Enemies on Tap (Sweet Salvation Brewery 1) By Avery Flynn
Enemies on Tap (Sweet Salvation Brewery 1)
By Avery Flynn
The restroom door had barely swung shut before Miranda Sweet looped her briefcase and jacket onto the counter, engaged the sink’s small stopper, stripped off her white shirt, and held it under the tap while the basin filled with water.
The tea had soaked through to her ivory lace demi bra, too, but there was no way she was taking that off in a public women’s restroom. She could live with a stained bra. It’s not like she’d shown anyone the results of her lingerie shopping addiction lately, or would any time soon.
The creaking of the door’s well-worn hinges caught her attention, and she jerked up her gaze.
That’s when she spotted the white urinal reflected in the mirror above the sink.
Her heart thundered in her ears, and her cheeks burned.
Oh. Shit.
Focused only on escape from the men’s bathroom, she whirled around and slammed right into an immovable object in the hot-blooded form of Logan Martin.
She bounced back and teetered on her heels.
Only his strong fingers wrapped around her bare upper arms saved her from falling backward. Electricity sparked across her skin, leaving nothing but jumbled nerves and half-melted objections in its wake. She thought she’d been vaccinated against his brand of hotness, but it looked like she needed a booster shot.
All her know-better-nows turned to ash under the heat of his touch, each finger burning an imprint on her skin. Her nipples pebbled, the hard points pushing against the unlined lace. Being this close to him was like sitting under a hotness heat lamp. In the desert. At high noon. The potency made her panties wet and her belly light. The last man she should want just had to be the one man she’d never been able to forget.
She should step out of his embrace. At least cross her arms to cover her exposed flesh and block out the bam-chica-bam-bam porn music playing in her head.
“Logan.” His name escaped her lips with far more breathiness than the low-down cur deserved, but damn she couldn’t help herself.
As slow as molasses in January, his lazy perusal inched its way up from her lace-covered breasts, continuing upward, across the bare expanse of her heated skin to her face. What she saw then had her rethinking her life choices. His brown eyes had darkened to black pits of want and desire, but there was more than animal lust there. And that scared her out of her mind.
She should back up. She should scream. Hell, she should be halfway down the hallway like a bat out of hell.
He zeroed in on her mouth. Her heavy, aching breasts nearly brushed against his shirt buttons.
“Miranda.” His lips were only a few scant inches above hers. Close enough that she could feel him without them even touching.
Everything south of her neck turned molten, blocking out the weak SOS her brain emitted. Miranda’s lips parted as if of their own volition, and a tiny sigh escaped her.
Water hit the tile floor and splashed against her leg. The sink!
Whipping around and out of Logan’s embrace, Miranda turned off the faucet and yanked out the sink’s stopper.
The creak of the bathroom door opening and shutting echoed in the small room. Her gut twisted. A quick glance in the mirror confirmed her suspicion.
Logan was gone.
Her fingers rubbed against her un-kissed and still-yearning lips. It was a blessing, really. He was the enemy. The one guy she could never give in to. Not again. With a white-knuckle grip, she twisted her shirt and squeezed out the water. Her hands shook as she unwound the material and dropped the sopping mess into the empty sink. What in the hell had she been thinking?
She pulled several sheets of brown paper towels from the dispenser, hard enough to shake the plastic holder on the wall, and dropped them to the floor to soak up the spill.
He was a Martin for God’s sake. And not just any Martin. The one who not two hours ago had turned her down for the loan she desperately needed. The one who’d taken her virginity and said nothing while the town whispered about how “that Sweet girl” had led him astray.
She balled up the paper towels and tossed them toward the trash. They hit the wall above the can with a hard thunk and fell into the bin.
“You’re a class A moron, Miranda Sweet.” She glared at her reflection in the mirror.
Her bottom lip shook. She stood in the men’s restroom, practically naked from the waist up and her hair going every which way. The shirt she’d meant to clean was a wadded up, water-logged ball in the sink. Yeah, par for the course for someone from her family.
Closing her eyes, she sucked in several cleaning breaths. She had to turn the brewery around, earn her corner office and get the hell out of this town before it turned her into just another crazy Sweet.
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Avery Flynn has three slightly-wild children, loves a hockey-addicted husband and is desperately hoping someone invents the coffee IV drip.
She fell in love with romance while reading Johanna Lindsey's Mallory books. It wasn't long before Avery had read through all the romance offerings at her local library. Needing a romance fix, she turned to Harlequin's four books a month home delivery service to ease the withdrawal symptoms. That worked for a short time, but it wasn't long before the local book stores' staffs knew her by name.
Avery was a reader before she was a writer and hopes to always be both. She loves to write about smartass alpha heroes who are as good with a quip as they are with their *ahem* other God-given talents. Her heroines are feisty, fierce and fantastic. Brainy and brave, these ladies know how to stand on their own two feet and knock the bad guys off theirs.
Find out more about Avery on her website, follow her on Twitter and Pinterest, like her on her Facebook page or friend her on her Facebook profile. She's also on Goodreads and BookLikes.
Join her street team, The Flynnbots, and receive special sneak peeks, prizes and early access to her latest releases!
Also, if you figure out how to send Oreos through the Internet, she'll be your best friend for life.
Contact her at avery @ averyflynn . com or using the form below. She'd love to hear from you!
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