by Crowe, Liz
The man had certainly worked miracles at the brewery. Remaining good to his word never letting anyone go, he modernized, updated, and increased efficiency as promised. Her father was thrilled but getting a little nosy about her relationship with him. The miracles continued in the bedroom, as he coaxed more and more from her body and soul. She was grateful for it. She was also mad at herself for continuing to fantasize about the brewmaster. But, at times his efforts felt like just Garrett being Garrett; fixing things, like he was meant to do. Not fair to him. But something that wouldn’t settle in her, let her truly accept what he offered.
She leaned against the warm metal of the brewing vessel and let the sweet smell of early stage process waft through her senses. It calmed her. But her eyes sought him out—the man who was the polar opposite of Garrett Hunter in so many ways. They were yin and yang physically, emotionally, in every way possible. She caught Eli’s eye at one point, the sharp blue of them sending a shiver down her spine. He frowned. She frowned back.
She recognized her own imperfections and knew she was not easy to live with. Her capacity for emotional distance, and the perverse pleasure she took in thwarting Garrett’s carefully laid plans sometimes made her cringe. Unable to explain to herself why she did it, she kept doing it, causing more than a little friction between them. Especially lately as her brewery rotation wound down and she faced life without the bossy, sexy but utterly wrong brewer up in her grill day after day.
Lori rolled her shoulders and bounded up the platform to check the status of the large batch of IPA. It was their flagship brew, and they spent a lot of time perfecting it and keeping quality consistent. The predictable comforting rhythm of the place, the early start, the daily meeting, and the amazing process and chemistry all soothed her. She loved it. She glanced over at Eli and caught his gaze on her yet again. The intense look in his eyes set a fire in her belly that settled in deep between her legs. She shook her head again and bent to her task.
“You should consider the institute,” Eli declared later, as they shared a pizza, the long day of multiple brews finished. “You’re a natural.” Beethoven poured from the speakers again, soothing and irritating her all at once.
“Wow,” Lori tried to keep her tone light. “Is that a compliment? I may faint.”
“Jesus, don’t.” He shoved half of an entire slice into his mouth, smiling and wiping greasy hands on his jeans. “I don’t do girlie drama.” She flipped him off. He reached up as if to snatch a blown kiss, then pressed it to his crotch, sending zings of pleasure all the way through her. She stood, downing the beer they’d been sharing. His brow furrowed. “Hey, maybe I wanted some of that.”
She shot him a look then finished it off, relishing the rich, hoppy essence of something she’d made with her own hands. He crossed his arms, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he spoke. “I’ve created a monster haven’t I?”
She wandered over to the vat, pulled another pint from it and plunked it down in front of him. “A monster with manners.” The large warm hand over hers transformed the mild tingles she always got when around him into high flames.
“You’ve been amazing, Lori. Really.” Her face flushed. She tried unsuccessfully to banish the images of the hop vine, the memory of his skin under her fingertips to the far corner of her brain.
“Well, I had a great teacher.” The sudden urge to get as far from him as possible burned hot. She stayed put but slipped her hand out from under his. “An amazing teacher.” She sat, rested her chin in her hands. “I want to apply. To the institute, I mean. But, my dad will kill me, then tell me ‘no’.” It felt great to finally admit it to someone. She’d been researching it for weeks, downloading study guides and tossing the idea in and out of the realm of fantasy versus reality.
Eli grinned. “Good.” He grabbed another pepperoni covered slice, folded in half and ate it in three bites. “I’ll help you,” he claimed around chewing.
She stood, checked her phone looking for an excuse to get out of his presence.
“How’s the suit?” Eli plunked his boot-clad feet up on the rough wooden surface that passed for a table.
She glared at him pissed at the change of subject. “None of your business.”
“Fair.” He sucked back the beer she’d poured him. “So, how’s the suit?”
She rolled her eyes. “Great. Thanks. Why do you ask?”
