Enemies on Tap by Avery Flynn Page A

contractors from working with Miranda, throwing up one more stumbling block in her path. He’d wondered how long it would take for her to show up mad as a wet cat with her claws out. His heartbeat kicked into high gear. From a war-of-wills perspective only, not because he couldn’t stop thinking about the way her blue eyes darkened when she was challenged or because he looked for her honey brown waves every time he left his house. This was strictly business.
    Dude, you are delusional.
    By the time he’d made it to the thick door leading into the safety deposit vault, Miranda stood with her hands on her full hips, staring daggers at his secretary.
    He’d always thought of himself as primarily an ass man. However, Miranda Sweet had proven him wrong because her long legs encased in tight jeans and dark brown riding boots were enough to make a Catholic sprint to confession. Add in the way her chest was heaving and how her honey brown hair had gone wild in a way that begged a man to run his fingers through the mass of waves, and she was a wet dream—albeit an angry one. And somehow, that made it even better.
    “I’m sorry, Ms. Sweet, Mr. Martin isn’t available.” Sharlene was doing her best to persuade Miranda to leave, but she was slowly folding under the pressure. Her shoulders had curved so far forward that Sharlene looked like a letter C.
    Whether to protect the under-fire secretary or just to get a better vantage point to retell the story later, the bank’s sole security guard, Cyril, had positioned himself in front of Logan’s closed office door. The speculative grin on his face eliminated any intimidation factor offered by his uniform.
    “I’m not going anywhere until I see that blackballing piece of—”
    “Looking for me?” Logan’s voice carried across the lobby.
    The customers and bank staff fell silent. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted George Hampton fiddling with his hearing aid, no doubt turning it up to full volume to catch what would happen next.
    Miranda turned and hit him with a glare hot enough to spark a forest fire. “Bribing Neland with private hunting privileges on your land in North Carolina? That’s low, even for a Martin.”
    “Honestly, I figured he’d hold out for a hunting trip to Canada. That man does love bow season.”
    She stalked across the lobby, her hips swaying and her full pink lips flattened into a grim line. Damn if he didn’t want to kiss her until she forgot why she was pissed off in the first place.
    God knew he could barely remember at the moment.
    The locked, waist-high gate dividing the lobby from the teller area stopped her attack. “Dirty tricks.”
    “Business negotiations.” He smirked just to see her blue eyes spark. She didn’t disappoint.
    “You’re a pompous ass and a double-dealing scoundrel.”
    “Such flattery.” He pressed his palms to his cheeks. “I do believe I’m blushing.”
    She reached over the gate and flipped the lock before pushing the gate open with such force it banged against the wall. That got the tellers buzzing, but she ignored their surprised chirps as she continued on the warpath.
    “I didn’t realize you were too petrified to fight fair.”
    “A Martin scared of a Sweet? In your dreams, Sweetling.” The use of her hated high school nickname had her left eye twitching, just like he knew it would.
    She jabbed her finger into his chest, right above his speeding heart. “I only see you in my nightmares.”
    “Really, that’s the best you can do?” Damn, she looked amazing when her eyes snapped with fire.
    Her spine went ramrod straight, forcing her breasts to jut out and her hard nipples to poke against the thin, red V-neck sweater. Were they a light pink or a dusky peach? The need to know hit him like a gorilla on the warpath. His hunger for her became an almost living force, pushing him, goading him into pushing her buttons. All of them. Until she lost control. God, he wanted nothing more at this moment than