by Amy Andrews
Envy, maybe?
“It’s a schmoozy industry thing that I really need to attend if I want to keep Baron lager front and center. Otherwise I’d just cancel. Unless…” an idea formulated in his head. “…you want to come? Can’t beat a weekend in Vegas as a first date. You could lie around the pool during the day and we could hit the blackjack tables at night or see a show? My treat. It’s at the Bellagio,” he added for good measure. And then, because he didn’t want her to think him presumptuous he quickly added, “Separate rooms, of course…” But maybe she didn’t want that? “If you like.”
And he really, really hoped she didn’t.
“Sorry, no can do.”
Her voice sounded tight and there was something else too? Maybe a side of regret? “Of course, it’s short notice and you have to work. I’m sorry.”
He kept forgetting she was chained to Sully’s. Raf had the sudden desire to ride in on a white charger and whisk her away from her life if only for a couple of days. If anyone needed it, she did.
And he just knew she’d rock a bikini.
“It’s fine,” she said but she didn’t sound fine. “I’ll see you on Monday. Text me the distributor details when you have them and have a nice weekend.”
The phone line went dead and Raf stared at the screen for a while. Well…he’d screwed that one up. The urge to jump in a cab and go see her rode him hard but maybe letting her cool down was the better option? And he had to be in Vegas. He had three critically important meetings for the company’s future expansion.
But after that he had a month at Sully’s with Faith. And the only thing of critical importance there would be to show her a good time.
*
Faith grunted as she pushed the heavy, steel keg with her foot. The delivery guy had positioned it close enough to give her the room she needed to maneuver while she hooked up the line but it still wasn’t quite close enough.
Beads of sweat formed at her temple as her head blocked the already dim light. Pushing around full beer kegs was hot work and Faith was grateful for the basement’s fridge-like atmosphere. It had been cold when she’d walked down here in just her jeans and t-shirt half an hour ago but she’d known it wouldn’t last long once she got to work. Several kegs had needed changing and she’d had to flush out the lager lines so Raf’s beer wouldn’t be contaminated with the one she was switching it with.
She’d texted Raf earlier to let him know the delivery driver had arrived and he’d replied that he’d be right over.
She hadn’t heard from him over the course of the weekend which had been a surprise. Faith felt sure he would text her photos all weekend of him in front of the Bellagio fountain or at the blackjack table or by the pool, in a pair of those tiny red speedos she’d seen some Aussie guys wear on a TV show a while ago.
She was pleased he hadn’t. She wasn’t sure she could actually have stood it. When he’d asked her to go she’d wanted to say yes so freaking badly she could almost smell the desert air. But the timing was wrong.
Yes, Zel and Dawn had offered their services but watching Pop while she went on a date for a few hours was entirely different to going away for a couple of days with no advance notice.
It just hadn’t been possible. Her life didn’t allow for that kind of spontaneity.
Her phone chimed a message and she stopped her ministrations. She wiped at the sweat on her temple, stretching out her back as she reached for her cell in her pocket.
I’m here. Pub is locked.
Her pulse did a funny little skip at the prospect of Raf being so near. She’d have thought her blood too cold and sluggish for any kind of blip but it was off and racing.
Give me a minute. In basement tapping your keg.
It would probably sound dirty to him but she sent it anyway. He’d spent the weekend in sunny Vegas – it was sixty-five there, she’d checked – while she froze her ass off here in Brooklyn. He could cool his heels up there while she finished.
Satisfied that she was close enough to the lines she plugged the coupler into the top of the keg. She jumped back as some spray spewed from around the connection. “Son of a –” she gasped as cold beer splashed her cheeks and neck, soaked into her t-shirt.
A shiver crawled over her skin, beading her nipples and spreading goose bumps up her arms as she shook her head and wiped at the liquid running down her throat. The urge to kick the keg was overwhelming but given that Ronan had broken a toe doing that many years ago, she didn’t follow through. She just took a deep breath and started again.