“Just wondered. You guys seemed like a boring married couple already. How will he feel when you decamp to Munich for the better part of two years?”
Lori stared at him. She’d not even considered it. Having lived her entire life on her own, but for a brief period back at her father’s house after the attack, she’d gotten used to making decisions for herself. And something in her had resisted telling Garrett—that perverse need to circumvent his tidy planning, she guessed. The smirk on the head brewer’s face sent a bright shaft of anger through her. She simultaneously felt an urge to defend Garrett. God, you are pathetic Lori.
“That really is none of your business.” He shrugged, finished the beer and stared at her. Something about his look made her relax. “I don’t know. I haven’t exactly told him yet.”
Eli snorted, ran a hand through his long hair. “Well, you might should, eh Brockton? I mean, the guy you’re practically married to deserves to know your plans pretty much include moving overseas.”
She put her head down on her arms, overwhelmed by the whole thing and her part in making it worse. Why hadn’t she told him? A warm hand touched her neck, bringing an odd sense of comfort and contentment. She kept her head down as Eli kneaded her sore shoulders, making her groan with relief. “Ready yet, Lori?” The lips so close to her ear made her gasp. She leaned into him, yearning for an actual connection. The music hit its amazing, perfect, simple climax, and then receded, leaving her breathless.
His hand slipped to her waist, her hips, setting her skin on fire everywhere he touched. He had not so much as laid a hand on her for weeks. Not after their odd encounter in his office. Why the hell was he doing this now?
She closed her eyes, moved her arm, enabling him, needing more. When he reached up and cupped her breast, it brought instant moisture to her panties. The other hand threaded in her hair, clutched hard, as his lips moved along the back of her neck. His voice tickled her ear. “I think you might be.”
She stretched her arms out on the rough-hewn table, moved her legs apart, welcoming his touch even further as he cupped her sex, pressed against the warm moisture her body had created as a direct result of his touch.
“Damn you are hot.” His voice poured like rich honey into her soul.
She forced the voice in her brain to shut up, the one that reminded her how happy she was with Garrett, as the man she continuously fantasized about ran his rough palm down her thigh, nibbled her neck. A door slammed shut. She jumped and he stepped away.
“Lori?” Garrett’s deep voice chilled her spine. Eli chuckled and moved between the fermenters like a ghost, or better still, a demon, determined to ruin her for his own selfish pleasure. She gritted her teeth.
“Back here,” She stood, tossed the empty pizza box in the trash and started towards him, let him hold her close, taking deep breaths of his familiar combination of smells—wool, leather, starched shirts, the subtle hint of cologne. “Let’s go.” He grinned and kissed her as he ran his hands up and down her body.
Aggravation rose in her chest. She had to get out of here, now. “Not here, Garrett. Okay?” He put an arm around her shoulders without a word and guided her out.
Chapter Six
“What’s wrong?” Garrett kept his voice light, but she heard the genuine worry in it.
“Nothing.” She stared out the window cursing herself to hell and back for being such an indecisive lame ass.
He didn’t press the issue and by the time they pulled into his tidy garage, she’d let released of the stress. She began to ease back into that place she’d found, the place where Garrett took care of h
er, where she was happy. They put their stuff away in the alcove between garage and hall, Lori marveling yet again at the extreme neatness of Garrett’s life. She understood that he did it on purpose. To establish control over potential chaos. But sometimes she wondered how her own messy circumstances could ever fit with his apparent perfection. She watched him head upstairs to change, and realized she really could set a clock by the man, he was that predictable.
When visions of Eli’s tattoo swirled in her brain and the very recent memory of his voice in her ear made her shiver, she stomped into the kitchen and poured herself a large glass of wine. Her phone buzzed with an incoming email but she ignored it in favor of trying to force her brewer’s thick blond hair and snapping blue eyes out of her head.
