Vivian Arend - Turn It On

Mom and Dad—I said you couldn’t read my books, although I suspect you still do. Thanks for showing me the journey is as important as the destination.

Jess and Joy—for helping me wade through the possibilities to find the real story.

As always to my hubby, who reminds me that family is always worthwhile.

The scent of cinnamon and fresh coffee rushed to greet him as Ryan Claymore yanked the door open with more force than necessary. It might be the most talked-about coffee shop in the county, but it was fucking hard to find, and only minutes remained until his meeting was scheduled to begin.

“What can I get you, darling? Other than a black coffee, dark and strong?” His attention swung to the petite package of a woman hovering behind the counter.

He smiled in spite of himself. “Do I seem the plain, dark-coffee type?”

She nodded, a bright smile crossing her face. “You don’t seem the fussy double-double soy-no-foam yada-yada-yada kind, that’s for sure.” She poured him a cup the size of a small soup tureen and winked at him. “I think today’s special might be your type as well.” She bustled off before he could stop her.

Ryan surveyed the room while he waited. Cozy little tables filled all the available space, and there were few empty chairs in the crowded room. He glanced around, searching for his appointment. There was a lone male in a business suit in the far corner who looked in his direction, and Ryan nodded briefly at him.

A buxom redhead seated alone at the front of the shop caught his eye, her long legs stretched into the aisle as she sipped from a steaming cup and stared out the window. Hmm, now she was something he could go for. Something a little exotic, a little spicy. Her dark sweater hugged her full curves and he reluctantly pulled his gaze away.

Business first. Pleasure whenever the hell he found time for it, which lately seemed to be fucking never. Since returning stateside six months ago on emergency family leave, his life had turned upside down. Retiring his commission and setting up a security installation firm seemed the best way to regain some of the control that had been wrested from him, but the constant demands were beginning to piss him off. A cup of coffee, a quick discussion of his website and advertising needs with Max Turner, and there might be time to catch up on a few tasks at his apartment before heading to the nursing home to visit his brother.

He turned back to the counter to see the waitress holding out a pair of the largest cookies he’d seen in his life. “Gingersnap? Today’s special. Sweet, crisp with just a touch of spice.” She pushed the plate at him and gave him little opportunity to refuse. “Go on, you know you want it.”

The spicy scent rose to his nose like a beacon. “Thank you. I’ll drop these off and come back to pay.”

She shook her head. “No need. You’re meeting Max Turner, aren’t you? Everything is taken care of, you go ahead and enjoy yourself.” She beamed at him for a moment before turning to greet the next customer.

Balancing his load carefully, he headed toward the empty chair by the single male. He extended a hand in greeting. “Ryan Claymore.”

The man looked around in confusion before answering. “Jim Mitchell. Do you need a place to sit?”

What the fuck? Max had paid for the coffee, where the hell was the man? Ryan glanced back at the counter to see the waitress shake her head. She held up a hand and motioned in an exaggerated manner toward the front of the shop, silently mouthing “Max is there.” She pointed at the redhead, who stood to greet him, her laughing eyes showing her amusement.

Ryan hid his own grin. Bring it on. This was the best thing to happen to him in days.

Max gestured to the empty seat across from her. She wasn’t sure if she should say something to put his mind at ease. She wasn’t sure she could say something right now without laughing, and Ryan didn’t appear the type who got laughed at very often.

Instead she reached out a hand. “Maxine Turner. Glad to finally meet you.”

His dark brown eyes sparkled at her and she reconsidered her earlier assumption that he might not have a sense of humor. “ Maxine Turner. I see. Assumptions have a way of kicking us when we least expect it. Good to meet you as well. Ryan Claymore, call me Ryan.”

Maxine gave his hand a firm shake, casually admiring him as he sat. He was older than her, she’d guess in his late thirties, and definitely drool worthy in the tall-dark-and-dangerous kind of way. Everything about the man was neat and trim, from his short dark hair to the cut of his suit. She knew from his business profile he had a military background. It was obvious he’d kept up his physical conditioning. The fingers encasing hers were strong and for a moment she wondered what they would feel like on her body. She retrieved her hand with reluctance, exchanging it for the presentation packet waiting on the table. “Your assumption wasn’t far off,” she said, taking pity on him. “If you turn to the first page, I think you’ll feel a bit better.”

Ryan raised a brow as he examined the document. She knew when he spotted the picture of her and her twin brother. His gaze flicked between the photo and her face, his rapid perusal of the company introduction intriguing her. It was easy to admire someone who moved so decisively, especially after too large of a dose of her wishy-washy ex, but that was a distraction to put aside for now. Concentrate, Max. You’ve got some fast-talking to do in a minute.

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, the folder held casually in one hand and Maxine’s mouth watered. God, men like him should be illegal. The thickness of his thigh muscles stretched the fabric of his pant legs, and when she caught herself staring at his crotch she jerked her gaze away.

Becoming sexually distracted was not what she needed right now. This was an important contract for her and her brother’s business. She took a swallow of her coffee and silently ordered herself to behave.

“Your parents have a strange sense of humor, Ms. Turner. It must have been interesting growing up with a twin who was also called Max.”

She smiled at him. “It wasn’t too bad because Maxwell always got called Junior.” This time when he responded with a jerk of surprise, a laugh burst free. “Yup, dear old Dad is Maxwell Senior the twelfth—or something just as ridiculous. Having ‘Max’ in our names is a family tradition and there’s money tied up in it. I would have told them to forget the cash and name me whatever they wanted, but I was too young to voice a complaint when they made the decision.”

It was time to ignore the steamy sensations he caused and get down to business. Maxine folded her hands and headed into her summary of what the Turner Networking Team could provide as website and advertising options for his company. He nodded as she spoke, flipping through the pages of the file. While he listened attentively, his gaze spent more time on her than on the papers in front of him. Max paused and took another sip of coffee to moisten her suddenly dry mouth.

He was distracting. Mind-boggling, body-achingly distracting.

“We can make most of these decisions in short order. I am curious about something, Ms. Turner.” He dropped the information back on the table beside the plate of cookies. “Why did we have to meet in person to go through this? I’d think most of it was a standard contract.”