It's In His Smile (A Red River Valley Novel Book 3) Page 18

  “Uh.” He’d rather spend time with Miranda, and they still needed to have that talk. “I’m Miranda’s ride.”

  She hopped off the barstool. “Don’t miss out on a good poker game on my account.” She nodded to the booth where her friends sat. “I’m joining the mommy mafia for some girl time while you no-accounts swill beer, beat your chests, and lose hard-earned money.” She slugged Doc Holloway on the shoulder and hurried over to join the ladies, that mouthwatering sashay in her hips.

  That was the first time he’d seen her in a skirt except for seven years ago at Lorenda’s wedding. A crying-ass shame because those legs were too perfect to hide, and he’d really like to have them wrapped around his waist.

  Coop cleared his throat, and Talmadge’s gaze left Miranda’s silky legs and strutting ass and snapped to the good chiropractor.

  “So how ’bout it, Talmadge? You up for some poker?” Coop asked.

  He glanced at Miranda. “Maybe some other time, guys. I’m going to hang out here with Uncle Joe and see if I can keep the momentum of the fundraiser going.”

  And if he was lucky, he might still be able to get Miranda alone to have that talk.

  Spending time with the girls might help ease the sting of her ebbing willpower. After Talmadge successfully maneuvered her through the obstacle course of leadership roles, project organization, interviews, and renovations, she was having a hard time remembering why she shouldn’t climb all over him and enjoy the physical benefits he could offer while he was still in town.

  She had to give him credit. Everything he’d done had been calculated and planned to keep up the public illusion that she was in charge. But they both knew the truth. She’d failed at the one thing she needed to do for herself—make the inn a success on her own without depending on a man.

  A faster country song kicked up, and flashes of boots, hats, and jeans whirled past as Miranda slid into the booth and sat next to Lorenda.

  “We tried to order.” Lorenda pointed to the frosty mugs of beer on the table. “But Joe’s new waitress messed it up, and she hasn’t been back to fix it.” Lorenda took a long drink. She was the only one at the table who could have alcohol.

  “Seriously.” Ella stared at Lorenda’s beer with longing. “Who messes up water with a wedge of lemon? Everyone knows Miranda doesn’t drink alcohol.”

  Yes, dammit. Even Talmadge knew, and it was obvious by his earlier expression that he wasn’t going to let it go.

  “It’s a little hard to miss that I’m nursing.” Ella pointed to her considerable bustline and absently fingered the ends of her long red hair like she was rethinking the whole nursing thing. “And that Angelique here is expecting.”

  “What I wouldn’t give for a beer right now,” Angelique said. “Some ladies’-night-out crowd we are.” She rubbed her expanding tummy. “Right now, my idea of letting my hair down and getting wild is watching all three Hangover movies back-to-back on DVD.”

  “At least Bradley Cooper takes his shirt off.” Lorenda swilled her beer.

  Angelique raised an eyebrow. “Precisely why I watch ’em.”

  Miranda pointed to both Ella and Angelique. “You two don’t have anything to complain about. You’ve got husbands who look as good as any movie star. I don’t.”

  “That could change,” said Ella.

  “When you least expect it.” Angelique pointed to the bar, and all four of them turned to look.

  A thrill coasted through Miranda at the thought of Talmadge changing her world in the marital sense. He’d changed it in every other way, but that way was impossible.

  He lounged at the bar, his faded jeans and white linen shirt fitting his purely male build to perfection. Really, the man could make a pair of Dickey coveralls look slick. His canvas hiking boots looked just as natural on him as the expensive Italian shoes he sometimes wore. The way he moved back and forth between the world of a simple, hardworking guy who tromped around jobsites in boots and jeans, and the world of movie stars, architectural magazine cover shoots, and red-carpet fundraisers for his projects with the ease of a chameleon was fascinatingly sexy.

  With an easy, hometown boy smile, he propped a foot against the footrest and an elbow on the bar. Joe ambled over and claimed the seat next to Talmadge. Dylan McCoy, Joe’s grandson and Talmadge’s cousin, slid a beer in front of both of them, then hustled to fill orders behind the bar. Talmadge didn’t look around the large, bustling room. He slid one look over his shoulder straight at her, and their gazes locked.