“Hey, c’mere a second, would you?” She rose and stretched at the sound of Garrett’s voice, contemplating a shower as she made her way out into the great room. Garrett had bought the house from the builder, but had it modified to suit his needs including knocking out walls between formal and informal living room, creating a huge, beautiful space with a giant fireplace, a matching gargantuan flat screen television and…she put a hand to her throat. “What do you think?” He was standing by a gleaming, deep chestnut baby grand piano. Lori’s heart pounded so loud she could hardly hear him.
“Uh, are you taking up lessons?” She slid into a nearby chair, no longer confident her knees would hold her up. The sight of a once beloved instrument—something that represented her “before” life that she’d banned forever in some kind of purge she still didn’t understand made her blink back tears. “Because otherwise that thing will just be furniture you have to dust.”
“No. I’m not.” He walked to her, his firm, familiar body clad in soft jeans and un-tucked light blue dress shirt. She forced herself not to stand. “Don’t be obtuse. It’s unattractive.” She looked away, ugly words forming behind her lips. She bit them back.
She kept her tone neutral. “Garrett, I appreciate what you’re doing, but you can’t, I mean, I’m not going to—” she stood and strode back into the kitchen. He left her alone for nearly fifteen minutes, then wandered in and filled a glass with water for himself. She stared down at the countertop as she spoke. “I don’t want to play. Ever again. Who told you anyway, I mean,” she stopped and sipped, knowing the answer. This man and her father were as thick as thieves. Fury blinded her. What the hell was he thinking, forcing this on her? The fucking nerve of him.
“Doesn’t matter. I think you need it. It’s one more thing you did well, I understand, and enjoyed. It made you happy, once. So I—”
“My happiness is not your responsibility.” She snapped, immediately sorry for the utter ludicrousness of that statement. “Sorry.” She muttered into her glass and the silence spun between them, unaddressed. He finished his water, rinsed the glass and put it in the dishwasher. Lori watched his little dance of neat-and-tidy, aggravation and emotion clogging her throat. Lori, don’t be a bitch. This guy is special. He bought you a damn piano.
“I’m going for a run.” He stated without looking at her. “I say we go out for dinner.”
She didn’t speak, but he didn’t seem to require an answer. When she heard the front door close, sans the satisfaction of a nice hard slam, she winced as if he had thrown something. She sidled into the large room again, eyeing the beautiful piano from afar, then up close, running her hand across its smooth, shiny lid. She propped it up and admired the precision underneath, the rows of strings, hammers.
Feeling like a kid about to get busted for messing with something forbidden, she took a seat on the leather bench, adjusted it and put her palms on the closed lid. A tear hit the brown wood and shimmered, mocking her. The thing must have cost at least ten thousand dollars. Then she saw the word “Steinway.” Scratch that, thirty thousand. And he’d arranged to have it delivered in a day, without giving away a single clue.
I do not deserve him. I just don’t.
She placed her forehead against the wood, put her feet on the pedals and pressed, feeling the large instrument shift as she adjusted sound. Finally, hands shaking and fear clogging her brain, she uncovered the keys.
No.
Back in the kitchen in heartbeat, sipping another glass of wine, she stood in the doorway, watching the piano as if the damn thing had the capacity to leap across the room and attack her. Get a grip, Lori. Her fingers curled in, already sensing the delicate ivory. Her brain was slipping into the zone where she used to go as a girl, after her mother died and all she had of her was the piano they’d played together.
She set the glass down, marched over and sat. Arching her fingers over the keys, she found that, even after three years of not playing, her hands instinctively were in proper position. She’d made her father get rid of the piano in his house during the crazy months after coming home from the hospital. Her hysteria at that point spurred him to do anything she wanted just to keep her on an even keel. Images tumbled in on her, sensations, pain, terror, more pain, screaming—her own voice begging as Thad hurt every inch of her that he could. But she’d recovered. She’d even learned to enjoy her body again, thanks to Garrett. Why can’t that be the case with playing the piano?
