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Logan frowned. A writer—specifically a journalist—was the reason he was on forced R & R. “A writer? What kind?”
“She didn’t say, but you can ask her yourself when she arrives.” Aunt Lou walked away, taking Cindy with her. “And think about the raffle, Logan.”
Logan turned his attention back to his burger. He had nothing against raising money for literacy, but posing as a hero? It made him feel like a hypocrite. Yes, he’d ridden a horse through Taliban country. Big deal. He’d also been so damn distracted when his team had gone in to rescue the three female aid workers held captive in a remote region of Afghanistan that he’d forgotten to cover his teammate. One inch in another direction and that bullet would have hit the woman in Hunter’s arms. It had practically brushed the top of her head.
No, he couldn’t sit down to lunch and recount his heroics. He was biding his time in Mount Pleasant, helping his aunt with the farm, until he could return to work. It killed him, sitting on his hands, away from the action. But he knew he deserved the punishment. And this time when he went back, he needed to have his head in the game 100 percent.
Still, his team was like family. Aside from Aunt Lou, the only one he had left. Being away from them—the loneliness ate at him.
Logan shook away the thought and returned to his burger. Across the restaurant, the door opened, letting in a shaft of midday summer sunlight. A redhead with mile-long legs walked in and headed for the bar that ran the length of the barn-turned-restaurant.
He studied the mysterious woman as she moved across the restaurant with carefree confidence. In one hand, she held a spiral notebook and a small purse. She was new to town, probably a tourist, though she didn’t look like the type to spend her free time hiking and biking. Her high-heeled sandals screamed big city.
Her loose curls bounced with each step, the bright red a sharp contrast to her creamy white skin. And her green eyes shone with playful mystery, as if she had a secret she wanted to whisper in his ear. Everything about her was vivid, fresh and exciting.
His gaze returned to her legs, narrowing on the point where they disappeared beneath her black miniskirt.
If you think her skirt is too short, she’s too young for you. His teammate wasn’t with him tonight, but Mike’s familiar mantra echoed in Logan’s mind. One of his T-shirts would cover more of her legs. He closed his eyes. And, great, an image of the redhead in his army T-shirt was now planted in his mind.
Logan forced himself to look away. She was too young for him. Not that thirty-five was ancient, but the word widower made a man seem older than his years.
He took one last look as the redhead slid onto a stool at the end of the bar. She’d chosen a seat close to his table and the proximity offered an up-close view as she crossed her legs, the indecent skirt sliding a little higher. Too young and too wild. Logan turned away, praying no one saw the longing in his eyes.
If he was being honest with himself, what he really wanted was a few nights of hot and heavy sex to take the edge off his loneliness. Nothing serious. Just something physical to make him feel alive.
Logan caught the waiter’s eye and signaled for the check. While he waited, his gaze drifted back to the woman.
He watched as she accepted a glass of red wine and opened her notebook. She took a sip, but her eyes never moved from the words in front of her. Setting the glass down, she drew her lower lip into her mouth and ran her teeth over it. She made reading look like a forbidden act, something that should be done behind closed doors.
The waiter returned and Logan opened up his wallet. Then he stood and headed for the door. He had to get out of here. Longing and loneliness would not change the fact that any reasonable woman would expect things he wasn’t ready to deliver.
2 (#ulink_5659828d-e1e5-5a56-8080-3d1d88b92bd5)
“SEDUCE ME. I want to feel your hands on me. Your mouth, your tongue. I want to feel every inch of you holding me down, claiming me,” I say as I lean back on the bed. “That’s an order.”
Sadie read the words for a third time, but failed to reach the next paragraph. She couldn’t concentrate on the pages she’d written yesterday. Not with a man staring at her. Reading a sex scene in public was nothing new. In Manhattan, she’d reviewed her chapters while riding the subway. Before she’d sold her first book, commuting to and from her multiple waitressing jobs was when she’d done most of her writing.
But reading while a stranger watched her as if he wanted to devour her? That destroyed her focus and sent parts of her body spiraling toward take-me-now excitement.