*
The first thing Raf saw as he walked through the open basement door was the rounded perfection of Faith’s very fine ass as she hunched over the keg. He was pleased he’d decided to seek her out in the basement – the woman wore the hell out of a pair of jeans. He couldn’t remember when he’d last seen such a delectable sight.
“Ha! Gotcha you bastard,” she muttered as she straightened then gave it a little kick for good measure.
“Need a hand with that?”
She reared around in shock, her curls flying, her hand clutched to her chest. “Fuck,” she swore. “You scared the crap out of me.”
He grinned at her expletive. It was a terrible flaw of his that he enjoyed hearing dirty words coming out of pretty mouths. “Sorry, I was just…admiring the view.”
She placed her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Well do it louder next time.”
Raf put his hand on his heart hoping like hell there would be a next time. “I promise I shall manfully clear my throat in future.” His gaze was drawn to the way her Sully’s t-shirt pulled across her breasts and the two hard points he could clearly make out. “Aren’t you cold?”
He was layered up and she was just in her jeans and a t-shirt in a basement that could have doubled as a morgue.
“No. Hauling these kegs around is hot work.” She folded her arms across her chest. If she meant to hide her erect nipples, she failed miserably, the action pulling the fabric tauter. “Now if you’ll excuse me I’m not quite finished. You go on up,” she said, pointing to the nearby internal stairs that obviously led to the pub.
She turned back to the keg placing her hands on the top of it while using her feet and knees to nudge it closer to the wall in line with the others.
“As much as I’m loving a repeat offering of this view,” he said taking three strides and elbowing her out of the way, “I’m not going upstairs while you’re down here lugging around hundred and sixty pound kegs.”
He lifted the offending item and placed it in position. When he turned, she was still standing pretty much where he’d left her which put them tantalizingly close. If he wanted, he could just slide his hand onto her hip. His groin fired to life and his gut lurched at their proximity.
He wanted.
“Thank you,” she said, and the warmth of her breath misted into the paltry space between them.
He didn’t feel cold anymore.
His eyes roved over her face and the outline of her crazy curls. She looked good. Everything in Vegas had seemed fake but Faith was real. “God,” he muttered, lifting his hand to push a stray curl off her forehead. “You are a sight for sore eyes. Is it mad to say I’ve missed you?”
His heart certainly beat a crazy rhythm. Why was it nothing seemed too nutty around this woman?
“What? No sexy cocktail waitresses to flirt with?”
His fingers lingered and trailed lightly down the side of her face until he was cupping her cheek. “There was no one like you,” he murmured.
He stroked his thumb across her cheekbone and her eyes drifted shut. His breath grew syrupy in his lungs until it was so heavy he could barely shift any air at all. It was suffocating and intoxicating. She was like some drug and all that mattered was that he kiss her.
He didn’t understand why he was so enamored with a woman who was unavailable on so many levels but then her eyelids fluttered open and stole his breath completely.
“You’re one of a kin
d, Faith.” And he meant it.
Her body swayed, his did too. Or maybe he took the final step to bridge the miniscule gap between them, he wasn’t sure. All he was sure about was her mouth. And tasting it as soon as possible.
Her moan as their lips met grabbed him by the gut and squeezed hard. He’d expected her to resist, to push him away. He was prepared to go slow, to coax. But she didn’t resist. She melted against him like a snowflake, sliding her hands up around his neck and into his hair, going up on her tiptoes, aligning their hips, angling her head, opening her lips to deepen things, licking into his mouth with her tongue.
And everything spun out of control.
His tongue took up the invitation to play, tangoing with hers in a sexy game of hide and seek. In and out. Back and forth. Advance and retreat. The kiss grew harder, wetter, hotter, sensations bombarding him, spiralling like tornadoes through every cell, wreaking havoc with his control. His heart banged against the cage of his chest as their rough breathing filled his head and all the space in the otherwise silent room turning it from frigid to tropical as hot waves of lust rippled into every corner.