  Blood thundered through Miranda’s veins.

  His mouth didn’t curve into a smile, and a mixture of conflicting emotions flashed in his metallic eyes. The connection they had. The familiarity. The distance. The unrequited desire.

  “Oh, do him already.” Lorenda was obviously drinking the others’ share of alcohol. “Or someone else in this town will.”

  “No!” Angelique hollered. “Doing him might lead to this.” She pointed to her growing belly. “And that will lead to labor and delivery.” She shuddered. So did Ella and Lorenda.

  “You do him.” Miranda glowered at Lorenda, the only other single gal at the table. “Besides, how do you guys know I haven’t already?”

  Ella laughed. “Girlfriend, we’d know.”

  Right. They would. Angelique and Ella’s love affairs with their husbands had rocked the sleepy little town of Red River and been fodder for gossip until they both got married and everyone moved on to a new story.

  Which, at the moment, was Miranda and Talmadge.

  Lorenda dug her smartphone out of her purse and pulled up the Red River Rag. She passed it to Miranda. “Have you seen the latest?”

  Miranda didn’t want to see it.

  She didn’t.

  She pinched the bridge of her nose, then reached for the phone.

  Her jaw nearly hit the table. “This was just taken!”

  Our favorite architect makes progress with his latest project, but will he drive the nail home tonight? Miss Cruz is becoming Red River’s darling, but if she’s going to DATE him while he remodels her inn, she could at least let him stay the night.

  Miranda scrolled to the picture under the caption. Her and Talmadge sitting at a booth just a few minutes ago, gazing into each other’s eyes, his hand on hers. Her looking at him like she wanted to eat him for dinner instead of the steak he’d ordered for her.

  She tossed the phone back at Lorenda.

  “Sweetie.” Ella rubbed her engorged breasts as though she were in the privacy of her own home. “They’re too hard to resist when they look that good.”

  Angelique nodded and rubbed her bun in the oven. “Their six-pack abs are a weapon, and they know how to use them to wear us down.”

  Yes, Talmadge’s body was unfair. And uncalled for. “You guys make me feel so much better. I joined you for some moral support.” She might just take up drinking after all. If she could ever get the damned waitress’s attention. She looked around the room.

  “We’ve been right where you’re at, and if his near mythical good looks don’t get to you, his charisma will.” Angelique flashed a smile and winked. “And it’s worth it as long as you don’t end up brokenhearted.”

  And that was exactly why Miranda couldn’t let her resistance falter. She was already on the verge of falling so head-over-heels in love with Talmadge that if she actually let it happen, she’d never stop tumbling.

  “I can’t let it happen.” Miranda shook her head. This was her fault for falling into his arms at Bea’s wake and then letting him kiss her, not to mention letting him feel up her ass. His lips and his hands were just too hard to resist.

  A shiver raced up her spine.

  “Then just don’t let him take his shirt off in front of you, honey,” Ella warned, and Angelique snorted like she knew exactly what Ella meant.

  “Come on, Miranda, can’t you pull some strings? I need a cranberry juice and something to munch on.” Angelique’s alpha-female personality was starting to show in her voice
because a low growl rumbled through her tone.

  Miranda blew out an exasperated breath. “All right.” Her tone was just as huffy as the voices of her frustrated friends, who were irritated because they either had joined the ranks of motherhood, or were about to.

  “You better hurry. Their hormones are about to mutiny.” Lorenda took another swig of beer. “I’ve been there. Twice. And once the hormones take over, they’re not responsible for their actions.” She turned glazed eyes on Miranda and tried to focus like she might be seeing double. “Need help?”

  “Um, no. I’ll take care of it.” Miranda started to get up but paused. “I’ll drive you home tonight, ’kay?”

  Lorenda confiscated Ella’s untouched beer. “My brother’s picking me up later when he’s done with his shift. My parents took the kids to Santa Fe overnight to go to the movies, so I’m living it up with you ladies tonight while I can.”

  Sliding out of the booth, Miranda smoothed her miniskirt with shaky hands. When Talmadge threw a look over one shoulder and did a double take, his eyes turned smoky. Miranda hardened her nerves.