Garrett slowed to a jog, then a walk, then stopped. He stood, hands on his waist, letting the cloud of anger clear in favor of endorphins and clarity. That fucking monster of a piano had cost him a fortune and part of him still believed it was worth every penny. He took a breath and made his way up the hill to his driveway, anticipation and dread growing with every step closer to the house.
He’d worked his entire life since he had turned sixteen and could drive, trying to instill order on everything that he could. And now, he’d made it. Two degrees, money in the bank, his own house, and the job he’d always wanted. The fact that he’d fallen head over heels for Lori Brockton seemed like a bonus, most days. He shook his head, shoving away the niggling voice that had risen lately. One that insisted he’d moved too fast, instituted too much control over her in his attempt to eliminate the horror she’d been through. Fury made his head pound as he hit the code for the door, fury at himself mostly for acting like an overprotective idiot.
The impulse to sort everything out for her, take her under his wing, protect her, overwhelmed him. He tried to balance it with giving her space, letting her stay over then leaving without any hint of when she might stay again, though that kind of randomness made him insane.
He hesitated before entering the cool recesses of the garage. Many days, the intensity of his feelings for her scared the shit out of him. On those days, usually after she’d pull a classic “I’m going to my house” all he wanted to do was fold her in his arms, hold her close, and watch her as she slept. He had to literally sit on his hands to keep from calling, texting, checking up on her. But she always got her fucking space.
He stopped, turned his head to the side and heard it. The most beautiful sound of an expensive piano played by talented hands. He smiled as he slipped off his shoes, then tiptoed into the kitchen for water. She kept playing, leaning in to the keyboard as if her life depended on it, obviously unaware of him, which suited Garrett. It gave him a chance to watch and to get unbelievably turned on by her body language, the way her eyes closed and she swayed. He was mesmerized by her fingers, alternately caressing, then pounding the black and white keys, by the flex of her thigh muscle as she worked the pedals.
His smile got bigger as she kept playing. After about ten minutes she stopped, seemingly in the middle of a piece, lifted her hands from the keys and clutched them together in her lap. He stayed quiet.
She rose from the bench, put the dark brown cover back over the ivories and then walked straight to him and kissed him so hard his head spun. Grasping her neck, twining his hands in her hair, he returned it in kind. He smelled her lust, felt it all over her, which made him groan and cup one full breast under her brewery T-shirt. She jerked his shirt over his head, lapped at his sweaty skin, ran her lips over his nipples, making his body
zing in response. Before he could say a word, she’d dropped to her knees, pushed him back against the wall and had his shaft down her throat. She cupped his balls, sucking and swallowing him so fast he gasped.
He gripped her head with one hand, held himself up against the wall with the other, still not quite certain this was actually happening, but not about to argue over details. The orgasm shimmered on his horizon, making his spine buzz and his vision darken. She reached up with one hand, tugged at his nipple, pressing the button she’d discovered a few nights ago and he let it happen. Grunting and shoving his cock down her throat he came, hard. The moaning sounds she made as he filled her mouth intensified it, made him feel like he’d been coming for twenty minutes.
She released him, gave his still twitching shaft a last flick of her tongue and stood, kissing him again. Her body and arms were the only things holding him up at this point as a fresh rush of endorphins flooded his brain. He gripped her face, tasted himself on her lips, owned her mouth with his tongue. Finally, he broke away, breathless. “Holy shit. Remind me to get you a piano every day.”
She smiled, pulled his shorts up and braced herself against the wall with both hands. Her luscious lips just inches from his again, she whispered. “Thank you.” He wrapped his arms around her.
“I love you, Lori,” he stared into her eyes, surprised at his own words, yet willing her to say it back. She put her head on his shoulder. He realized he had become that guy—the one who always says I love you. Funny, he used to make fun of guys like that. No, not so funny, really. But he didn’t care. “I need a shower and dinner. Join me?” She nodded, took his hand and they did both, together.