give the other the same attention, the cell phone in his pocket buzzed. He ignored it and pulled her into his mouth, caressing the taut flesh with his tongue. Her soft skin turned to pebbles under his callused hands.

  “We can go to my room.” Miranda’s words were small gasps. “If we hurry, we’ll have time before Langston and Jamie get here.”

  He straightened and looked down at her dazed expression. “I seem to remember telling you once before that you’ve got the wrong guy if you expect me to hurry.”

  She sobered, and her eyes darkened. “Yes, I remember. Quite well.” The look on her face told him she remembered much more than that.

  Hell.

  She had disappeared seven years ago, telling him their one night together had been poor judgment brought on by alcohol and the magical pull of Lorenda’s wedding. He tried to lean his forehead against hers, but she turned her head away.

  “Miranda—”

  His phone buzzed again. He reached into his pocket to turn it off, but Miranda pulled away and grabbed for her top.

  “Would you listen to me for a change?” He stood between her and the hall. If he blocked the entrance to her suite, he could keep her from disappearing on him like she did then, because she wasn’t likely to go through the front entrance wearing a tank top in frigid temperatures.

  With her back to him, she pulled the tank over her head. “There’s nothing to say. It was a mistake back then, and it would’ve been a mistake just now.”

  Without a glance in his direction, she hurried to the front door. It slammed shut, and Talmadge let out a frustrated growl. “This conversation isn’t over,” he yelled at the door.

  His phone vibrated again.

  With a hefty breath, he answered the call. “Hello.”

  “Talmadge.” Larry Jameson, his second in command over the Trinity Falls project, boomed through the line. “Got a minute?”

  “Of course.” Talmadge rubbed his eyes with a thumb and index finger. “What’s the news?” He couldn’t keep the weariness from his tone.

  When Larry hesitated, Talmadge’s chest tightened. “Go ahead, Larry.”

  “The tribal councils
still can’t come to an agreement on which nation should have jurisdiction over the site.” The burly foreman’s voice held a tone of weariness even deeper than Talmadge’s from trying to handle the situation in his absence. “We’re still at an impasse.”

  Talmadge almost smirked, because tribal councils could argue over things like this for years. Impasse was a polite way of saying standstill. A diplomatic way of delivering the news that his life sucked. Hard.

  Chapter Twelve

  Stupid. Stupid was actually putting it lightly. She couldn’t get physically or emotionally involved with Talmadge Oaks. It was a bridge to nowhere that would leave her heart in little pieces strewn from one end of Red River to the other.

  Miranda’s teeth chattered as she pulled the spare key to her private quarters from under a withered pot of flowers and unlocked the door.

  She slammed the door and stomped into the bedroom to look for another shirt. Something that would cover her more than the skimpy tank she’d put on because her skin was on fire. She found an old baggy sweatshirt at the bottom of a drawer and pulled it on. Stood there, pinching the bridge of her nose before going back out to the dining room where she’d have to face Talmadge and lay down some rules. Get him to exercise some willpower, because God Almighty, she obviously had none when it came to him and her.

  Whatever. There was no him and her.

  Talmadge was in town long enough to rid his conscience of guilt by seeing to Bea’s wishes. Asking Talmadge to help with the inn seemed exactly like something Bea would do. Always looking out for Miranda with the best intentions. But fulfilling Bea’s request was Talmadge’s main concern, not Miranda’s future. Thankfully, he’d reminded her of that by bringing up the first time they’d been together. The memory of seeing his flashy girlfriend wrapped around him like shrink-wrap right after he’d been naked with Miranda had hit her like a shock of ice water thrown over hot coals.