Christ. He wanted to get her naked. Horizontal. He wanted to put his hands all over her. His mouth all over her. He hated her clothes. And his. He wanted them off. He wanted to imprint himself on her skin.
His hands slid down to her hips then onto her butt, pulling her closer, harder against his rampant erection but it just wasn’t enough.
Too many clothes.
“God,” he groaned, as he pulled away slightly, their lips still brushing. “You feel so damn good. And you smell like beer,” he muttered as he nuzzled a cheekbone then headed south, dropping kisses down the side of her neck. “Correction, you smell like my beer.” He groaned as his tongue lapped into the hollow at the base of her throat. “I think that’s the sexiest thing I’ve smelled.”
“Raf.” She pulled his head up and looked him straight in the eye, her breathing hard. “Please don’t stop kissing me.”
He could see the raw, naked need turning her indigo gaze to midnight and lust, heady and addictive, causing a primal imperative to roar through his head.
He realized he never wanted to stop kissing her.
Raf slammed his mouth down on hers this time, backing her into the nearby wall, his hands slipping to her hips as hers parted his open coat and slid inside. Their mouths fed off each other as he pulled on the belt loops of her jeans angling her just right to grind the hard ridge of his erection at the juncture of her thighs.
She gasped as he used the leverage of the wall and the angle of his thrust to devastating advantage. And he did it over and over again, her sharp little pants driving him on and on and on.
“Raf,” she moaned, breaking off the kiss, her forehead pressing into his shoulder, a hand pushing lightly against his chest. “I know I told you not to stop but I seriously think I’m going to come if you don’t.”
Raf chuckled, slowing his movements. “And that’s bad?”
She flopped her head back against the wall; her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright with sexual fever. She looked like a woman who was close to the edge.
And he wanted to push her over.
He undulated his hips into hers and she hissed out a breath, her eyes half closing. “It doesn’t feel bad to me.”
She opened her eyes. “It is if you’re going to be hanging around here all day. I won’t know where to look. Plus I’ll probably never be able to come down to this basement again. Also…my father’s lurking about upstairs.”
Raf wasn’t particularly concerned about her first couple of points but he had to admit the last reason held some sway. He sighed in defeat but still kept hold of her loops.
“Okay fine, you win.” She was right. He wasn’t fifteen anymore and he had more control and respect for Faith than to have a quickie in her father’s basement even if that’s exactly where they’d been heading.
That’s not how he wanted their first time.
Not when he had a very nice hotel room with a king size bed in Manhattan. He wasn’t sure how many times he could roll her over in that thing but he sure as hell wanted to find out.
“But only if you come out with me on that date tonight after you close up.”
She looked at him askance. “We don’t close til ten.”
“So,” he shrugged. “This is New York, the city that never sleeps, right? Work will be over and I’m giving you all day this time to organize someone to be with your dad.”
She looked at him unsure. “Say yes, Faith,” he murmured, tugging on her loops, tugging her harder against him increasing the pressure through the middle seam of her jeans. “You know you want to.”
Her lips parted as she shut her eyes and Raf couldn’t tear his gaze from her face. “Where’s your favorite place in the whole of the city?”
Her eyes opened again and looked directly into his. “The Met.”
He frowned. “The Metropolitan Museum of Art?”
“Yup.”
Not an answer he’d been expecting. “I don’t suppose it’ll be open then?”
She laughed. “I’m afraid not.”
“What else?”
He watched her as she thought for a moment. Or tried to at least. He could tell his erection pressing into the seam of her jeans was being a little more than distracting. “Ice skating at Rockefeller Center? It’s good fun and is open til midnight. We should be able to get in an hour or so.”
“Ice skating?” Not something surfers were renowned for mastering. “Not a lot of ice rinks near the beach.”
“I can teach you.”
His dick pulsed at her innocent offer. Her teaching him. Down boy. Jesus, didn’t his dick know that it in particular was going to be subjected to extreme low temperatures every time he fell on his ass on the ice? Which would probably be frequently. “Isn’t that outdoors? Won’t it be a little on the…cold side for that?”