Sadie shifted in her seat. His attention—and her response—reminded her how much her body missed her ex and their regular bedroom workouts, even if her mind had moved on quickly in the wake of their parting three months earlier. But the interest she felt had nothing to do with the past.
She looked up from her notebook as the stranger walked by her bar stool. With his wavy dark brown hair, piercing brown eyes and muscles even his cargo shorts and loose black T-shirt couldn’t hide, the man defined ruggedly handsome.
She turned her head to one side, her eyes narrowing. He seemed strangely familiar. Studying his backside as he walked toward the door, she knew. Mr. Ruggedly Handsome looked like Hugh Jackman when he’d played Wolverine in the X-Men movies—minus the facial hair—from his serious expression to his ready-for-battle body.
He walked with grace and purpose. Part of her wanted to go after him, find out if he was available and interested. But she couldn’t. Not right now. Her sister would be here any second. As long as she was in Mount Pleasant, her family came first. Everything else, from work to drool-worthy strangers, needed to take a backseat.
The door opened and he disappeared into the sunshine, leaving Sadie to her reading.
“There you are.” Laurel, Sadie’s twin, enveloped her in a big hug. They might have been born the same day, but the similarities ended there. Sadie had inherited their father’s Irish coloring, while Laurel looked like the all-American girl next door with her blond hair and blue eyes. A very pregnant girl next door.
“Careful, you’ll crush the baby,” Sadie said, struggling to maintain her balance on the barstool.
Laurel squeezed tighter. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
“You said you needed me.”
“I know. And you always come through for me. But this time you’re here. For a whole month. I never thought you’d leave New York for that long.”
“I can barely believe it myself.”
An entire month in small-town Vermont, away from the hustle and bustle of her everyday life in New York City, away from sushi delivered to her doorstep, away from her quiet writing space. Of course, she could work here. She could write anywhere. But still, she was here. For Laurel. For once, she was trying to put her sister first, to tip the scale between personal life and professional.
“Sit. Please,” Sadie said, pulling away from her twin’s embrace. “You look like you should be resting with your feet up. You’re...”
“Enormous?” Laurel said with a wide grin.
“That wasn’t the word I was looking for.”
“Only for another month.” Her sister took her hand and squeezed. “I can’t believe you’ll be here when the baby arrives. I asked Dad to come up, too, but he said the trip was too expensive.”
Sadie frowned, her wineglass hovering close to her lips. “I sent him an extra check with a note to buy a plane ticket.”
“Oh, well, he didn’t mention it,” Laurel said, the excitement in her eyes dimming.
Damn him, Sadie thought. Her father might begrudge her charity, but he didn’t have to take it out on Laurel. As far as Sadie was concerned the monthly checks weren’t a handout. Their father had worked hard to provide for his twin girls after their mother had passed away when they were babies. Now it was Sadie’s turn to take care of him. She had the money to ensure they stayed afloat. And with the way her book had taken off, she could do a lot more than pay the bills. But her father and sister would only accept so much.
Laurel shrugged. “It’s just as well. I don’t know where I’d put him. We barely have room for you and the baby.”
Sadie set her wineglass on the bar. “I found someplace else to stay.”
Laurel’s brow furrowed. “You’re staying with us. After all you’ve done for us, the checks you sent when I lost my job, we owe you. I can’t repay the money, but I can feed and house you for the next month. Please, Sadie. Let me do this for you. I promise to bake your favorite cookies.”
“I’d be in the way on your couch.” Laurel and her husband rented a cramped one-bedroom cottage outside of town. And while Sadie lived in a Manhattan apartment the size of a shoe box—albeit one with a Central Park view—it had been years since she’d shared her living space with her twin. They’d fought day and night back then. She couldn’t imagine it would be better now that Laurel was eight months pregnant.
“I saw an ad online for a guesthouse rental on the neighboring farm,” she continued. “I called and it was available. This way you will have some time with Greg before the baby arrives and I will have space to write. I have a book due soon.”
“Lou’s guesthouse?”
Sadie nodded. “I spoke with a woman named Louise Reed.”
“Everyone calls her Lou.”
