Sara Jane Stone - Command Control

“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

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.”