  With each step she took toward the bar, the electrical current swirling around her and Talmadge got stronger. So did the ringing in her ears.

  She stepped up to the bar, keeping two empty barstools between her and Talmadge. “Dylan, can we get two cranberry juices for the mommy mafia over there, and I’ll take a water with lemon.” Talmadge didn’t look at her, but she knew he was listening to every word. “They ordered food too. Can you find out what’s holding up the order before anarchy breaks out and they start taking hostages?”

  Dylan flashed her a grin, the diamond stud in his ear glinting under the dim bar lights. “We miss you here. You’re irreplaceable.”

  Sure. She was the best damn waitress in the Southwest. What a compliment. Someone should give her an award. Maybe a waitress was all she was cut out to be. Why else would she be in this mess, indebted to Talmadge and ready to hump him like a dog in heat if he gave her another one of his lazy smiles?

  Still sitting next to Talmadge, Joe leaned back to give her an apologetic look. “Your orders are on the house tonight, Miranda. Sorry for the wait.”

  Wow. The new server must be really bad if Joe was giving out more free food and drinks.

  Dylan filled a mug with ice water, plopped a lemon in it, added a straw, and slid it onto the bar. He dried his hands on a towel. “Have a seat, and I’ll see if I can track down your food.” He headed toward the kitchen.

  Joe pulled his rotund girth off the stool. “I better go see what the problem is.” He shook his head, his double chin waggling, and followed Dylan.

  Easing onto a stool three down from Talmadge, she squeezed the lemon into the mug and swished it around with the straw.

  She pulled her lip between her teeth right about the time Talmadge turned his gaze on her, and it dropped to her mouth. “Do I smell?”

  Heck, yeah. Pretty darn good, actually. “Beg your pardon?”

  “I figured maybe I didn’t shower well enough if you’re sitting way down there.” He got up and came to her. Reclined his long, lean body against the bar and faced her. A beer in one hand, he took a sip and bent one knee so that it rested against hers. “We were getting along so well, and now it’s like I have an awful body odor that I’m not aware of.” He smiled down at her, that boyish grin growing a little more apparent with every day he stayed in Red River. He set his beer on the bar and traced the water droplets on her glass, his fingertip grazing hers. “It seems we had a misunderstanding seven years ago.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “But we’re going to straighten that out. Soon. So stop avoiding it.”

  She should’ve let the mommy mafia launch a hostile takeover. Because her pulse kicked, and instead of pulling her hand away from his, she let the current of warm lust seep between them. He reached out and fingered a lock of her hair.

  “Another storm must be coming,” she blurted, and then wanted to slap herself. “Um, my hair gets a little wild when it’s wet.”

  His pupils expanded to black marbles.

  “Moist!” she blurted again.

  Good God.

  “When the humidity rises, my hair gets curlier.” She bit her lip again.

  “I love your curly hair.” His gaze traveled down her length all the way to her boots and up again. “Having fun with your friends?”

  “Um.” Her throat was as dry as the desert in the middle of summer, and she cleared it. “Yeah. Fun. All the hormones are a little scary actually.”

  He laughed. Deep. Edgy. Sexy.

  “So I have to bring my Jeep in for service on Monday. I might not be at the inn for a few hours.” She tried to change the subject.

  “If you need to borrow a vehicle, Bea’s Subaru just sits in her garage,” he said. “I prefer the old truck. Reminds me of home and how much I miss”—his sultry look skimmed over her face—“some things here that I can’t have back in Seattle.”

  Her pulse revved into a low roar like the engine in his old Dodge pickup.

  Heads turned in their direction. She and Talmadge being the center of attention should’ve made her uncomfortable. Instead, Miranda fixated on the way his fingertips kept brushing back and forth against hers. The way his breath whispered across her cheeks when he spoke and made her heart thud against her chest. The way his eyes told her how much he wanted her.

  An ache exploded at her center and spread through her until both of her breasts and the spot between her thighs throbbed. She had to remind herself to breathe.

  Talmadge’s look grew more sultry like he could read her mind. Or her body. Maybe it was that pheromone thing she seemed to have a problem with. Hell’s bells, and here she was spewing them around food again.