“Well, I’m staying in Lou’s guesthouse,” Sadie said firmly. “But that does not change the fact that I’m here for you. I’m going to be the best big sister.”
“You’re five minutes older. I don’t think that counts,” Laurel said, her eyes brimming with tears. It was an old argument. One they’d joked about for years. “But thank you,” her twin added. “For everything. I appreciate the money. We wouldn’t have survived without it. Still, having you here means even more to me. And one day, I’m going to find a way to repay you. When you need me, I’ll be there. I promise.”
Those heartfelt words sent a wave of guilt crashing down on her. She was here for her sister. Mostly.
She glanced around the spacious restaurant, unable to meet her twin’s gaze. Everything about the place was quaint and welcoming. At the back, they’d kept the old sliding door from when the building had been a barn. High up in the A-frame ceiling, light poured in through long horizontal windows. This place was a world away from her life in Manhattan. But when she went back, her life wouldn’t be the same. Not even close.
“You don’t have to feel guilty,” Laurel said, as if reading her mind. Sadie had never been able to hide anything from her twin. It was a little scary how easily Laurel knew what Sadie was thinking. But the connection did not run both ways, which was just plain unfair.
“I know you had to get away before the world learns about your secret identity,” Laurel continued.
In a few weeks, everyone would know she’d written the erotica novel everyone was talking about—Isabelle’s Command by MJ Lane. Sadie would be on national TV promoting the release of the second book in the series. She felt a wave of excitement just thinking about it.
But two weeks earlier, a small problem had threatened her carefully planned reveal. She’d caught a photographer outside her building when she’d gone out for a bagel. Thankfully, she’d spotted him first and quickly covered her face with her arms. She’d heard the camera’s click, click, click, but knew he’d only caught shots of a faceless red-haired woman walking into her building.
Of course, he’d still tried to save his story by calling her publicist to verify the woman in the pictures was MJ Lane before printing them. Her publicist had lied, telling the man no. But not all of them would fact-check. If she wasn’t careful, she would not be able to keep her secret until the release of her second book. Another tabloid reporter might run the story on a hope and a prayer that the facts were correct.
Telling the world Sadie Bannerman was MJ Lane—it would happen. And she was determined to make the most of the story. This was her career, her future, her everything.
But it needed to unfold according to her plan. Here, in rural Vermont, there was very little chance her secret would get out before her next book release. Her big disclosure would be perfect.
Almost.
Once the world learned who she was, she knew her relationships, already strained from the time and energy she poured into her work, would be marked with a big fat F for failure. She’d have less time for her sister. And her father? She hadn’t asked him, but she had a hunch he didn’t like the idea of the whole world knowing she wrote erotica. He acted as if taking the money she made from her work was a cardinal sin.
She might not be able to set things right with her dad in the next few weeks, but she could take this opportunity to be here for her sister. Laurel needed her and this time sending a check to help cover the bills wasn’t enough.
“It means so much to me that you’ll be here when the baby arrives.” The tears were no longer brimming; they were flowing down Laurel’s face.
“Oh, no, don’t you start. If you cry, we’ll both be a weeping mess in minutes, and I refuse to cry in public. I’m here for a whole month. We’re going to have some fun together before my little niece arrives.” Sadie caught the bartender’s attention. “Do you have pie?”
When they were little, pie had been the family cure-all. Their dad had never known what to do with two crying girls, so he’d decided it was best to splurge on a trip to the diner for a slice or two.
“Yes, dear,” the man old enough to be her grandfather said. “Apple, cherry and Maine blueberry.”
“Apple,” Laurel said quickly.
He nodded. “Two slices?”
“No,” Sadie said. “We’re going to need the whole pie.”
3 (#ulink_01c425b9-3aa7-59aa-b27b-f77a31d65668)
AFTER MORE THAN a decade in the army, Logan knew when to withdraw and wait for the enemy to pass. Not that the pack of elementary school teachers were hostiles, but after his encounter with Cindy two days earlier, he wasn’t taking any chances. He hadn’t planned on leaving the farm, but his aunt was driving him crazy, constantly badgering him about the raffle.
