by Liz Crowe
“I’m so ready,” she gasped, dropping down to her elbows. “Oh God Austin, yes!” After coating his dick once more with lube to avoid hurting her, he eased in and came even harder than he’d thought he would, seeing stars within a few seconds.
He shook all over as his hips kept jerking forward and he leaned his head back, moaning with pleasure and pain, and the sudden, sure realization that something else might be on their horizon. When he eased himself out she whimpered, and dropped over onto her side.
“Oh God, honey, I am so sorry.” He gathered her close, kissing her flushed cheeks over and over. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”
She was shivering so he grabbed the sheet and wrapped them both up in it, their flesh pressed together. But she pulled back, her honey-blonde hair nearly obscuring her almost manic blue gaze. “God, Austin, I need to…” He smiled, reached down and stroked her plump, eager clit until she came in a burst of energy and a small gush of fluid on his hand. “Oh…my God,” she said into his chest. “I… That was…”
“Shh,” he said, kissing her hair. “It’s all right.”
“Holy hell, I know it’s all right,” she said, biting his nipple so hard he yelped. “I mean…you know. Pretending and all.” She wouldn’t look at him. And as Austin drifted off, the inner argument arose in his mind again.
Could he share this woman? Would he be capable of sharing anything about her with Ross Hoffman? Did he trust the man not to fall for her? For that matter, did he trust Evelyn? They were so…fucking…alike…
“I love you, Austin,” she said, on the edges of his sleepiness. “So much.”
He smiled and let himself drift, figuring he’d leave all those unanswerable questions for another day.
“By the way,” he mentioned as he drove back to the Grand Rapids the following morning. “I want to interview you.”
She tucked her sunglasses up on her head and stared at him. “Why? You a beer blogger now? God help me.”
“No. For a job.”
This was step one of his new plan. If she kept insisting on not marrying him then he wanted her to work with him. Together they could make Fitzgerald the number-one brewery in the state, hell, in the region, and he knew it.
“I already have a job.” Her voice was even, but he sensed tension behind it. He put a hand on her thigh, pleased at the way she relaxed under his touch.
“Yes, but you hate it. You said yourself you wanted to interview across town with Ryan’s outfit.” He glanced at her, knowing his mention of a rival, larger distributor would rev her up.
“Oh, shut up about that already. I told them no, remember?” She slumped in her seat.
He grabbed her hand and kissed it, threading his fingers through hers. “Okay then. I want you to work for me. No, scratch that. With me. As marketing director.”
“You don’t even have a marketing plan, Austin. Why do you need a director? Your sales guys are good, mostly. We’ve discussed this.”
“I want you to create the plan with me. Hire better sales guys. Fire the ones who are lame. Be the boss. You can do it, and I need it.”
He could feel her eyes burning holes in him even though he kept his own gaze trained on the freeway. He let her stay quiet for about five miles, then released her hand. “You have to interview, though. I’ve posted the job and have two or three pretty impressive résumés already.”
She smacked his leg. “Asshole.”
“Yeah. So you’d better study and be ready to impress me. I hear I’m hard to please.” He looked at her, happy to see the wheels turning in her head. “Call my secretary. She’ll set the appointment.”
She stayed silent the rest of the way home. And even though Austin knew he should ask, that they really ought to talk about that last little interlude—the pretend Ross, fucking her while he lost control inside her ass—he stayed silent, unwilling to cross that particular rickety bridge just yet.
Chapter Eleven
Evelyn stared at herself in the mirror the following Friday morning. Her color was high, her hair perfect, her body crammed into yet another too-expensive suit—this one funded by Austin’s black American Express card, along with her new sunglasses, her computer tablet and her handbag.
The fact of all that, of all she’d allowed him to do for her, froze her like a deer in the proverbial headlights as the reality of her new life slammed up against her psyche.
She had an important interview today.
With Austin Fitzgerald, owner of the fastest growing brewery in the Midwest, her boyfriend—the man whose parents despised her and without whose voice and touch she would likely die most days.