  At this rate, she’d never get through the health department’s inspection.

  A slow, sultry country-and-western song started up, and more couples took to the dance floor.

  “I’d ask you to dance, but I’ve never been very good at it.”

  “Me either,” she whispered. She should step away. Go back to her table where the mommy mafia would protect her from making a terrible mistake. Where she couldn’t breathe in his luxurious scent of timber and masculine soap. Instead, she leaned into him, and before she could get her double-crossing body to obey, she kissed him. In front of the whole damn town.

  It was soft and sensual, but his lips moved on hers and he let out a breath like he’d been holding it. Or maybe he was shocked. But his mouth took charge, even though he kept the pressure of his lips gentle against hers. Her lips parted and his tongue slipped in to brush hers.

  Miranda sighed against his mouth, and a wave of tension receded like the tide. At that moment not one other person in the world existed, and she rested a hand against his chest. His heart thrummed under her touch.

  A throat cleared, cutting through the fog of lust that churned around them. Miranda snapped back to reality and jerked away from Talmadge.

  “Uh, sorry. But, uh . . .” Joe’s newest waitress stood beside them with two glasses of cranberry juice and a strained expression.

  Miranda smoothed her hair and tried to look composed. Wasn’t happening.

  “Dylan said to bring this to you,” the waitress huffed.

  Miranda was about to tell her to bring the drinks to Angelique and Ella, but then the poor woman might actually get the tables mixed up during the twenty or so steps it would take to walk the drinks over. Miranda stood. “I’ll take them over.”

  She reached for the drinks, but Clydelle and Francine walked past—Francine’s ginormous purse swinging—and bumped into the server. Who proceeded to tip both glasses of cranberry juice over and drench the front of Miranda’s white sweater. She gasped as the cold liquid soaked through to the skin.

  “Oh, dear,” said Clydelle, and leaned on her cane. “Francine, you should really be more careful with that purse.”

  “What’s in that thing anyway?” the waitress asked. “It’s as big as a suitcas
e.”

  Francine clutched it to her chest.

  Talmadge grabbed some napkins and tried to dab at Miranda’s chest, which only embarrassed her more because the wet fabric had instantly become transparent. Arms out, jaw gaping, she stared down at the white lace and pale yellow polka dots showing through the soaking wet fabric.

  Francine stepped around Clydelle. “Well don’t just stand there, Talmadge. Give her your shirt so she can cover up.”

  “That would be the gentlemanly thing to do,” Clydelle agreed.

  His lips parted, and his expression blanked.

  Miranda panicked. No! Don’t take off the shirt! She’d be doomed for sure.

  Talmadge pulled the shirttail from his jeans and had the buttons undone before Miranda could stop him. He shrugged out of it and draped it over Miranda’s front.

  The entire room went quiet.

  Every woman above the age of twelve stared at Talmadge without a shirt on and all but salivated. Miranda included.

  “Glad to see you’re staying fit.” Clydelle gawked at Talmadge.

  “Yessiree,” agreed Francine.

  Miranda did a double take when Francine gave Clydelle a satisfied look that communicated, “Mission accomplished.” Oh. My. Gawd. Those two old ladies set him up! To take off his shirt. In a public place.

  Miranda wouldn’t even have to look at the Red River Rag tomorrow. She already knew what would be in it.

  She turned to give her table of girlfriends a silent plea for help, but all three of them shook their heads like they had just lost all hope for her. Because like they’d warned her . . .

  She looked back at Talmadge’s shirtless upper body. The ladies were right on target. His washboard abs, muscled arms, and well-defined chest with a dip in the middle crumbled the last ounce of her willpower.

  “Let’s get out of here.” She grabbed his arm and towed him toward the door.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Talmadge let Miranda tug . . . no, drag him out of Cotton Eyed Joe’s, the freezing night air stealing his breath. When he offered her his shirt to cover up the sexy polka-dot bra showing through her drenched white top, he hadn’t thought of the scene it would cause. Or that raw desire would blaze to life in her eyes and she’d tow him outside for a make-out session. Because the swirling fog from her heavy breaths and the lusty glaze in her expression left no doubt in his mind that Miranda wanted to make out. Right now.