Logan spotted the women leaving the coffee shop on Main Street before they saw him, and his training kicked in. Opening the door to the one-hundred-and-something-year-old Victorian house that had been converted into Main Street Books, he slipped inside. A covert entrance except for the jingling bell attached to the door announcing his presence. He found a position in the rear corner of the store, deep in the maze of bookshelves. The only window in this section looked out on a side alley lined with garbage cans. No one would spot him back here. Pulling the nearest book from the shelf, he pretended to read the back cover.
“If you need assistance picking out a romance novel, I can help.”
His gaze snapped to the woman standing two feet away holding a book in each hand—the redhead from The Quilted Quail. She’d traded in her miniskirt for a pair of jean shorts, but that didn’t affect his reaction. The desire he’d felt when he’d first seen her returned full force.
“But if it’s your first time—” she continued, placing the books back on the shelf “—you might want to steer clear of erotica.”
“Erotica?” Logan glanced at the book in his hand. On the front cover was a practically nude woman lying on a bed. A man in leather pants stood next to her, holding a whip. It looked like an image out of a men’s magazine, not something he’d find on the shelf in his hometown. “Mount Pleasant sells erotica?”
“Not much,” she said grimly. “But what they do have is pretty good.”
She stepped toward him, close enough for him to smell a hint of her soft floral scent—not overpowering, but enticing—and reached for a book on the shelf above his head. The side of her breast brushed his arm, sending a red-alert signal through his body.
“If you’re looking for a classic romance, this is one of my favorites.” She held out a copy of a Jane Austen novel.
He shook his head. “Read that one in high school. It wasn’t for me.”
She placed the book on the shelf and turned to him, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “To find the perfect romance, I’ll need to know a little bit more about you.”
Was she hitting on him? It had been so long since he’d played that game, he wasn’t sure of his next move.
Tired of sitting on the sidelines waiting for his life to restart, he decided to take a chance. What was the worst thing that could happen? She’d walk away leaving him with a hard-on he wasn’t sure he was ready to act on? At least he’d have felt something other than loneliness and grief.
“Not much to tell. I’m home on leave.”
“You’re a soldier?” Her smile widened. “Let me guess. Special Forces.”
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He couldn’t tell from her reaction if she was one of those women who jumped into bed with a man because he wore a uniform or ran in the other direction. Part of him hoped it was the former. “Army ranger.”
“No kidding?” Laughing, she scanned the shelves before selecting another paperback. “This one should be just right for you.”
She handed him the book. The cover showed a man’s naked chest with dog tags hanging around his neck.
“He’s a soldier, a SEAL, and she’s a nurse,” she said. “They have hot sex, overcome a few challenges and fall in love.”
“The hot sex part sounds good.” He set the book back on the shelf. “But I’m not looking for a fairy-tale ending.”
She handed him back the first book. “Then maybe you should stick with erotica.”
Her fingers brushed his, sending shock waves through his body. He let her hand linger a moment, not wanting to let the feeling go. Logan glanced up at her and saw the heat in her eyes. He knew he’d made the right call. Whatever was happening here wasn’t one-sided.
He shook his head. “I’m not into whips.”
“So just hot sex?” She turned back to the bookshelf and he instantly missed the physical connection. He wanted her hands on him and it didn’t matter where.
He watched her index finger tap her lips as she scanned the books. His gaze zeroed in on her mouth and for a second all he could think about was what she would taste like.
“Just sex,” he managed.
“I’m sure we can do better than ‘just sex.’ Don’t you want to leave yourself open to new experiences? We can find something wild that doesn’t include whips.”
“Don’t think I’m ready for that,” he said truthfully. He was in uncharted territory—flirting with a mysterious stranger. He should probably walk away now before it went any further.
But his feet refused to move. Excitement and anticipation pumped through him for the first time since he’d set foot in Mount Pleasant. If he couldn’t ship out with his team, maybe this was the next-best thing.
“But plain old hot sex I can handle,” he added, praying that wasn’t a lie.
She hesitated for the first time since he’d entered the store. Had he said the wrong thing? Gone too far?