She ran shaking hands down the skirt, admiring the way her hourglass shape gave her a sort of Marilyn Monroe-like stature. Marveling at her luck, at the amazing position she found herself in—a size twelve working girl from the wrong side of Grand Rapids, with the hottest bachelor in the state madly in love with her.
Stubborn bastard, always asking her to marry him, and now, this craziness. An interview—all formal and stuffy and plain old weird.
She sat, her feet seemingly frozen and unmovable. She had several appointments before making her noon meeting with Austin in his office, a place she’d actually never seen before.
He claimed it had a panoramic view of the brewing floor, just like he wanted it. Professed no need to have her near his parents again, just as she demanded. Claimed he loved her, wanted her forever.
What was her ever-loving problem? If this were a novel, she’d call herself too stupid to live, without a doubt.
She’d honestly believed he’d get in her panties a few times and that would be it. He’d consider the challenge risen to and be on his merry way. But he’d stuck. Gotten her expensive gifts. Taken her on romantic B & B vacations and even threatened a trip to Germany in the fall for Oktoberfest, for ‘research’, he claimed.
It made her insane. But every day the thought of not having him around, of not seeing his sexy text messages or flat-out raunchy emails, of not knowing he waited for her nightly made her slightly ill. Plus…that other option…the one that included Ross, the man he considered his friend, and whom she was starting to get mildly obsessed about, in a purely sexual way.
Her phone buzzed with a text. She glanced down to make sure it was him.
Good morning, glory. I look forward to our meeting today.
She smiled in spite of the vise that seemed to grip her chest, and shot back,
Well, I have a busy morning. I’ll try not to be too late and mess up your afternoon golf game.
Yes, good plan, he wrote back nearly immediately. Wouldn’t want to upset your future boss.
Keep calling yourself that, Fitzgerald, and see if I even show up.
She grinned and shook her head at his next message.
I realize I am a sexual harassment lawsuit waiting to happen with you but it’s a risk I’m willing to take. If you are.
She bit her lip, wondering for the millionth time what had possessed her to get in this deep with him.
Tell you what—maybe I’ll let you harass me, as long as you promise to do it the way I like it.
His response did its usual tap dance on her libido.
Oh, I know how you like it, baby. See you at noon.
Her morning passed in a blur of nervous energy and when she found herself standing sweaty-palmed in front of his secretary’s desk, she was pissed off that she felt so uptight. The woman looked her up and down, then pointed to a chair. “I’ll tell Mr. Fitzgerald you’re here.”
Evelyn sat, taking in the various awards for brews and packaging and whatnot. Tasteful photos of Lake Michigan, lighthouses, farmland and of downtown Grand Rapids graced the walls. She jumped when the massive wood door opened and Austin strode out clutching a stack of papers dotted with colorful charts. His green eyes snapped with anger when he slammed the papers on his assistant’s desk. The woman nodded toward Evelyn.
The smile he shot her made her fillings melt, she’d swear it. He’
d truly turned her into some kind of drooling Pavlovian dog whenever he so much as looked at her. But she stood, tossed her hair back, and held out a hand. “Mr. Fitzgerald, thanks for agreeing to meet with me.”
“Of course, Ms. Benedict. Please. Come in.” The hand in the small of her back seemed to burn through her clothes. “Oh, and Mrs. Richardson, you can take the rest of the afternoon off. Enjoy your Friday!”
Evelyn took in the huge room. Two walls were floor-to-ceiling books, trophies, medals, and other awards. Plans for what looked like an expansion were spread out on an antique drafting table alongside an industrial-looking steel desk in front of a glass wall.
His laptop sat open on it, with a printer, a cup of coffee, and three small framed photos. She blushed when she realized that one featured the two of them at a recent beer and art festival.