“Not once you get going.” She raised an eyebrow. “You chicken?”
Chicken? No. Horny? Yes. And they’d both have to warm up afterwards, right?
With one yank on her loops he pulled her off the wall until all of her body met all of his. He pressed a brief hard kiss against her mouth. “Ice skating it is.”
Her gaze was soft and her mouth was wet and it took every ounce of Raf’s control to not push her back against the wall again and to hell with propriety. “Can you get someone for your dad?”
“I think. Just need to make a couple of phone calls.”
He took that as a very definite yes to the date. “Good. Do it.” He dropped his fingers from her belt loops and stepped away. “Go on upstairs. I’ll join you in a minute.”
Her brow crinkled. “You want to check up on your beer?”
“No.” Raf shook his head. “I’m not going up there with a hard-on the size of the Empire State Building if your father is lurking. I’d really prefer to not meet him with a massive erection courtesy of his daughter.”
Her gaze dropped to his crotch and lingered way longer than was good for him. Way longer than was good for his erection. “Oh,” she murmured lifting her gaze back to his face. He expected to see that he’d embarrassed her but there was a distinctly sexual gleam to her gaze.
“Yes. Oh.” He shoved his hands on his hips. “Now get out of here before I decide I don’t give a damn what your old man thinks of me.”
She grinned but thankfully headed for the stairs. With an extra wiggle to her hips if he wasn’t very much mistaken.
So not helping.
Chapter Five
‡
Faith started when Raf appeared about ten minutes later. She wasn’t ready for him yet. She was still achingly aroused by his kissing and excruciatingly aware of the way his black jeans hugged his stride and how his polar fleece sweater barely contained his shoulders.
Shoulders a girl could really sink her teeth into.
“Mr. Sullivan,” Raf said, holding out his hand across the bar and his
beachy scent wafted her way again. “Very nice to meet you, I’m Rafael Quartermaine. My deepest gratitude to you for allowing me to conduct a trial here.”
Pop, who was trying some Baron lager, shook Raf’s hand. “Faith’s right, it’s a far better drop than the other two tap lagers. And considering how shite I think lagers are generally then you can take that as a compliment.”
Faith held her breath for a second wondering how Raf would take the rather backhanded compliment. The Sullivans weren’t a lager family but her father could be blunt and that was known to rub some people the wrong way.
Much to her relief, Raf threw back his head and laughed, drawing her attention to the little scar beneath his chin.
She wanted to kiss him there.
And on the mouth.
“I do indeed, Sir,” Raf assured. “Faith’s a good champion.”
Pop nodded. “She knows her beers.”
“Not to mention she’s a great advocate for Sully’s.”
Pop patted Faith’s shoulder. “She’s a good girl.”
Faith cringed and her cheeks warmed at her father’s choice of words. She knew he didn’t mean anything by it, that it was a generic compliment to let her and everyone else know how proud he was of her but as a grown woman it grated. It had been a long time since she’d been a girl or had even cared about being good. But it made her squirm today in particular considering what had just transpired in the basement less than half an hour ago.
She hadn’t been good in that basement. She’d been bad. And if her father hadn’t been in the bar waiting for her then she may well have been very bad.
“It has a distinct flavor, doesn’t it?” Pop asked. “Is that because of the yeast you use?”
“Ah, just excuse me,” Faith jumped in before the conversation got bogged down in beer talk. The pub was due to open in fifteen minutes and she had to try and arrange for either Zel and Ty or Dawn and Finn to come over while she went on her date.
“I have to make a couple of calls.”
Faith walked out the back into the kitchen area. It was deserted at the moment but the kitchen staff would be in soon to start their shift. She leaned against a spotless stainless steel bench and dialled Dawn. It went to her voice mail but Faith didn’t leave a message. Dawn could get so wrapped up in her research it could be hours before she checked her messages and Faith didn’t want to wait.