But damn her, she wanted to find out.
He curled his fingers around hers and led the way through the deck chairs to the wheel. Warmth snaked up her forearm, curved around her elbow, and traveled upward until her entire arm tingled.
“So I take it we’re in the middle of a truce again?”
He stopped and turned so quickly she bounced off his strong chest. His other arm reached out, helping her to steady herself on her own two feet, even though her pulse was on a roller coaster ride. The charged silence enveloped them as they stared at each other. His gaze lowered from her eyes to her mouth before traveling back up again. The heated look in his eyes nearly turned her thong to ash. Her heartbeat stumbled.
He traced his thumb across her bottom lip before turning away, making the ache building in her core that much more intense.
“After tonight, I think we could both use it.” He released her hand. “Is it always like that?”
“What do you mean?”
“The way Tyrell reacted to your offer just because of who you are.”
Had he grown up in a Twilight Zone version of Salvation? “Yeah, but in a way I understand. My family is firmly on the crazy side of the mountain.”
He put the key in the boat’s ignition and turned the engine over before steering them out into the wide river. “They must have done something right for you and your sisters to turn out like you did.”
“Are you flirting with me, Logan Martin?” Bubbles fizzed through her system like her blood had become carbonated with lust and longing.
She couldn’t pinpoint the moment when the fussing and fighting had developed into something far more interesting and important, but it had happened. She was done denying it anymore.
“If you have to ask…” His voice lowered to a sexy timbre. “I’m not doing it right.”
“And here I thought the Martins never did anything wrong.” She stepped closer, oh so close, but not yet touching anywhere besides their hands.
He stayed still, except for the vein in his temple that had gone into overdrive. “Oh, there’s plenty hiding inside our closets.”
“Like what?”
“Do you remember when someone spray painted the Col. Reeves statue on the town square?”
“No way.” She gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth.
“Even a Martin breaks off course every once in a while,” he said, laughing.
He lowered his free hand and curled his pinky finger around hers, the innocence of the gesture hotter than if he’d sailed them right into third base. Salvation disappeared behind them as they sailed downriver, away from the rules and the expectations about who and what they were. There were only the two of them underneath a blanket of stars so bright she couldn’t hide the truth from herself any longer. She wanted to be here. With Logan. Shit, she’d never stopped wanting that.
He pulled back the throttle until they stopped moving and pushed a button with an anchor printed on it. “This looks like a good spot.” Standing close enough that their hips brushed, he let go of her hand and snaked his fingers around her hip. His hooded gaze dropped to her mouth. “You willing to risk it?”
Her heart skipped a beat, and she glanced out at the empty shoreline. From their spot in the middle of the river, they were hidden from prying eyes, but not from her doubts. Logan had hurt her before. Could she really trust him again? Could she live with herself if she didn’t take a chance?
She tilted her chin up. “Let’s go for it.”
Logan’s eyelids lowered, and he pivoted a half turn toward her.
Body buzzing from the palpable sexual attraction as potent as a twelve percent alcohol imperial ale, Miranda fiddled with the gold cufflinks at his wrists. Temptation nearly overwhelmed her. Temptation to say to hell with propriety. With other people’s expectations. There was no denying she wanted this man. She could fuck him silly and walk away from this small town in a few weeks after selling the Sweet Salvation Brewery to DeBoer Financial at a tidy profit and return to her real life, this time with a corner office. After all, she’d left him in the dust before and been just fine. That’s all this would be. A fuck and some fun. Nothing more. Nothing binding. She ignored the little voice inside her head that mocked her rationalizations.
He dipped his head, his mouth frustratingly close to hers. “You are trouble with a capital T, Miranda Sweet.” A desperate need tinged his whisper.
; She rubbed against the bulge in his pants. “Come on, Mr. Perfect, walk on the wild side.”
He moaned then took a half step back, the sudden onslaught of air cool against her overheated skin.
Immediately missing the warmth of his strong body, she stepped between his open legs. She was playing with fire, but she couldn’t seem to resist his draw.