The other was of Austin and a tall, broad-shouldered man with long blond hair tied back with a strip of leather, and a lightly bearded jaw. She picked it up and stared at the man she’d never met but who, based on her admittedly dogged questioning of Austin, intrigued her on a lot of levels. His light blue eyes were sparkly and his body firm and strong-looking underneath the goofy lederhosen he and Austin were wearing at some Bavarian festival. Her scalp tingled as she studied him, recalling Austin’s words—He’s too big, if you know what I mean—when they’d engaged in their pretend threesome. She put her fingertip to the photograph, biting her lip, lost in entirely inappropriate thoughts. Finally, she put it down and swallowed her urge to ask more about him, to ask what she really wanted to—would Austin let her have that moment, the full attention of both men, just once in her life?
This one was of Austin in a graduation gown, his arm around the shoulders of another young man—one who resembled him, but at the same time, didn’t. Brock, the twin brother, whose backstory she’d coaxed out of Austin a little at a time. She studied it, seeking answers to the one thing that had the power to bring her man near to tears every time he allowed her to dig a little deeper. Both Austin and Brock were grinning in a similar fashion—the Fitzgerald grin, she’d come to refer to it—but Brock was slightly shorter and fairer of hair and eyes than Austin. And his grin had seemed strained, even then.
She put the picture down and gazed out over the expanse of the busy brewery floor, focused on the breathtaking hustle and bustle below. The huge stainless steel fermenters, large brew house, and what looked like twenty people walking to and fro, laughing, carrying out their duties. Music breached the window barrier. The Clash. She smiled.
“So.”
She turned at the sound of his voice. He sat, fingers tented together in front of his lips. Her heart leapt at the sight of him. He was clad in dark denim and a slightly wrinkly, button-down white shirt. “Why don’t you have a seat, Ms. Benedict. Tell me what you would bring to the marketing effort here at Fitzgerald?”
She slid into a soft leather chair opposite him and crossed her legs. He wanted to play this little game, no problem.
She’d come loaded with pertinent questions, a few facts about his recent sales slump, and ideas for a new line of lagers that would cost a shit ton to add to his lineup but could be a whole new niche for the company. Sliding her hand down her neck as she spoke, she gave her background—everything he already knew.
Satisfied with the way his eyes darkened, she trailed her fingers down to the tops of her breasts, exposed just enough in the V of the silky camisole under her suit jacket. She uncrossed her legs and let him get a good look at how bare they were, then re-crossed them, sat up, and glared at him.
“The truth now, Fitzgerald. You tell me why I should leave a job that is about to make me sales manager of the largest beer and wine distributor in the state to come here so you can ogle me every day.”
He started and straightened, the moony, horny look draining from his face. She sat back and crossed her arms, pleased at the way he squirmed in his seat from what she knew damn good and well was a giant hard-on. “Well?”
“Jesus, Evelyn, do you really think I’m doing this so I can ogle you?” He got up and walked over to the large window. “You’ve got such an annoying inferiority complex. Can’t you just accept that you’re awesome at what you do? You’re the perfect person for this job.”
She watched his jaw clench and felt her heart go along for the ride.
Dear God, she loved him. Despite all her attempts not to do that very thing.
“Well then, you’re going to have to make a few commitments.” She stayed seated, fighting the urge to go to him, hold him, let him do whatever he wanted, including dragging out that damn engagement ring again.
He turned, one eyebrow raised in question. “Like?”
“Like not being such a Scrooge with the budget. You told me yourself you didn’t want to spend money on point-of-sale stuff or on simple things like decent Tshirts and giveaway trinkets and trash. That has to stop.” She held up a hand to keep him from interrupting. “Oh, and you need to let me be in charge of that lazy sales director. He has potential, but you’re letting him get away half-assed, which is why your sales fell this quarter. He won’t like me. I promise you that. But we will slap this thing into high gear, and he’ll get his holiday bonus. Which he will like.”
Austin grinned and stuck his hands into his pockets, looking like the adorable man she adored so very much.
“And one last thing.”
He nodded but stayed quiet.
“I get to come in this room anytime I want and do this.” She rose slowly and took the five steps between them, slipping out of her jacket and into his arms.
“Well, I’m not sure about the budget thing but this last request…” He laughed as she struggled out of his arms. “I’m kidding, Benedict, Jesus. You know I’m gonna turn this whole shit-pile of marketing over to you, gladly, and you will have carte blanche to do whatever it is you need to do.”
She smiled, molded herself against his long, lean body and kissed him, loving the smell and taste of him. The way he knew all her buttons to push and which levers to pull to calm her down when needed.
He parted her lips with his tongue, maneuvering her back until her ass connected with the drafting table. Reaching up under her skirt, he broke from her lips and whispered, “My only requirement, Ms. Benedict”—he teased her clit with the pad of his thumb, while sliding some combination of fingers into her—“is that you always come to work like this.” She gripped his shoulder as he pressed in deep, kissing her with an intensity she loved.
“Austin,” she whispered as he pulled his fingers out of her and slid them into his mouth. “I want you, right here.”
“Oh trust me, that’s on this meeting’s agenda.” He grinned, unzipped his jeans, and span her around, yanking up her skirt in one quick motion. She spread her legs and arched her back. “And I plan on doing it to your specifications. A lot.” He slid into her in one long, smooth stroke, grabbing on to her hair, forcing a moan from her lips.
“Look,” he said, turning her head so she could see them, clearly outlined in the mirror-like surface of one window. She shoved her hips back and her legs farther apart. The perfection of his body inside hers was something she still marveled at and swore not to take for granted. “Reach down and touch your clit. Pretend it’s my tongue. Pretend it’s Ross’ tongue. And then watch while I fuck you.”
She touched the firm nub of flesh and rubbed as he did just that, shoving her up against the table she was propped up on with her other hand. Watching them in the window and crying out as she came in a rush of emotion, loving the warm sensation of his release deep inside her. Tears threatened as they always did, but for the first time in their months together, she let them flow, needing that release almost as much as the one he’d given her seconds before.
Austin collapsed over her back, holding her close, then slipped out of her and turned her around. “Don’t cry, my Evelyn. Please don’t ever cry. I can’t stand knowing you’re unhappy about anything.”
She shook her he
ad, helped him zip up, and adjusted her skirt. “I cry all the damn time. Don’t flatter yourself.” But he tilted up her chin, made her look at him. “I love you,” she whispered. “The jury is out on how well we will actually work together, but I’m willing to give it a shot.”
He smiled, brushing her lips with his calloused thumb. “Okay. Now, I’m going to ask you one more thing.”
She sucked in a breath, realizing this was the moment. If he asked, she’d say yes. She knew it.
“Move in with me.” He kissed her nose, her cheeks, her lips. “Let’s do a dry run with the marriage thing.”
“Oh, um, well.” Her face flushed. Living with him hadn’t entered her mind, at least not unless they were married. But the relief that washed through her told her all she needed. “Sure.” She smiled and shrugged. “But I don’t clean. Or cook.”
“You think I don’t already know that? I wouldn’t eat anything you cooked anyway. I cook. We split the cleaning and what we don’t do the housekeeper does, including the laundry because I am not doing that.”
“God, you are such a spoiled brat.” But her chest had loosened and the moment seemed perfect. This was good. They would make it work. “But what about your—?”
“Nope.” He put a finger over her lips. “I don’t care what they think. I won’t stop being their son, but I won’t subject you to them. Even if you do finally succumb to my obvious charms and marry me.”
She sighed and wrapped her arms around his waist. Her mind spun a million miles an hour already at the giant task of organizing the chaos that was the marketing effort for the brewery. He kissed her hair and held her close. “Relax, my Evelyn. It’s Friday. We’ll deal with work in a few days. For now, it’s time to go home. With me.”
When she woke with a start in the middle of that night, her body was sore in all the right places. Once she realized she was in Austin’s bed, not hers, she sighed and stretched, then rolled out, needing to pee. That business accomplished, she splashed water on her face and stared at herself in the large mirror over the granite countertop in Austin’s master suite bathroom. It took her a few seconds to acknowledge the distinct lack of anxiety over staying here, over the general sumptuousness of his living space and her self-described ‘invasion’ of it. Relief coated her nerves, making her smile at her reflection.